Chapter 2: Rock Bottom
"It was almost eleven in the evening when a bus driver, fighting off exhaustion, briefly dozed off on his way to the final stop. When he awoke, he found the bus veering into the opposite lane, heading straight toward an oncoming vehicle. In a horrifying twist, that vehicle swerved away, colliding instead with a ten-wheeler truck that had been trailing the bus. The impact sent the vehicle skidding to the edge of a steep hillside.
In the haunting silence that followed, there was little hope that the vehicle could maintain its precarious balance. Yet, it tipped over the edge and tumbled down.
Emergency responders quickly transported the driver and passenger of the vehicle to the hospital. The driver, however, was pronounced dead upon arrival, while the passenger. . ."
Vernon turned off the television. The moment he recognized the sierra-burgundy Hyundai Palisade his friend owned, a cold wave of fear washed over him. He wanted to deny that his friend was involved in the accident, but the evidence was right there, too clear to ignore.
This wasn't just a mistake; it was his friend's car.
"Did you hear any news from Aunt last night?" he asked, calling Alexel as soon as he could.
"I didn't, actually. Why?" Alexel replied, unaware of what had happened to their friend. "And whose Aunt are you talking about?"
"Never mind," Vernon sighed, trying to keep his breathing steady. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid, knowing about his condition. Do you think he told his boyfriend about it?"
"Whether he did or didn't, it's not for us to get involved with, Vernon."
"I know. . . sorry for calling so early, Alex."
After he hung up, the scene replayed in his mind like a broken record. He tried calling his friend countless times, but his calls went unanswered. Sitting in front of the television, doing nothing but overthink, was driving him to the edge. Vernon valued friendship more than anything, and the fear of his suspicions being true made him feel like he was losing control.
He jumped up from his seat and ran outside. If waiting was driving him mad, at least taking action might bring him closer to the answers he needed.
Vernon had no idea where to go or what to do next. He didn't even understand why he was suddenly so anxious over something so uncertain, especially this early in the morning. All he'd wanted was a hot cup of brewed coffee to wake up his system—but now, finding answers felt like an urgent necessity.
***
"Where the hell is your son?"
Ethan woke with a nauseating feeling. The noise outside his private hospital room only made it worse. Faces and places he didn't recognize began flashing through his mind, giving him an excruciating headache. Even his loudest scream couldn't relieve the pain.
Moments later, people barged in, asking him if he was all right. He searched their faces for answers, but none of them had it.
"I told you," one woman in her mid-40s shouted, "you were never good for my son!"
"The accident was out of Ethan's control," another woman argued in his defense. "Why are you blaming my son? It was an accident, and your son was the one driving, in case you forgot."
"Are you saying it's my son's fault he's lying in the morgue right now?"
"No," Ethan's mother shook her head, "but I'm telling you that it's no one's fault. It was an accident that no one expected to happen."
"If only your reckless son had brought him home sooner, my son would still be alive. But they chose to run away together, and now—one is dead, and the other's lying here, helpless."
"Will you please shut up?"
"No," the other woman seethed, "I won't stop until your stubborn son understands where my hatred is coming from—he took my only son away from me!"
"Look, I am so sorry for—"
"STOP!"
Ethan screamed, and the room fell silent. He managed to steady his heartbeat, though the headache still throbbed. The two women who had been arguing stopped and stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
"Are you okay—"
"Who are you people?" he asked, struggling to recognize either of them.
"I'm your mom, Ethan. Don't you remember me? Lucille?"
"Is this some kind of sick joke to avoid taking responsibility, Ethan? Because none of you—"
"Lucille? Ethan? And. . . who's in the morgue? Who am I? Why can't I remember anything?"
Panic washed over Ethan as the realization hit him hard. Why was he in this stark white room? Why was he covered in stitches, with a bandage wrapped around his head? Countless questions swarmed his mind, each one more urgent than the last, but he didn't know where to begin.
Calling him scared would have been an understatement. Anxiety clawed at him, each passing second a new wave of dread. Yet, no one answered. Finally, Lucille rushed out of the room, calling urgently for a nurse.
"If you're just pretending to save yourself. . ." the woman in front of him sighed deeply, her eyes brimming with hatred and anger, "I won't hesitate anymore, Ethan. That accident? It was your fault. You got that?"
With a heavy heart, Ethan rubbed his chest, trying to find some calm within. He leaned back, about to close his eyes, when nurses and doctors rushed into the room. His questions about where he was now seemed almost unnecessary. Of course, he was in a hospital—yet he had no idea why.
The check-up lasted several minutes, a constant cycle of questions directed at a patient who had lost his memory after a traumatic accident. Ethan turned to his mother, desperate for answers, but she couldn't bear to tell him about his lover's death. Lucille could only look at him, her heart heavy with the truth she kept hidden.
"I'll just. . . take a nap."
Ethan hoped to find peace while lying in the hospital bed. He was grateful that his headache had subsided for a bit, but the ache in his heart was unbearable, and he didn't understand why. Deep inside, he mourned for something—someone—he could barely remember.
AAs he discreetly wiped the tears streaming down his face, sleep became inevitable. The thought that everything could be part of a dream sparked a flicker of hope in his heart as he prayed that this was all just a nightmare.
Ethan never wanted to forget anyone, especially not his loved ones. Since he was a little kid, the fear of losing those memories had haunted him. Now, that fear was becoming a painful reality.
"Sweet dreams, my little prince."
The moment Ethan closed his eyes, Lei and August sprinted down the hallway. Upon arriving at their destination, they found their friend in a deep slumber. They exchanged a sigh of relief, though it was tinged with heartbreak.
When was the last time Ethan had a peaceful life? Just today.
Most people who knew him believed his life was perfect. But they were mistaken; his life was no different from anyone else's.
Ethan had the means to buy whatever he desired.
But could money buy the blessing of his lover's family?
Ethan had a stable job that he was passionate about.
But could photography truly make his own family proud?
Ethan had friends who promised to have his back forever.
But could those promises last, given his current condition?
Ethan had the man everyone prayed for.
But could a dead person rise again to comfort him?
The answer is no, which means his life was never perfect, despite how people had portrayed it over the past few years. He had experienced many ups and downs, one of which involved running away from reality in search of happiness with the man who promised him eternity. But that man had already traveled to Neverland right before his eyes.
What a chaotic definition of a perfect life, especially coming from a broken man like Ethan.
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