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Inseparable • Chris Scully

Inseparable

A FLASH of bright light in my eyes, a jumble of raised voices

and hands pulling at my bodythese are my first memories.

Then the pain slicing through my skull, through my body,

sharp as a knife, and bringing with it blessed darkness.

When my brain finally struggles up through the murky

depths of consciousness, each sense slowly reawakens.

Everything seems disjointed and muddled, and the first

thing I hear is the raspy sound of my own breathing. The

fingers of my right hand twitch; I feel warm skin gripping

mine and the whisper of a soft breath across my knuckles. A

heavy weight presses on my chest, making it difficult to

breathe, and I want to push it away, but I can’t summon the

strength to move. Slowly, I crack my eyes open a slit. They

feel swollen, and the steady throbbing deep behind them

means I can barely keep my eyelids open long enough to

confirm that I am in a hospital room. There must be a

nightlight somewhere, because the weak glow is just enough

to illuminate the faded curtain enclosing my bed and the

dark tousled hair of the man whose head rests by my hip on

the mattress. Somewhere beyond the curtain, someone is

snoring, but my companion is silent, slumped forward in a

chair, clutching my hand as if, even in sleep, he can’t bear to

let go. Good, I’m not alone . With that fleeting thought,

unconsciousness pulls me under again.

The next time I resurface, it is daylight. I can feel the

warmth of the sun on my face and see the soft golden glow

Inseparable • Chris Scully

bathing the room from beneath my lashes. But it’s too much

when I try to open my eyes. The brightness stabs through

my retinas. I roll my head on the pillow to escape, and

explosions of pain go off in my skull. I can’t hold back my

whimper. There is a sudden movement next to me, and then

a gentle touch on my forehead, on my cheeks, wiping away

the tears leaking out behind my closed eyelids.

“You’re awake,” whispers a man’s hoarse voice. “Oh

God, Adam, you’re awake.”

“Sun,” I croak.

“What? Oh, it’s too bright?” My companion moves about,

hurriedly closing the blinds. When the light dims, I

cautiously open one eye, which gives me the chance to

observe him unnoticed for a moment. He is young, in his late

twenties, and attractive with chin-length dark curly hair that

looks like it needs a good combing. When he turns and

smiles, I’m struck by what a nice face he has, tired, but open

and friendly, and full of so much raw emotion it almost hurts

to see it. His eyes are red and swollen from crying, and even

as I watch, fresh tears well in those brown velvet depths,

spilling down round cheeks into the neatly trimmed stubble

of his beard. I want to comfort him, but the pain radiating

through my chest is driving out any other thoughts, driving

out the air from my lungs.

“Can’t… breathe,” I gasp.

“Shh, calm down. I know it hurts. It’s your ribs, but the

doctor says you have to try to breathe deep. Just look at

me.” I focus on his face, the sound of his gentle voice. A

small gold stud glints in each ear, and it’s so appropriate,

Inseparable • Chris Scully

because he reminds me of a gypsy I saw once. Somewhere .

“That’s it. Just breathe in and out….”

There is dried blood on the front of his grey sweater, but

he doesn’t seem injured. Mine? I struggle to recall how I got

here. He must see the panic on my face because suddenly he

asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember.” My voice sounds hoarse and

unused. I close my eyes and think. Think, I tell myself. But

all there is, is blackness.

“The accident?”

“Anything! I don’t remember anything.”

He pales visibly. “Where the hell is that nurse?” he

mutters, fumbling with the call button beside the bed. He

takes my hand. It’s the only part of my body that doesn’t

hurt. “Do you know who I am?”

I shake my head, which makes the pain even worse.

There is a brief moment where his face crumples. He seems

wounded more than anything and, even though I hardly

know this man, I would do anything not to upset him.

“I’m Joe,” he says and, once again, his calm voice pulls

me back from the edge of panic. “You’re Adam. You were hit

by a car.” He starts to pull away, but I refuse to let go. “It’s

okay. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get the doctor.”

He isn’t gone a minute before he’s back with a nurse.

Then another arrives. Then one doctor and two, and within

no time my side of the curtain is crowded with people poking

and prodding and asking me questions, talking over each

other when all I want to do is sleep. Someone blocks my view

Inseparable • Chris Scully

of Joe’s anxious face, and I can’t bear it. As if sensing my

distress, he moves to my side and takes my hand again. The

contact soothes me. It’s the only thing I can hang onto in a

world that has suddenly been pulled out from under me.

They tell me I was hit by a car yesterdaySUV

actuallywhile crossing the street. I have three cracked ribs,

some bruising, and a concussion. Oh yeah, and I can’t

remember shit. There’s a big black hole where my memories

used to be.

B Y THE afternoon, the pain is manageable with a little

pharmacological help, although nothing can completely

eliminate the hammering inside my head. I’m able to open

my eyes without tearing up as long as the blinds are kept

closed. The doctors take me away from Joe to do some more

tests. These hours without him are the longest. It’s as

though I can’t rest unless I know he’s near. By the time they

run an MRI and ask me questions about my name and what

year it is, I’m almost ready to lose it. When they finally wheel

me back to my room and I see Joe pacing the hallway with

barely concealed frustration, I dissolve into sobs of relief that

send shooting pain through my chest. Joe glares at the

orderly, and the two of them help me back into bed.

Once we’re alone, Joe wets a washcloth in the adjoining

bathroom and sweeps it across my forehead and over my

cheeks. The cool water on my heated face feels heavenly. “I

don’t think you cried this much when I made you watch The

Notebook ,” he teases.

Chris Scully - Inseparable.pdf

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