Chapter 1

Connor

 

Life. What is life? It’s shit, that’s the thing. It’s shit for people who don’t spend it well, and it’s shit for people whose life is gone, just like that. Well, my life was almost gone just like that. And it was all because of one stupid driver who hit me while I was driving. And yes, it was a car accident. A stupid one.

I was just driving home from a party. Yeah, I know. Car accidents usually happen at night, or when you're coming from a party. But I wasn’t drunk. Oh, no. I was sober and alert, my eyes full awake when I was driving. As I was about to turn, this stupid drunk driver hit me as I was turning, which made my car flip five times until it stopped.

I felt it, I felt him hitting me, but I wasn’t screaming. I didn’t do anything, and I just sat there in the damaged cold broken car. Blood everywhere, and I know it isn’t a pretty sight to see. Thank God someone called the ambulance, though.

I woke up three weeks later in the hospital, in shock. Yes, I had been in a coma. The first faces I saw were my parents. Sitting down on the chair. Praying, I think. As soon as I woke up, nurses and doctors rushed in before I even had a chance to say sorry to my parents. Apparently, they thought I was going to die for sure. The doctor said it was a ninety percent I was going to die. But I didn’t. Somehow, that ten percent stuck with me, and here I am. Alive. I guess my parents’ praying did work. Like I said, ninety percent of dying, coming from the doctor.

He told my parents and everyone that I was going to die, and there was no chance of me coming back alive. But I did, and here I am a year later, in bed listening to music while throwing a football up in the air.

I guess I should be lucky that I’m alive. But really? It’s the worst thing in the world for someone that wanted to die. I mean I never wanted to die, but ever since they told me about the crash, and how I needed a heart transplant, well, for people who’ve gone through that, living is the last thing they are thinking about. When I was in the coma they said that my heart wasn’t working and so I needed a heart transplant. Yup, scary, but honestly, I didn’t feel a thing. Maybe because of the coma that was caused because I hit my head hard during the crash, which caused some brain damage. The doctors figured that out after my heart transplant. I wasn’t functioning probably, and so they found out my brain was messed up too. So now I have a big eight-inch scar on top of my chest, where my heart is, also a metal plate in my head. Great, right? I now have a crappy brain and a crappy heart. I feel the luckiest boy in the entire world.

I stand up, since of thinking of the accident and I go to my mirror. I look normal, since it’s been a year, but really? Inside, I must look like shit. Take an x-ray of me, and then you’ll finally see what I look like. The boy in the mirror looks different. Not happy, not strong, not even worthy to be living. I mean I still look the same. I still work out, and I still have my muscles and abs. Twelve pack. Which would make all the girls go crazy, and the guys jealous. I’m also handsome. Like, really handsome. I know, I must sound like an asshole, but really, I am. My mother tells me that every day, which I know coming from a mom means a lie. But I did have lots of girls chasing after me. I was a kind of player.

I did have a girlfriend, but after the accident, I noticed she moved on and got another boyfriend. Nice, right? Wrong, I was mad before. Like, really mad. The mirror I’m looking at now is new. I broke my old one by punching it. If you saw my room before, I had holes in the walls. Like I said, I was mad. I mean can you blame me? She left me because I was hurt. She left me because she thought I was going to die, but no. I stayed alive which still haunts me every day.

Why the hell am I alive? What did I do to deserve this? I mean, maybe God must love me or something because I did nothing to deserve this. Now I’m basically just making myself mad, so I go downstairs. I see my parents sitting down on the couch watching a movie. My parents have been really nice to me throughout the whole year. I mean, they have barely left my side since I got out of the hospital. My mom thinks I’m brittle or something, and thinks that I’m going to fall if I just stand.

My dad thinks I’m pushing myself too much with school and stuff, which is not true. I mean I’m eighteen years old, going to university soon. I’m not giving that up, that’s for sure. I’m learning to become an engineer, and I’m not giving up that dream. I was going to be a football player but come on, that is so not going to happen, so engineering was my second plan. I know my parents hear me because of the creaks from the floor, and so they look up. Crap.

“Hey mom, dad,” I say with no emotion. I mean, why would I? I’m a cold, selfish asshole. Ever since the accident, that’s who I’ve been. And I haven’t changed since then. I just walk into the kitchen, opening the fridge to pull out a Gatorade. I really want to reach for the beer, but since my heart is crap, and my brain, I wouldn’t risk it. I pull the cap off the Gatorade and take a big sip out of it. My parents are still looking at me, not the movie. I kind of feel bad for them caring about me so much. I mean it’s my fault I’m wounded. It’s my fault that they’ve stayed all those nights at the hospital, with no sleep. I just walk out of the kitchen and about to go upstairs.

“Wait, Connor.” I hear my mom’s voice behind me. I turn around and see her walking up to me with a bag in her hand. Oh, hell no, it’s not my birthday, is it? I think while scratching the back of my head. Like I said, brain damage, can’t remember a darn thing sometimes. Mostly the unimportant stuff.

“I bought you something nice for you to wear when we go out today.” Oh hell no. She pulls out a fit black dress shirt. I forgot, we have dinner plans with my aunt and uncle. Crap. I groan which makes my mom roll her eyes.

“Connor, you are wearing this, you hear me? I want you to look nice for tonight. Also, it kind of is your last night with us and your brothers.” She says which I totally forgot. I’m leaving, like tomorrow. Yup, tomorrow is the day I go to university, alone. I’m free, which may sound like I always wanted to leave. I did. I felt like a sick patient all year. I’ve been counting the days since I got out of the hospital. Now today’s the last day. I leave tomorrow. As I try not to smile, and just take the shirt out of my mom’s hands and go upstairs.

I turn around and whisper thank you to her, remembering my manners. At least I didn’t forget about those. I close the door and take off my shirt. There it is. That disgusting scar across my chest. It may look cool to the girls, and some guys, but to me? I hate looking at it every time I change. I quickly unbuttoned the dress shirt and put it on. I button it and then look at myself in the mirror. Damn, I look good. But it’s not like I care anymore. Before I would have been taking pics of myself and texting them to everyone I know. Now, I don’t give a crap anymore. And I will never give a crap ever again.