As the door slammed, she felt her whole world crashing down around her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Tears began to flow freely as Brian tried to comfort her. He told her that it was better he found out now than if she had got caught hitting on Nick. He gave her his cell number and told her to call anytime she needed. 407-555-5268… She put the number at her bedside, but didn’t think she’d be using it anytime soon. Brian left quickly and quietly.
Two days later, a neighbor came to the hospital to pick her up, saying her parents were too busy and couldn’t take the time off. Typical. They cared more about their jobs and social lives than about their own daughter. Limping into her house on a crutch, she thanked the neighbor and entered the dark living room to turn on the radio. She half-smiled as Brandy crooned her hit single “Almost Doesn’t Count” via Nikki’s favorite radio station.
After a while, the words began to get to her and she went to put in a CD. Reaching into her box, she realized all her favorites were songs she didn’ t feel like listening to right now. Every song brought her back to D and the pain in his face, pain she had caused. Sighing, she put in her favorite CD, Millenium, and forwarded the tracks to a song whose emotions were quite appropriate for the way she was feeling right now, “Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely.”
Relaxing on the couch, she pondered the past few days. Her injuries were slight, especially compared to the damage done to her now-very-compact car. She was able to walk—well, limp, really—out of the hospital with no permanent damage, only a broken ankle. The doctors had thought she damaged her inner organs at first, resulting in countless of observations and tests for over a week.
Settling back into her thoughts, she let her mind roam as the CD repeated the depressive tribute to loneliness over and over. Every thought that came into her head somehow led back to D and the events of the past week. A lone tear carved along the now-familiar path cut into her face by days of sad weeping.
Opening her eyes, she glanced at the coffee table where she had placed the various knick-knacks she collected during her hospital stay. Sitting apart from the flowers and paperwork was a lone scrap of paper on which was scrawled a number that would come to be very important and meaningful to her in the next couple of days. Picking up the phone, she dialed the numbers and nervously held the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Brian? Do you have a minute to talk?”
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