Wastime Time and the Bellflower

The airbags deployed instantly like a bomb going off. The smell of gunpowder came rushing into my nose.

The car was overturned, leaving me hanging upside down with blood streaming down my forehead and dripping onto the roof of the car.

Meanwhile, someone was punching at the car window.

“Sir! Sir, are you alright?”

I tried to speak, but no voice came out. My left arm was throbbing with pain. I must have broken a bone.

When the rescuers pulled me out, I realized I had been hit by a car. The other car driver's door was pried open, and soon, a young man was helped out.

It was Stanley. He did not seem to have sustained serious injuries.

While I was lifted onto the stretcher, my left arm was bent at an unnatural angle. I could hear the paramedics shouting urgently.

“It seems like a bone fracture. There could be internal bleeding. Hurry up!”

When I was being rushed down the hospital corridor, I was blinded by the lights overhead. I was wheeled into the emergency room.

The doctor told me I might have sustained a concussion and that my left arm was fractured. I was informed they would have to check for internal bleeding as well.

After the examination was complete, I was wheeled out to the corridor and told to wait for the results.

That was when I heard a round of hurried footsteps.

Clementine rushed into the emergency room. Her hair was disheveled, and her face was covered in sweat.

She grabbed the first nurse she saw and asked frantically, “Where’s Stanley Brickley? Stanley Brickley! The one who was rushed here after an accident! He…”

The nurse gestured at an adjacent ward.

“You must be Mrs. Knaupper. Your husband, Mr. Brickley, is in ward three. He only sustained minor injuries and is recovering from shock. Don’t worry…”

“Alright, good. Good…” She murmured repeatedly to herself before suddenly remembering something and clutching at the nurse again.

“There’s someone else I’m looking for! What about Luke? How is he?”

The nurse flipped through the records.

“Mr. Everett has sustained a fractured left arm, a concussion, and they’re still checking for internal bleeding. He needs to be warded for further observation.”

A troubled look flashed past Clementine’s face only for such a short instant that it was nearly imperceptible.

Then, she turned and rushed towards ward three.

I lay on the stretcher and watched as she rushed into the ward and took the traumatized Stanley into her arms.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m here…”

I could hear her voice spilling into the corridor.

I closed my eyes. The pain from my broken arm was excruciating.

Soon, the doctor wheeled me into my ward. I lay for a while before reaching for my phone with my uninjured hand.

I took a look at the last message I had received from Clementine sometime last night. It read: “Luke, give me one more chance. I swear I’ll make things right this time.”

I scrolled up.

There were seven years of chat history, adding up to tens of thousands of messages. There was a range of texts spanning from good morning texts, good night texts, what are you eating, and I miss yous.

I stared at them for what felt like ages until a doctor showed up to issue some instructions.

I listened to him silently before demanding, “I’d like to be discharged.”

Though my voice was hoarse, it was also very determined.

The doctor could not talk me out of it. Left without a choice, he prescribed the appropriate medication before urging me to return for a follow-up appointment.

I nodded.

After leaving the hospital, I went home to pack my belongings.

I packed up everything Clementine had given me over the years and sent them back to her along with a signed agreement annulling our engagement.

After saying goodbye to my parents, I took a taxi to the airport.

The airport terminal was relatively vacant at this hour. After checking in for my flight, I went through customs before settling down in the waiting area.

My left arm was bandaged in a cast slung across my chest, which ended up attracting some stares.

I ignored them and reached for my phone in the bag.

Upon turning it on, I found countless missed calls and hundreds of messages from Clementine. The last one was from ten minutes ago.

“Luke, where are you? They told me you left! Answer the phone! We need to talk!"

I tapped on the conversation box and hovered my finger over the screen for a long time before settling on a short and curt reply, “Forget about it.”

I sent the text, blocked her, and turned off my phone all in one go.

As the plane took off, the sun was just about to rise. Blinding streaks of sunlight filtered through the cotton-like clouds.

I shut my eyes.

'From now on, we will be worlds apart. Good luck, Clementine.'