Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (15 page)

Brooklyn
– Why

Why was everything black?

Darkness consumed my soul and clouded my heart. Disoriented images flashed before my eyes and sounds hummed inside my ears. They were jumbled. Out of order. Terrifying. The one image that was clear were roses.

I began to panic. Shaking. I was terrified. Synister was never going to make it alone in this world. I had to get to him. To tell him I was okay. I was alive. I had fought for him…for us. Why can’t I move? Fuck, I was tied down. My arms were sore, my face stung, and my feet felt like blocks of ice.

Why did this happen to me?

I heard the bleeping and buzzing of machines. Where they keeping me alive? Jesus, was I dead?

I tried to open my mouth but my lips were so dry I felt them cracking with the slightest movement. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth and I struggled to breathe.

SYNISTER!

I felt a warm hand touch my arm and a sense of calm wash over me; but all to quickly the darkness consumed me again.

Synister
- And Then There Was Darkness

Sitting in the waiting room was torture with a capital T. The chairs were a concoction of rubber and vinyl, offering a squeaky pit of nothingness to place your ass. Looking around the room, I realized, oddly, that I fitted in with this band of misfits. With Tony to my right and Scottie to my left, we looked like three scumballs waiting with the decaying Western society that was currently inhabiting the ER waiting room.

I watched as a little old woman with blueish-white hair pulled her purse closer to her chest as she sat in the only open seat next to Scottie. I was sure she thought we were here for our buddy who had overdosed. That we were drug dealers, addicts. Every cliché that came with leather, tats, and too many hard nights showed on our faces. As time ticked by, each agonizing second was longer than the prior. There was some black and white movie on the television but no sound, so I began to play a mental game of let’s make up a conversation
between the actors on the screen. Scottie took charge of notifying Zeke, Oscar, and Hendrix of where we were. Every text he sent came back with the same response:
We will be right there.
I told Scottie that I didn't want them here. That he or I would update them when we knew more. I couldn’t handle more people asking me what was wrong. Was I okay? Telling me that everything would be fine. I didn't want to see the disappointment on their faces when they realized that I didn’t come to her rescue. She was here in this place because of me. Scottie had kept the severity of the situation a secret, because had they known how bad she was, they would have been here come hell or high water. Brooklyn had always been everyone’s angel. The person who looked out for us and kept me in check.
What are we all going to do if something happens to her?
I shook the thought from my head that she was already gone. I couldn’t believe that. I
wouldn’t
believe it.

Scottie had left and come back with coffee at around four a.m. He and Tony tried to make small talk, but I never moved. Never spoke a word. I refused to leave my seat until my next steps were taking me to her. I watched as the sun came up through the cream horizontal blinds. I watched as the shift change occurred between nurses and doctors. Coming and going. Some were on their way home to loved ones. Others having just left, only to return when their work was done.

I had thought through every possible outcome. Maybe it wasn't Brooklyn.
That it was a mix-up. I held on to the hope that this was all just a mistake. I convinced myself that she was going to come bouncing through that door, all smiles, ready to kick my ass for making a scene. That
this was all a dream.
That I was going to wake up on the couch in my dressing room having fallen asleep after the meet-and-greet like a pansy ass bitch. But as the minutes turned into hours, I lost hope with every strike of the clock.

Physically, I was exhausted. Mentally, I had nothing left to give.

Watching the doctors coming out to tell people the status of their loved ones was agony. Each one I tracked like a hawk as they walked toward me with the hopes that they were bringing news about Brooklyn. When they made eye contact, I had assured myself that this was it. We were going to see her. That everything was perfect, and she would be leaving with us just as soon as we collected her things. As their smiles faded and they turned at the last second for another person, I was pushed farther and farther into the darkness, convincing myself that they were never coming to tell me she was okay.

“Scottie.” My words were hoarse. My throat was dry. The coffee that Scottie had brought hours ago was now cold.

“Ya, man.”

“They are not coming for us, are they? She is not coming back to me. I fucked this up.” I felt the tears teetering on the edge of my eyes.

“They’re making her good as new. When you see her, she’ll light up your world like she always has.”

Lies.
Scottie was feeding me lies.

Putting my elbows on my knees, I dropped my head to my awaiting hands. I tried with everything I had to explain to my heart that all this time I was waiting for the right time to tell her. To tell her how much I needed her. That she was my everything. Now, in the face of losing her, I was able to fully understand that I would not wait another minute more. Even if the words were not perfect, they would be mine. She would not wait another minute to hear what I had kept so close. My love for her would no longer be caged in my heart. I was going to let it go, and I was scared to death that it would not come back to me. I was terrified that I had waited too long. That we had spiraled so far from love that we would never find our way back. Why do we wait to do things? Why? There was never a perfect time. A right time. That was all a joke. We had to make the time work for us. I had done everything but that.

Looking out from my palms, I noticed a pair of shoes standing even with mine and felt a hand lay gently on my shoulder. Gazing up slowly, I approached this intruder with caution. A short, redheaded woman in a white coat was standing in front of me, and she looked almost as bad as I felt.

“Are you Mr. Smith?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” I jumped up from the chair, scaring the poor thing half to death.

“My name is Dr. Becky Malone. I’m Ms. Reigns’ doctor. Would you be able to take a walk with me?”

“Absolutely. Yes. Right now?”

The doctor gave me a cautious grin, and I took off down the hall behind her.

“Ms. Reigns is out of surgery. She had you listed as her next of kin, so I’m able to discuss her condition with you.”
Condition. What is Brooklyn, a fucking car? Jesus, these people are so clinical and detached. This is my baby girl.

“I can take you back to see her, but only for a few minutes. She is still very weak,” Dr. Malone explained.

Brooklyn was out of surgery. I did not ask what kind of surgery or how many. I didn’t care. This was all information I would have to find out later. My first concern was seeing her. Following Dr. Malone down the hall, she continued, “Ms. Reigns has been through a lot of trauma. We were able to stop the internal bleeding and released the pressure on her brain. She has a broken arm and jaw. Due to all the swelling, we are still unsure of the extent of the injuries to her chest and face. There is extensive damage to almost every part of her body. Mr. Smith, I need you to know she is a fighter. We did have to revive her, and she has regained consciousness, but she’s been in and out for the last couple of hours. Our main concern at this time is...” Her voice trailed off.

Dr. Malone became just background noise as we continued to pass room after room. I knew she said more, but my heart couldn’t handle another word. I needed to see Brooklyn. The doctor continued to drone on about this and that. Swelling and internal something. When we stopped outside of room 219, Dr. Malone placed her hand on my forearm, and I knew she had saved the worst for this moment.

“Mr. Smith, I have to advise that she cannot have her heart rate elevated. If you are unable to handle being in the room, given her current state, I ask that you politely excuse yourself, as she is still very fragile. One last thing...”

I couldn't wait another second. I pushed past Dr. Chatty Kathy into the space that held my heart. When I saw her, I just stood there and shook my head from side to side. There was blood and God knows what else matted in her hair. She had tubes and wires coming out of everywhere. My baby girl looked like a science experiment. Her face was leaning toward the opposite side of the room. Her cheeks were black and purple. She had stitches running from her temple to her jaw. Oh my God. What happened to her? I tried to keep calm like the doctor said, but my breath kept getting stuck in my throat, and I started to hyperventilate. The room began to spin when I felt the doctor’s hand on my arm.

“Mr. Smith, please just take a deep breath.” Dr. Malone’s voice was calm. I on the other hand was not keeping my shit together at all.

Making my way into the room completely, I was able to regain my composure as long as I didn't look directly at Brooklyn. I just couldn’t process her like that. Maybe I should just go. I didn’t even know if she was awake. But I should come back. The doctor was right. She needed to remain calm, and I was not going to be able to be the rock she needed. As I made my way out of the room, I bumped into the metal chair, the one assigned for visitors. The screech shot across the floor. When I saw her head turn to face the door, I was upset that I had disturbed her. What I was not prepared for was the depth of pain she now wore on her face. How was it possible that she was more black and blue and swollen than just a few minutes ago? One eye was completely swollen shut, and the other was blood red. Her mouth opened. It was her voice, but not her.

“Is someone there? Hello?”

That was when I realized the last thing that Dr. Malone was trying to tell me. Brooklyn was looking right at me, but she could not see me. All the head trauma had taken her sight. It felt as if my heart exploded in my chest. I lurched forward, placing my hands on my thighs, gasping for air.
This is not happening. I refuse to accept it.

“Synister, is that you?” Her voice was weak. I heard her wince and gasp as if the pain of the words were too much to bear.

I could hear Scottie’s word in my ears. “
You need to be strong for her. Be what she needs.”

Pulling the back of my hand to my eyes, I wiped away the tears. With as much courage as I could muster, I uprighted myself and felt the room tilt ninety degrees and then back again. With a massive swallow, I drove down all my fears, all the rage I felt toward the motherfucker that put her here and just focused on the beautiful, strong woman in front of me.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s me.” My voice was shockingly clearer and more confident than I had expected. Wiping my sweaty palms down my pant legs, I took the first cautious steps toward her. She looked so fragile lying there. Her body was broken. Getting close to her, I could see the stiches in her skin, every puncture mark in and out of her amazing body in an attempt at putting her back together. The stitchwork was at least the length of my forearm, and it made the slight curve from her cheeks to her throat and then disappeared beneath her hospital gown.
A few more inches and it would have been the end.
The stiches were a mere inch, from what I could tell, from that main artery in her neck.
What the fuck is that called?
Fuck, I can’t think.
I was surveying the damage as I continued to her bedside.

Once I reached her, it was like I had traveled a thousand miles from the door to her bed, as if everything had changed in less than twelve hours. Thinking back to everything I had planned for tonight seemed so stupid compared to the thoughts I was currently volleying in my head.
Will she be okay? Is the blindness temporary? When can I take her home?
The most basic, primal concerns were now at the forefront of my conscience.

“Mr. Smith.” Dr. Malone snapped me back to the moment.

Shaking my head, I reached down and placed my hand on Brooklyn’s. Through all the bruises, the purple and green that covered every piece of her, I could see around the hospital gown as she flashed a perfect smile. It was brief, lasting only a fleeting second, showing me that she was still here, that I hadn’t lost her. That smile made everything okay.

“Ms. Reigns has asked me to brief you on all the details, which we can do, but what I believe is most important is to address the blindness to set your mind at ease. She is suffering from hyphemia. We are watching her condition very closely and expect it to resolve itself, returning her sight within a few days. There is a good deal of internal bleeding as a result of the attack and stab wounds. She is a very lucky lady. The blade merely lacerated her lung and did not cause a puncture. At this time, we are still processing the results of the sexual assault kit. Other than that, it is just a lot of bumps and bruises.” Clinical and concise.