A Shattered Moment

by Tiffany King

  Tracey would say he was hunk-worthy. My breath hitched at the errant thought that had slipped into my mind. My heart thumped erratically in my chest. I clasped my hand against it, trying to ease the ache that was quickly spreading down to my clenching stomach. Pulling my eyes away from Bentley, I forced my mind to go blank. As long as I didn’t think about them, I could make it through another minute, another hour, and maybe another day.

  As I worked to pull my thoughts from entering what I called my dark zone, I kept my eyes away from Bentley, blaming him for taking me there in the first place. The idea was irrational, I realized. It’s not like it was his fault we had run into each other on campus. He had as much right to be here as I did. How ironic that in a city with millions of people, I would run into the EMT who had helped save my life.

  • • •

  graduation night 2013

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the EMT said, moving to my side as the machines I was hooked to responded to my distress. “You need to calm down.” He adjusted the oxygen mask on my face. “Breathe in slowly,” he coaxed, leaning over to make sure the mask was snug against my cheeks. The panic dispersed slightly as oxygen entered my airway. My lungs inhaled deeply while I looked into my rescuer’s eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” His hand gently stroked my head. If the tape on my forehead wasn’t restricting my movement, I would have shaken my head in protest. It would never be okay.

  “Trust me,” he murmured, seeing the doubt in my eyes. He continued to stroke my head. His touch worked better at soothing me than the oxygen now pouring into my lungs. I could also feel my head beginning to clear.

  With one last sudden jerk of the wheel, the ambulance pulled into the brightly lit emergency bay at Halifax Medical Center. I lost sight of my rescuer after several medical personnel surrounded my stretcher, which was cautiously lifted from the vehicle. I wanted to call out to him. I couldn’t do this by myself.

  • • •

  I glanced back toward the table to see if he was looking at me. He wasn’t, of course, and I couldn’t blame him. I was pretty much a bitch. After everything he had done for me, I couldn’t muster a thank-you, or any other way to show my appreciation. Instead, I’d basically told him off.

  I was unsure of how long Bentley stuck around because I couldn’t bring myself to peek in his direction again. To show any kind of interest would be a misrepresentation of my intentions. I was incapable of functioning as a normal person. Not because of my limp, or even my less-than-perfect smile, but because I was nothing but a shell. Everything inside me died more than a year ago.

  The serenity of the library had been replaced by a blanket of painful reminders. As the afternoon bled into evening and the light outside dimmed from twilight to nighttime, the library began to empty. I never looked up as each set of footsteps passed. My headphones and iPad gave the illusion that I was too busy to care. Finally able to breathe normally again, I packed up my bag. Tomorrow, the library would be my sanctuary again. Bentley had mentioned that studying in the library wasn’t his thing. Hopefully, today had been a fluke, and I wouldn’t run into him again.

  three

  Bentley

  I slammed my anatomy book closed a little louder than necessary, earning a curious glance from a long-legged redhead who had been eye flirting with me since she sat down. For a solid hour, I’d been staring at the same damn page in my book without comprehending a single word. My focus was for shit today. I could blame it on trying to study at the library rather than my apartment, but truthfully, the reason for my distraction was sitting in a chair across the room. Not the redhead who was practically begging for me to notice her, but the five-foot-something, sharp-tongued cutie who had basically told me to take a flying leap. She’d introduced herself as Mac. I remembered her name being Mackenzie, but Mac was better. It suited her.

  I recognized her the instant she sat in my chair. How could I not? For days following the accident, the media had a field day splashing her and her friends’ faces on every news channel. Maybe that was the reason I found myself so captivated with her at the moment. It definitely wasn’t her winning personality, since she practically had a no trespassing sign hanging from her neck. Being shot down might have bruised my ego any other time, but her “fuck off” attitude intrigued me.

  She was not only my first rescue, but now the first person I’d rescued and then bumped into in a normal setting. I remember that night clearly. The guys at the station called me “The Green Pea” because I was new to the job. I was so nervous when the dispatch alarm went off that I launched myself from the chair I was sitting in like I had just heard the starting gun for a hundred-meter dash. The worst part was I tripped over my own feet and fell face-first into my supervisor’s ass. Steve was the lead paramedic and luckily a patient dude. Newbie or not, when we arrived at the scene of the accident, I was thrown right into the thick of things.

  The images of their crushed Suburban have stayed with me to this day. When our rescue crew arrived on the scene, I remember assuming there was no way anyone could survive an accident of that magnitude. The one point Steve had hammered into my head that first day was that not everyone can be saved. It was a tough pill all first responders were forced to swallow. I stood like a deer in headlights, staring at the mangled heap of twisted metal. After all my anxiousness for my first call, I suddenly panicked that I wouldn’t be able to hack it as an EMT, let alone continue my education to become a certified paramedic.

  “James, get your ass over to the passenger side and check for signs of any survivors!” Steve had yelled, snapping me into action. After that, it was Mac who reminded me of why I’d chosen to become an EMT. That night she needed me. Even with my limited responsibilities, I felt I had helped her that night.

  • • •

  The redhead working for my attention jerked my thoughts back to the present. She stood up, making a show of stretching out a kink while her tight black Hollister T-shirt rode upward, exposing a taut tanned stomach that she was obviously proud of. She eyed me appraisingly for a moment before sashaying in my direction.

  “Hey, you want to get some coffee or maybe a drink?” Her voice had a female huskiness that was sexy and inviting.

  I contemplated her words. She was smoking hot, and judging from the way she was eyeing me, she liked what she saw. I glanced over toward Mac. Her head was down like it had been all afternoon since our exchange earlier. Her hair cascaded over her face, hiding it from view. By the way she was feverishly typing on her iPad, it was obvious I was the farthest thing from her mind. Her indifference should have turned me off. I might not be a chiseled Greek god, but I’d never had much trouble in the girl department. As evidenced by Red standing in front of me, asking me out. I didn’t need to chase after someone who clearly wasn’t interested, but that was the problem. I swear I’d caught a hint of interest from Mac before I commented on her smile. I’m not sure why, but after that she clammed up. I guess I came on too strong. Some girls don’t like that. Regardless, I may have struck out, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.

  “Can’t. I have a bitch of a test coming up in anatomy,” I answered, dragging my eyes away from Mac and back to the redhead. She seemed put out that she didn’t have my full attention.

  “Come on, everyone deserves a break, right?” She placed a manicured hand on my bicep, sliding her fingers up to my shoulder and back down.

  “Believe me, I wish I could, but I need to hit this hard tonight.” I held up my book for evidence.

  “You sure that’s what you want to hit tonight? You have no idea what you’re missing,” she purred, still softly running her hand along my arm, leaving no doubt as to what she wanted. Her words had the opposite effect of what she had hoped, like a bucket of cold water being dumped on my head. I knew her type. Hell, freshman and sophomore year I’d seen more ass than a proctologist. My roommates and I had been in hog heaven after realizing many college girls were much more prone to jump into bed than t
hey were in high school. It was as if they’d left their inhibitions back home and were now embracing their inner bad girl.

  Eventually, it hit me that my friends and I couldn’t be the only guys on campus getting lucky with some of these girls. One night at a party, I walked in on Lisa, a girl I was starting to fall for, while she was going down on some douche. Needless to say, I slowed down in the chick department after that. My roommates like to tease me now and call me a monk, but I’m not dumb enough to get burned twice.

  “No thanks,” I replied, gently extracting her fingers from my arm.

  Apparently, rejection was new to her, because she looked baffled. “You sure?” Her lips pouted as a last-ditch attempt to be cute.

  My eyes zeroed in on her puckered lips. Despite myself, I had to admit, I was turned on. What could I say? I’m still a guy. “Yeah. My test won’t pass itself.” I exhaled. My words had far less conviction than I was displaying on the outside.

  “Maybe some other time?” she asked.

  “Uh, sure. Maybe I’ll run into you again sometime.” The final cardinal sin I committed was not asking for her phone number. My roommates would definitely kick my ass and call me a pussy if they heard about this one.

  She continued to look perplexed as she shrugged her shoulders and walked off without another word.

  My eyes followed one of the finest rear ends I had ever seen, and for a moment, I felt like maybe my ass did need to be kicked.

  The guy sitting in the chair to my right looked at me like I had turned down a million-dollar lottery ticket. “Dude, I can’t believe you just said no to that.” He was voicing my own sentiments, practically drooling as she pushed through the exit door. “Did you see how fucking long her legs were? Legs like that were made to wrap around your waist while you see if you can bottom out. You know what I mean?” he said, thrusting his hips in and out. “You gotta be crazy, dude. Or high.”

  “Crazy” pretty much fit. Feeling a bit like a chump, I shoved my book and papers into my backpack. Studying at the library had proven to be too much of a challenge. I needed space to spread out and access to food and drinks to fuel my brain. Not to mention, the library was too quiet. Apparently, I needed Michael’s tunes blasting from his room and the sound of my best friend, Chad, playing Halo at full blast to get any studying done.

  Shouldering my backpack, I nodded at the guy who thought I was a total dick for not taking up Red on her offer and headed for the door. I was tempted to stop and talk to Mac one last time, but I decided to play it cool and give her a little space. I’d be seeing her again. I would make sure of that.

  The sun had already set, but the air was still thick with humidity when I pushed the library door open to leave. I barely noticed, setting off purposefully toward my apartment on the edge of campus. I was used to heat, having been born in south Florida. Cold weather was a completely different story. My parents took me skiing in Aspen when I turned eighteen, and I was a total pansy. I thought my balls would never recover from the frigid temperatures. Give me heat and humidity any day.

  It looked like every light was on in the apartment I shared with Chad, my high school best friend, and Michael, a guy I had met from work. I could hear the sound of Master Chief’s voice from Halo through the front door as I twisted the knob.

  “Where you been all day?” Chad greeted me without looking away from the game on our fifty-inch TV.

  “Studying. Weren’t you playing when I left this morning?” I sank down on the couch, reaching for a slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table.

  “Mom, is that you?” he asked, shooting an alien. “No, not you, Slick. I was talking to B. He just walked in,” Chad said into the microphone of the headset he was wearing, speaking to one of his online teammates.

  “Like I’d claim a douche like you as my kid. And tell Slick I said what’s up.” Chad responded by throwing pizza crust at my head. I snatched it from the air before it could hit the ground, and shoved it into my mouth.

  “Want to play?” He tossed one of the spare controllers my direction.

  “Nah, I can only beat your guys’ asses so many times.” I placed the controller on the table and ducked when he threw an empty beer can at my head.

  “You wish, bitch. I’m a Halo god.”

  “Riiight,” I teased. “I need to shower anyway.”

  “I thought I smelled something foul.”

  “Shit, that’s your upper lip, bro.” I pulled off my T-shirt as I stood up and headed toward the bathroom.

  “You’ll have to get Sherman out of the shower,” he called after me.

  “Fantastic.” Sherman and I had a hate-hate relationship. He liked to show his distaste for me by spitting and hissing. As far as I was concerned, he deserved a shallow grave.

  Opening the bathroom door, I kicked a pile of Chad’s and Michael’s clothes out of the way to get to the shower. I couldn’t complain. None of us were the best housekeepers. The only time it was ever really clean was when we knew one of our moms would be in town. We’d learned that lesson the hard way sophomore year when Chad’s mom almost had a coronary when she walked through the front door.

  Plucking a towel off the floor, I sniffed it to see if it was clean. It still had a faint scent of detergent, so I figured I was safe. I tossed it on the counter and approached the shower with trepidation. I should have told Chad to come get Sherman himself, but that would earn me the title of Total Pussy for a solid week.

  I groaned, glaring down at the fluorescent green demon that was hanging out in an inch of water in our tub. “Don’t be an asshole, Sherman.” He responded to my words by hissing at me—ungrateful reptile. He obviously didn’t give a shit who the shower belonged to. Reaching a hand down cautiously, I tried to extract the iguana, which was more than a foot long. That wasn’t even counting his tail, which was almost as long. His tail whipped against the ceramic tub with a thud. I jerked my hand out of harm’s way, but not before he grazed it. The little fucker, he did that on purpose. I swear the green monster had it in for me. After a few more failed attempts at grabbing him, I finally wrapped my hands around his leathery body and deposited him into his aquarium in Chad’s room. Several welts decorated the back of my hand for my trouble. He was lucky I didn’t feed him to the German shepherd next door. Sherman would make an excellent chew toy.

  Twenty minutes later, I was showered and had another slice of pizza in my iguana tail–whipped hand. I shoved a pile of discarded clothes off my bed and sat down in front of my laptop, clicking the Google icon. I’d be up half the night studying, but that didn’t stop me from investigating what had been occupying my mind all afternoon. It didn’t take a lot of searching to find a list of articles about Mac and her friends. I clicked on the first website and a full picture of Mac and the others filled the screen. I’d seen this image dozens of times. It was the one the news stations loved to show viewers because of the poignant feel of lost youth. In the picture, Mac and her friends were decked out in graduation robes with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. They all looked so damn happy. Apparently, it was their last picture together. Little did they know that hours later their lives would never be the same.

  I was beginning to feel like a stalker, but I enlarged the image so I could see Mac’s face more clearly. She was laughing and seemed so carefree. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and her full lips were stretched into a wide smile. The girl I saw today was a far cry from the one smiling out at me on my computer screen. Her eyes no longer gleamed. They were flat and dull like an old stone.

  four

  Mac

  Friday morning I still felt a little out of sorts over my encounter with Bentley, so I decided to take the cowardly approach and give up the sanctuary of the library for the weekend. With any luck, he would find another study spot and my world could return to normal on Monday. Since I had no Friday classes, I spent the day reading in bed and mentally preparing myself for the impending dinner with my parents that I had grudgingly agreed to. Trin
a never made an appearance, which wasn’t surprising. I had no idea where she had gone, but she hadn’t slept in her bed in days. She obviously still came and went from our dorm room when I wasn’t here, because occasionally I would return to find some of her clothes freshly folded on her bed. I guess she was using our room for nothing more than her closet at this point.

  Later that afternoon, I sat in a booth with my parents at Olive Garden, engaged in the customary small talk about school and how I was feeling. Inevitably, the conversation shifted to “the case.” Every time the subject came up, it felt like I was watching a scene in a movie. I could almost hear the dramatic soundtrack of dun-dun-duunn as Mom’s and Dad’s normal faces would shift on cue to hardened expressions of concern. Over the past year and a half I’d gotten used to their transformation from loving, gentle-minded parents to unforgiving, hard-as-granite protectors whenever they discussed the accident. They were prepared to fight the insurance company and the trucking company for as long as it took until reparations were satisfied. I was not looking for a battle¸ though. The longer the fight dragged on, the more the memories of losing my friends gnawed at me. At times I felt like a dead carcass being devoured by wild animals.

  Eventually we exhausted the subject, only to move to my second least favorite topic—Tracey’s mom.

  “She misses you. She feels like she not only lost Tracey, but you, too,” Mom implored when I shook my head at her suggestion that I give her a call. I had always been closer to Tracey’s mom, Patricia, than any of my other friends’ parents. She looked younger than her actual age. Tracey had physically favored her so much that quite often people mistook them for sisters. It was a fun game we played throughout high school. Tracey and her mom would even go so far as to call me their sister when anyone would ask. “You spent as much time growing up at Tracey’s house as you did at your own home. The twins miss you,” my mom added.