You scuffed your feet dejectedly on the damp sidewalk, kicking a few tiny pebbles into a puddle nearby. Lately, you hadn’t been feeling like yourself, dwelling over the absence of your boyfriend after a recent fight. You saw each other rarely, but days of separation after disagreeing always made the hours stretch on interminably.

Fights didn’t occur frequently between you two. Most disagreements diffused quickly, one person offering to make a compromise for the good of the relationship. This time, neither of you were willing to budge, and were both two stubborn to call and apologize. It was tempting. You restrained yourself when you reached for your cell phone, stifling your consideration of giving him a call. The thoughts were conflicting and inconsistent, dominating your attention.

You stepped down from the curb, crossing at your usual corner. With your present distraction, you had forgotten to check the crosswalk. A car turned quickly around the corner as it should have, unable to see you cross in time to stop. Your mind became a blur of sensation as you smacked from the car’s hood and onto the ground, rolling uncontrollably back to the pavement. The scenes around you seemed to pass by in shutters, strangely slow and lapsed.

Screeching tires tore at your eardrums, stopping at an angle on the road. The next moment was horrifically blank, void of perception and thought. This emptiness lasted only a second before you faced a rush of sensations. The street was sideways, so you had to be lying on the ground. Everything around you had green tinges, the world’s colors distorted and imperfect. You called out as feeling returned to your body, surges of pain pulsing from every spot. Sticky warmth tingled on your arms, legs, and face, a blinding agony in your chest. Breathing was laborious and nearly impossible, the extraordinary sensation in your ribcage growing number by the second.

Black spots clouded the corners of your vision, fading in a pulse as the driver’s feet approached you quickly. The sounds of people were disconnected from their faces, your brain unable to process senses with any organization. Someone was trying to talk to you, but bubbled words and tears were all you could offer in response. The pain faded with your vision, and you shut down quickly, your mind turning off in an effort to cope with the injuries.

*

Someone at the hospital had tried to call your boyfriend on your cellphone, desperate to connect with your emergency contact.

He looked down at his phone, surprised to see your number blinking on the screen. His fingers lingered over the green button, but he held back. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say, and didn’t want to continue the fight. Perhaps you were calling to apologize? He shook his head, running his hands tensely through his hair. Later. He would deal with this later.

Doctors swarmed you for hours, testing, analyzing, and doing everything they could to repair the damage to your fragile organs.

Fortunately, you had made plans with your friend Miyoung that evening. Worry bubbled in her chest when you didn’t meet at the restaurant, and she called your cell phone in concern. A nurse answered the call, softly asking Miyoung to come to the hospital.

She arrived in a frantic state, explaining to the staff that your family lived in a different country. They helped her make the phone call, and your parents promised to ride the next plane they could catch. One hand wiped away tears, her other holding yours tightly. She gripped your fingers with worried desperation, being careful not to jostle the starchy bandages covering the road rash on your palms. You were still unconscious, kept sedate by an IV while you healed.

When visiting hours finished, she returned to her car, gripping the steering wheel with anger. Why hadn’t your boyfriend shown up? The hospital had called him twice, and he didn’t offer even an answer. She started the vehicle, driving quickly in the opposite direction of her apartment.

His band member opened the door, clearly startled by the fuming woman standing on his porch in the early hours of the night.

“Miyoung? What are you…” She shoved past him, walking into the kitchen with anger palpably clear on her face. Your boyfriend sat with his mouth open, stray noodles hanging out as she began to yell at him loudly.

“Why the hell aren’t you at the hospital right now?” He looked confused.

“Hospital? Why would I be in the hospital?” Miyoung sighed with exasperated frustration.

“You’re such an idiot! Your girlfriend was in a terrible accident, and you’re sitting her eating ramen?!”

“What?!” He stood up, almost knocking over his bowl in the process. His eyes stared wildly, as though daring her to tell him it was all in jest. She realized quickly that your boyfriend was genuinely concerned for your welfare, and calmed her stature accordingly. Quickly, she explained the details of your accident, adding in softly that the hospital had tried to call. His breaths grew heavy and panicked, and for a moment he seemed as though he would require medical attention as well. Daringly she stepped forward, slapping him lightly on the cheek.

“Will you calm the hell down?” He was sobered instantly, a glassy shine in his brown eyes. “Visiting hours are over for today,” she explained calmly. “But I’ll bring you there tomorrow. Don’t freak out. She’s stable right now, be thankful for that.”

*

As he walked swiftly through the large doors, sweat beaded uncomfortably on your boyfriend’s palms. Even as Miyoung assured him you were going to survive, thoughts of the worst possible variety repeated in his mind like a broken cassette tape.

Tears blurred his vision again when he entered your room. Beneath an array of bandages and tubes, you were hardly recognizable. What skin he could see was blue and spotted, tainted by the road burns you received as you slid. Your eyelids were pale and heavy, deep purple shading beneath them. He reached gently for your hand. Your teal nail polish was chipped and dull, but offered him the slightest reassurance that he could distinguish you.

It took half of the day before you grew in consciousness, your medication slowly being lowered by the hour. Your eyes cracked open laboriously, focusing gently on the encouraging smile of your best friend. You smiled at her, wincing at the pain in your jaw from the motion.

“That was a nasty accident you got yourself in,” she said, looking relieved at your recognition. Your boyfriend nearly flew from the stiff plastic chair, leaning close to your face as soon as he knew you were awake.

“I’m so sorry! I should have answered my phone! I didn’t know, I thought maybe you were calling because…I didn’t even think! I really should have answered. I can’t believe this happened… I just…I’m so sorry!” His words came to you in a rush, bombarding and overwhelming your still sensitive ears.

“Please,” you said quietly. “Please stop talking.” He took a step backwards, his expression a mixture of hurt and confusion.

“I…I’m sorry,” he said, wondering if perhaps he should leave the room. You sighed, trying to find the right words without overexerting yourself.

“No, don’t go. I just…have a headache.” You offered him a small smile, trying to convey your honest efforts to reassure him. He understood instantly, kneeling close to you and gently lifting a hand to your hair. Miyoung smiled in the background, and quietly left the room. He your hair back lightly.

“I really am sorry,” he said. A few minutes passed, and neither of you could remember the reason behind your argument in the first place. As he took in the extent of your injuries, your boyfriend rested his face miserably on your blanket.

“I should have been there to protect you,” he said, his voice muffled in the sheets. You rolled your eyes.

“There’s not much you would have been able to do anyway. Don’t be dramatic.” At these words he lifted his head and smiled. Even in your injured state, you managed to retain an attitude.

Both of you knew healing wouldn’t be instantaneous, but in a way the accident had healed your relationship. He took a hiatus, staying with you at the hospital to spend time with you and your parents. As you grew in strength, he kept you entertained, even wheeling you in a chair to the vending machine when your nurses were out of the room. He promised with a resolute determination to always answer the phone when you called.

“Even if you’re in the bathroom?” you asked, a humorous look of disgust on your healing face. He paused.

“Maybe I’ll just call back.” You laughed, elated that you could finally appreciate his sense of humor without the burning sensation in your ribcage.

“Thank you,” you said, smiling brightly. He looked perplexed.

“You’re…welcome? For what.”

“For being here.” It was his turn to smile. He leaned closely, kissing you gently.

“I was serious, you know. I’ll always come when you call.”