Breaking Hailey (Shadows of Obsession Book 1)

I squint against the fluorescent lights, groaning when stabbing pain pierces my skull. I move to shield my eyes, but my fingers barely twitch, my arm heavy and numb.

Each breath feels like inhaling glass shards. The sterile smell of antiseptic irritates my nose, sending a spine-tingling chill down my back. The rhythmic beeping and the soft hum of air conditioning sounds like a haunted melody played on a dissonant violin.

My mind’s heavy, hazy, so disoriented it’s as if I’m still asleep, or waking from a long, exhausting dream.

The clues are there: the lights, the sounds, but my thoughts swirl around the answer for eons before I finally connect the dots: hospital.

Little by little I peek through my eyelashes, confirming the guess. The bright lights burn my retinas again, intensifying the headache that’s splitting my skull wide open.

The first vines of fear sneaking my gut are quickly tamed by acidic annoyance. I don’t like this helplessness and confusion. And I don’t like the colors—red, white, orange, and blue—twinkling and growing bigger before my eyes until they explode like fireworks in the night sky.

I’m starting to think I’ve been drugged…

Though surely drugs would minimize this pain not just make me all drooly and disoriented. That’s not the case right now. Every inch of my body hurts. Every inch is three times heavier than it should be, as if someone ramped up earth’s gravitational pull to match Jupiter’s.

Questions pop into my head like jack-in-the-boxes springing to life. Why? How? What happened?

Each demands an answer while I have none. Zero. Not even my own name. There’s a big black hole in the center of my brain, swallowing all information.

God, what is my name?

I swallow hard, shifting uncomfortably under the damp bed sheets clinging to my skin.

I’m overwhelmed and groggy, like I woke up from a decade-long nap, but it’ll pass. The big, fat nothingness in my mind where the answers to why, how, and what should be will clear as soon as I come to my senses.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

The answers will come.

As soon as I calm down, they’ll come, I’m sure.

I just need caffeine.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I center my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Too bad calming down on command is nearly impossible: my fingers tingle if I try to move them, and I can’t assess my body for damages without burning my eyes out.

Still, I try. I ignore the icy centipedes marching down my arms as my fingers inch across the rough bed sheets, searching for the nurse call button.

It should be within my reach, close in case of emergency…

It isn’t. I can’t find it.

Damn it!

My heart collides with my ribs again, the steady beep of the monitor no longer so steady. It matches my racing pulse, fueling a vicious cycle… The faster it beeps, the higher my anxiety level. The higher the level, the faster the beep.

I’m panicking.

It’s a terrifying feeling. Helpless and… familiar even though it’s been years.

My panic-attack-free streak is about to break because I can’t contain the thoughts consuming my mind or the fear exploding inside every cell of my body. I swear the beeping grows louder and louder and louder still and I-I… I can’t breathe.

Calm down.

I desperately grasp for control, for a semblance of calm, but panic courses through my veins, distorts reality, and mingles with the pain throbbing everywhere at once.

Parting my lips, I swallow small gulps of disinfected air that catch halfway down to my lungs.

Calm down. You’re alive. You’re okay. Breathe.

Breathe.

Fucking breathe!

“Hailey.” Dad’s voice cuts through the buzz filling my mind like a knife slicing butter.

Air leaves my lungs in a relieved gush. Hailey.

That’s my name. Hailey Scarlett Vaughn.

The swish of sliding doors muffles the whooshing in my ears and the mechanical beeps. Blinds ruffle softly as heavy boots shuffle on the floor.

It’s familiar. The heavy thump, the rhythm of his steps… Calming. Safe.

I swallow a ragged breath, marveling in the rush of oxygen filling my expanding lungs.

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Dad coos. “You’re fine. Try to calm down, okay? You’re safe, I promise.”

His calloused, warm hand covers mine, the familiarity of his touch so comforting that tears spring to my eyes. Relief rushes in, pushing the panic down enough to stabilize my breathing.

“Dad?” I rasp out, my vocal cords stuck together like strands of overcooked spaghetti.

“I’m here.” His fingers flex around mine, his tone loaded and emotional. “You’re okay, you’re in a hospital.”

I peek a little. The room’s blurry before I adjust, the burning sensation now manageable. Dad stands by the bed, his eyes heavy, bloodshot, and highlighted by dark circles. The salt and pepper of his hair, the crinkles around his mouth, deep lines marking his forehead… that’s not familiar. Not entirely. He looks like he aged ten years overnight.

“What—” I croak, the word sandpapering my dry throat. Using both hands for support, I try sitting up, but my body’s so heavy I barely move. “What happened?”

Dad’s quick to help, fluffing the pillows behind my back before carefully propping me up against them.

“Easy. Don’t rush, you must be sore.” His jaw works in tight circles and his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “You were in a car accident.”

“An accident?” I echo, knotting my eyebrows together. My mind whirls, searching for memories. There’s still nothing, save for my name and now Dad. I know me and I know him, but the accident… “I… I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay, sunshine.” He releases my hand to drag a chair closer. “Don’t worry about it. The doctor said you might be confused when you wake up. Your tire blew and you veered off the road.” He blinks at me, pinching his lips. He does that when he’s overwhelmed. “You went down a slope. The car rolled three times before you hit a tree.”

I peer down the length of my body, mostly hidden under the white sheets and hospital gown. It’s hard to judge where I’m injured or if anything’s missing.

Everything hurts.

I wiggle my toes, marveling in another wave of relief. All limbs present. That’s a start.

“How bad is it?”

“Could’ve been much worse,” Dad admits on a shaky exhale. He’s calming down. Tears no longer fill his blue eyes, and a small, crooked smile curls his mouth at the corners. “You’re a tough one. Always were. You’ll be fine. Just a few new scars for your collection. The biggest one will be here.” He touches the hollow of my shoulder. “A tree branch went through the window… speared you to the seat.”

I might not remember the accident, but I do remember that Dad always lays down the cold hard truth. Most parents—my mom included—would say something along the lines of don’t worry about it now, just rest, but not Dad.

I inhale sharply, realizing I can remember things. Not recent events or the accident, but… I remember stuff from years ago like the fact Dad doesn’t sugarcoat… that he never lies to me. Regardless of how painful the truth is.

When I snuck into his workshop as a little girl and accidentally cut my hand open on a saw, tearing through flesh and ligaments, Dad didn’t pretend that the stitching wouldn’t hurt.

When I fell off a tree three years later, ripping my thigh open against a sharp branch, he didn’t make out there’d be no mark when it healed.

When I fell off a bike at thirteen and split my lip hard enough it needed three stitches, Dad didn’t say it wouldn’t scar, even though by then I hated every scar marking my body.

I don’t need more scars. Thanks to my childhood clumsiness, I’m covered in them…

“Three broken ribs,” Dad continues, weaving his fingers through mine again. “Head trauma, internal bleeding, and twenty-nine stitches in total.” A heavy sigh saws past his lips. “You had me halfway to the grave with worry for a while, sunshine, but you’ll recover. I promise.”

That’s enough to calm me. Just as he never lies, Dad always keeps his promises.

I nod, my gaze sweeping the room. “Where’s Mom?”

“Mom?” Dad echoes. Surprise flashes across his face, giving way to a look I can’t quite place. “What do you mean, sunshine? She’s—” A single snort from his mouth sounds odd and makes little sense. His eyes grow rounder, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, running a heavy hand down his face. “I need to get the doctor. I won’t be long.”

“No! Please don’t leave,” I blurt out, reaching for him.

“I won’t be a minute. Matthews is right outside. He’ll keep an eye on you.” He slips out of the room, shooting me a smile that’s meant to be reassuring but doesn’t touch his eyes.

Flexing my fingers, I breathe through my mouth. He’ll come back. He won’t leave me here alone… it’s absurd that the thought even entered my mind.

I’m fine. In pain, but fine. I can wait.

Angling my head, I watch the door slide shut. Blinds are drawn along the entire glass wall, but I can make out Dad outside my room, gesticulating at someone.

Probably this Matthews guy. He’s tall and broad, his posture stiff as he nods along to whatever Dad’s saying. I don’t recognize his silhouette or surname, so he must be new. Though maybe not… I don’t know most of Dad’s colleagues.

I wonder why there’s a cop stationed at my door.

Maybe he’s here to ask questions about the accident.

A soft, unamused laugh bubbles in my chest. He can ask away, but it’ll be me looking for answers given that he must know more than I do.

With a frustrated huff, I fall back on the pillows, regretting it when the top of my head threatens to pop off.

Shouldn’t I be pumped full of painkillers?

Where’s the nurse call button?

With my eyes shut, I distract myself from the pain, focusing on clearing the blackness coating my mind.

What’s the last thing I remember?

College.

Rain.

A car… blue, small. Yes, my stormy-blue Golf. My parents leased it out for my seventeenth birthday and Dad chose that color because it matches my eyes.

I chuckle at the memory and how Mom and I teased Dad afterward that his black Ford didn’t match his eyes.

What else do I remember?

Taking the wheel. The rain pelted against the windscreen so hard the wipers couldn’t keep up. I cursed Climate Change as I gathered my hair into a ponytail.

It hardly ever rains in Florida in December.

I remember backing out of the parking space, joining the traffic, and…

My head throbs harder the more I push my brain for answers. I can’t find anything beyond seeing Tampa’s streets blurred by the unlikely rain. Whenever I grasp another detail, it slips through my fingers like sand.

I think my phone rang in my purse.

Did I reach for it? Is that why I crashed?

No… I remember pulling over to answer. The rain was falling in sheets, so I veered as far onto the side of the road as possible, switched on the hazard and the fog lights to make my little blue car more visible.

Maybe it didn’t work.

Maybe someone clocked the rear end…

No, Dad said my tire blew. I must’ve crashed after the phone call. Though a blown tire could be both the cause of an accident and the symptom.

Urgh!

Who called?

I massage my temples, my dizziness morphing into frustration. Dad said he’d only be a moment, but the clock ticks, ticks, ticks some more, and I’m alone, surrounded by hospital machines. My heartrate kicks up its pace the longer Dad’s gone.

What’s taking so long?