This is all your fault.
You’re so embarrassing.
I rip the IV from my arm, desperate to leave, but the blood gushes everywhere. I do my best to tighten the bandage like a tourniquet, but blood still cascades across my forearm like arterial routes on a map.
I wander out into the main area, trying to find the exit.
The cop stares at me, blood cascading from my arm, and moves to stand. “Ma’am,” he says, as a nurse also notices me.
She hurries over and guides me back to my bed.
“Let me fix that,” she says, tidying up the bloody mess I’ve created.
When I’m finally released, the hospital insists on getting me a taxi.Liability, they say.
Back at the apartment, Timmy is waiting for me, his arms crossed and his expression equal parts smug and angry. “You let some random shady guy into the truck? I wasn’t even at the tents,” he says. “I was here the whole time. You walked right past me with your bottle of whiskey, saying you were going to find me.”
His version of events feels like gaslit fiction, but I’m too drained to argue.
Who knows what’s true anymore?
“You’re such an idiot and a slut,” he adds.
“Whatever,” I mutter, heading to the bathroom to wash the hospital smell off me.
I can already tell that Timmy is going to hold this over me forever. He’s a proverbial machine gun, and I’ve just provided the ammo.
A week later, the consequences of my crash begin to ripple through my life.
We’re coming back from Costco, carrying our groceries to the apartment, when a random woman walks past.
I flash her a neighborly smile, but instead of returning the same, she gives me a weird look, her lips curling into a smirk. “Will you be driving into any more fences?” she says, her tone mocking.
My cheeks flush. Stunned, I continue walking.
Timmy, oblivious to her sarcasm and not properly hearing what she said, smiles and cheerfully replies, “Yep!”
When we get inside, I say, “You did hear what she said, right?”
He looks confused. “She said hi, didn’t she?”
I shake my head. “No, she asked if I was going to drive into any more fences.”
He frowns. “Oh my gosh, that’s really horrible. What a fucked up thing to say. I’m so sorry, Margaux,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “What a dumb bitch. Ignore her.”
I fill Alice in.
Alice:
Did you say ‘It depends. Will you be walking near one any time soon?”
Me:
Hahaha, I love you.
Alice:
Imagine someone asking you in public about an embarrassing moment, Susan.