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John sighed. “She’s got a fractured rib. Some stitches, a bad laceration on her head. Lots of bruising and scrapes”
Fucking hell, fractured rib? Cornell’s face twisted at the thought. But fractures can heal. She can heal.
“They’ve just got to settle her down a bit. She’s agitated,” he repeated.
Cornell imagined Ali asleep, maybe knocked out graciously by painkillers. “What do you mean she’s agitated?”
John shook his head. “She’s… I don’t know, confused. She seemed to hit her head pretty hard. Bobbi’s trying to calm her down. It’s quiet now. Whatever she did must’ve worked. Come, let’s wait.” He motioned down the hall to the waiting room where Cornell saw Tara sitting.
“What about Graham? Is he alright?” Cornell didn’t give a damn if Graham was okay or not. But if Ali was driving, it matters.
“Who?” Tara asked.
“Ali texted me she was going to drive him home—”
John’s voice rang with a slight edge. “Graham as in your former quarterback?”
“Only Ali was in the car,” Tara said. “I asked when I got here. I thought maybe you were with her.” She looked at Cornell sadly and placed a hand on his arm when he sat down.
I wish I was. Cornell rocked back and forth, the chair creaking beneath his weight. If Cornell had been home, he would’ve driven Graham and dropped him off. She should’ve never been alone with him. If he isn’t throwing shit across the room, this is what happens.
“Well, thank God you weren’t. And thank God it wasn’t anything worse.” John sighed, sitting beside him.
Cornell almost let himself agree. But then he heard it and realized just how wrong John was. Because there was nothing worse than the sound that rang out from a room down the hall—the bone-chilling shrill of Ali’s shrieks.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”
In seconds, Cornell chased the sound and stood at the doorway. “Ali,” he called out, but with the small herd of doctors and nurses surrounding the bed he could hardly see her. He watched Bobbi in the corner of the room clamp a hand over her mouth, partly hiding the pained expression on her face.
“Stop it,” Ali screamed. The burdening of her voice with heavy tears tore at Cornell’s heart. “Leave me alone.”
“Ali!” He took a step closer before a nurse stopped him.
“You need to wait outside, sir.”
Ali’s painful sobs turned to blubbering. Bobbi met Cornell’s eyes, shaking her head. He called her name again, more forcefully when there was a break in her crying. But it didn’t bring him any relief when her voice—raw and hopeless—cracked.
“Cornell.” Her breathing was so heavy he could hear it from the doorway. “Cornell, help me,” Ali cried, and the few staff around the bed held her down as she continued to whine and thrash again—half of the sound pleas for help, the other half cries of sheer agony.
Leave her alone.
“They need her to be still,” John said from behind him as he pulled at his shoulders. Cornell wouldn’t budge. “She’s confused from the head injury, but she’s hurting herself more.” John continued to speak, but Ali’s screams monopolized Cornell’s ears, leaving little else to take in.
She needs me. She’s scared and hurt and needs me.
Ali bellowed for him again.
Fuck me, Cornell thought as pain like he had never felt took hold of him—the pain of watching the person you love the most suffer. This is what torture is like, isn’t it?
“Come on.” John yanked on Cornell’s arm until he stumbled through the door. “She’ll be asleep in a minute.”
He locked his hands behind his head and paced down the hallway.
I’m here, baby. I’m here. Cornell wanted to scream it, so that on the other side of the wall, Ali would know. He couldn’t hear her anymore, and Cornell didn’t know if it was a good thing that her tearful objections had dried up. Her cries had been heart-wrenching, but suddenly Ali’s silence became agonizing and intolerable. Cornell rubbed at his chest.
“I’m going to call a colleague of mine who is a neurologist,” John said, standing. “I think we should insist on her getting an MRI.”
Cornell merely nodded as John walked further down the hall.
