What would you consider me, depressed or just mad? You can be both, especially when your parents die both from cancer and a car crash. Actually it wasn't the cancer that claimed their life but the car crash while they were driving to the hospital. My mom had the cancer and my dad was just driving. Strange huh, now people know that I am going to be leaving to go somewhere, which just so happens that the day I go, there is a school party. Talk about not planned hatred. It is a shame really. I was really beginning to like my school and now, goodbye it.
My plane ride was uncomfortable. I don't know who my taker is going to be. My mom has only a brother but he died to. My grandparents are too old to take care of me so that sort of puts me in a big question mark. I was told to be heading to California, why there? I wondered but got no answers and besides, no one was listening. I feel as though my life is being ripped to pieces and this was before I arrived at the airport in LA.
On the flight I revisited memories of my parents and three friend's funerals. I feel sort of as if their deaths were my fault. I mean, I was the one driving under the influence with my two friends, 15 year old Karie and 14 year old Ashley, in the back and my other friend, 16 year old Sara, in the front with me. We had been driving home from the club which we had snuck into and passed the hospital when we ran a red light and a some what familiar car was crossing the intersection. All I remembers from the particular crash is the sound of screaming of my friends and the crash. I had blacked out for some time when I woke in the hospital with an IV and a few monitors surrounding me. The hospital room grew hazy but then came in clear view and I could tell I was sober from who knows how many hours ago drinking.
I felt wrecked in the hospital from something I didn't remember just that second. Bruises covered my arms and my face was on fire. I noticed that there was a cast on my left arm and my right arm was covered with bandages. I noticed that my hair was tied back
The door to my hospital room opened and a red head nurse walked in. She was deeply tanned with blue eyes and carrying a clip board. She noticed that I was up because she came right over, "How are you feeling?" she asked in a thick southern accent.
"Fuzzy," was my reply hoarse reply.
The woman nodded then started to do some tests that you see doctors do during check ups. With blood pressure cast on my arm, I asked, "Were are my memories and how long have I been out?"
The woman smiled kindly then said, "You have been out for four days. Your memories will come back soon but for now, you have a visitor. I suggest you be wise and not ignore him."
Ignoring the question that I asked, the nurse wrote down a few things after she finished her rituals then left. As she left there was a hint of pity on her Hispanic face.
I closed my eyes and tried to act asleep when the door opened and two people came in each talking in a low voice. "She is sleeping," one said.
"Just faking," another replied, "Isabella, wake up. Officer Nead is here to talk to you."
I grinded my teeth and opened my eyes to face a man in a white robe, the doctor, and another, the police officer. "What," I asked in a sharp voice, not wanting to be questioned. "Were will I be going to now that my parents and friends are …" I cut off there not saying what was supposed to be said.
"I will not be telling you anything except that you broke several laws and your dad is going to send for you."
"Wait, you said 'my dad'. He is dead. How can anyone send from the dead or is he alive?" I asked.
"I don't have time for this but all I can say is that you will be going to California as soon as you are released. I will be driving you. Another thing, charges will be pressed," The Police Officer stood up, "Get well."
"Ya whatever," I muttered under my breath.
The officer left and the doctor began work.
I was released from the hospital a week later only to board a plane that will take me to dread but from a living Hell. The car was silent on the way to the airport, not that he wanted to talk. I had questions lined up on my tongue but instinct told me to keep my trap shut.
I boarded the plane without even looking behind me and sat in the back of the plane looking out the window only once. I immediately saw a police car pulling away. A slap of pain went up through my left arm; my pain killer at least took affect the next minute and for the next 12 hours.
Slowly and surely, I fell asleep only to wake when we were flying into LA. I was past the point of no return. No going back to the Hell back home but only to wait for the Hell yet to come.