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“Hey Anne, did you know that the liver can regrow itself?”
“Uh no Marcy, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, it can grow back even if half of it is gone! That’s probably gonna come in handy right about now.”
Anne tries to grin at her, but the best she can give is a demented sort of half-cringe. She’s not looking at Marcy as the car swerves to the right. Even if she wanted to (which she does not– not that she doesn’t like looking at Marcy, she does, just not right now!), she can’t look. She kinda has to focus really fucking hard right now, what with the
giant metal pole sticking out of the windshield.
How it happened, Anne has no idea. One minute Marcy is laughing beside her, happily chatting about something in her latest video game, the next they’re smack dab in the middle of that one Final Destination movie.
You know, the one with the truck and the logs? The one that everyone thinks of when they’re driving behind a big scary truck? That one. They’re living that movie right now. Only this time, the truck dropping various construction equipment didn’t kill them.
Nah. It just impaled Marcy right in the gut.
It’s not everyday your PTSD from being a child soldier kicks in. By the time Anne comprehended what just happened, Marcy had looked down at the metal tube in her stomach, and all she said was
darn.
Anne let out a much more reasonable scream before stepping on the gas. And then just… didn’t stop.
She didn’t mean to just keep driving, ok? She panicked! What was she supposed to do? Call an ambulance? In this economy? She gets $18 an hour cleaning frog tanks! Who knows if Marcy even
has
health insurance. She could call Sasha, but Sasha just got that new job at the hospital working with sick kids and she doesn’t want to ruin that by asking her to
pretty please give us a family and friends discount.
Anne can only imagine what this must look like to other people on the highway. The truck didn’t even stop; it probably didn’t notice it was missing cargo in Marcy’s fucking spleen or whatever. But imagine, you watch some wayward pole stab a girl, and instead of pulling over, the car keeps moving. How do you react? Apparently, you do nothing. Granted, LA has seen
far
weirder (that may or may not have also been Anne’s fault but whatever). At least a dozen cars have moved to give them space, and for that Anne is grateful.
Now if only Marcy would shut up.
“Your liver can grow back three times, actually,” Marcy says as if she’s not actively bleeding all over Anne’s car. Her tone is just as chipper as it was before she got impaled. She’s taking this remarkably well, actually. Then again, this isn’t her first rodeo with being stabbed.
Man. If Anne had a fucking nickel.
"That is great news Marmar, yep, I'm really glad that's a thing that our body can do! Very happy that your liver is gonna be fine but–” she pauses. “Wait. Three? Does it stop after three?”
“Apparently.”
“Is there a reason why?”
“I dunno,” Marcy tries to shrug, then frowns. “That feels weird. I probably shouldn’t do that. At least it missed my lungs this time!”
Anne lets out a laugh. Or maybe more of a sob. She’s not sure. Anne doesn’t mean to be snappy with Marcy, truly. She loves listening to Marcy talk. It’s one of her favorite sounds, right up there with Domino purring and
“Love Choice is getting a reboot”
. Hell, she could sit here and sing all of Marcy’s praises if she so wanted! But this is insane, right? This has to be like, top ten craziest things Anne has ever done. And that’s saying a lot.
Listen. Her Marcy-getting-impaled limit is 0, and yet she’s seen it twice! TWICE!! That’s two plus zero! Two times too many! Don’t get her wrong, Anne is
so
glad Marcy is up and talking and not screaming her head off, but somehow this isn’t much better.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marcy poking at the pole, her fingers thrumming a tune she doesn’t recognize into the metal. “That feels
so
weird,” she says, but keeps doing it anyway.
“Stop that.” Anne swats her hand blindly in Marcy’s direction. Frog, she can feel a headache forming. What is it with Marcy and having no regard for her safety? She’s gotten better since they were kids but this is a whole other level. At least last time she took it seriously, and Anne doesn’t like to think about
last time
, even on a good day. “Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, passing out from blood loss or something?”
“Maybe the Core super-engineered me to be durable. Maybe I’m like some super strong soldier and I can take a bullet or something!”
“Let’s not test that?” Anne pleads.
“I was kidding,” Marcy nudges her with her elbow. “Shock’s one hell of a drug, Anna Banana. Last time I didn’t feel it either. I'll probably be screaming in an hour, maybe less.”
Anne resists the urge to smack her. “Great.”
Marcy glances up at the road. “Hang on, that’s not the right exit.” She grabs her phone; it somehow didn’t break in her pocket. “Did you even put the hospital into the GPS?”
She knew she was forgetting something. “I didn’t really have time for that!”
Marcy laughs as she inputs the address. “Ok ok, I got it, just make a right…? No no, left. Haha, shock. Getting my rights and lefts mixed up!”
Anne lets out a strangled noise like a dying animal. Her heart thuds in her chest like a tidal wave. “Marcy please. I am trying so hard right now not to cry, please do not make it worse.”
“Sorry, I guess the filter is gone right now.” Marcy continues to ignore Anne’s one and only request. “At least Andrias was nice enough to cauterize it, yaknow? Left a shit ton of scar tissue, but I don’t think they had a blood bank. I wonder if they would’ve synthesized human blood? Or maybe they did?”
“Wasn’t your blood green for like, a year?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cuz of the sulfur in the tank.” Marcy hums. “Oh shit, watch out!”
Anne flinches as the car in front of them brakes. She has to break much sooner than normal, to avoid spearing the other cars. Maybe they’d make a little daisy chain of fucked up cars, wouldn’t that be a sight. Why hasn’t someone called 911 yet? Surely someone would see this, go
hm, that’s not right,
and report this, right? Can’t someone free her from this hell?
“Aw man, sorry about your seat,” Marcy sighs. “I’m getting blood all on it.”
Anne laughs an octave above normal. Her heart is going so fast she feels light-headed. “Yeah, it’s fine dude, it’s whatever.” Her voice is strangled.
“Am I pinned to the seat…?” Marcy wiggles around. Blood spurts from the wound as she shifts. “Anne, can you see if it came out the other side?”
“
I’m kinda busy right now!
” As soon as she says that, traffic slows to a crawl. Anne slams her head onto the steering wheel, letting out a loud horn sound. Leave it to LA to be bumper-to-bumper traffic at the one time Anne really doesn’t need it.
“...Anne?”
Anne takes a deep breath.
“...Ok.” She really doesn’t want to look. If she looks, she might spiral into the worst panic attack of her life. But Marcy needs her right now, and if Anne couldn’t be there last time, she’ll be here now.
She looks up and almost gags. Marcy’s face is just as cheerful as ever, completely independent from the horror show in her gut.
“...You’re good.”
“Nice! I wonder how they’re gonna get me out of the car. Maybe cut the top of the car off?”
Anne slams her head back onto the steering wheel.
“Traffic’s moving again,” Marcy helpfully adds. Maybe Anne should just crash and kill them both now. The Guardian would understand, right?
Shit, does Anne have car insurance? Would it even cover this?
Screw this, she’s taking the back roads. She pulls off onto an exit. The highway bleeds into residential neighborhoods, with rows of kitschy coffee shops and quaint houses that probably cost a million dollars. She takes extra care to drive around the potholes.
“Hey, we should stop at Taco Bell!”
Anne slams on the breaks. It jostles the pole. “Ow,” Marcy says cheerfully.
“Marcy Regina Wu. You literally have a giant metal stick in your guts.
Why
should we stop at Taco Bell!?” Anne yells.
“Well… we’re going to the hospital Sasha works at,” Marcy pushes her index fingers together. “We should bring her lunch.”
Anne pauses. “Are you saying that we should take a break from getting you
life-saving medical attention to pick up fast food for our friend who doesn’t even know we’re coming.
”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Anne takes a deep breath. “Of all the STUPIDEST IDEAS–”
Anne stews in silence as Marcy sips her Baja Blast.
“I have no idea if my body can even digest this right now,” Marcy mumbles. She drinks it anyway.
“What has my life come to?” Anne moans. She’s leaning back in her seat, the Taco Bell drive thru thankfully empty. She doesn’t even want to know what the lady preparing their taco is thinking right now. “What am I even doing with my life? Is this all life is? Why does God hate me?”
“I thought God liked you way too much. That was like, the whole problem.”
Anne can’t help it; she
laughs.
She laughs, and then that laugh turns to a sob, and then another, and suddenly she’s bawling in the taco bell parking lot. How is Marcy so calm? How is she acting like
any of this
is ok? It’s just another Thursday, la dee da, just another mishap in the life of clumsy Marcy Wu! How is she not flipping out? Every second they’re out here playing sitcom is another drop of blood Marcy can’t afford to lose. And yet somehow Anne is the crazy one for being upset!
She wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and cease to exist. Each breath is harder and harder to take. There’s a weight on her chest, slowly crushing her ribs, she can
feel
it, just as much as Marcy can probably feel– oh frog, she’s spiraling. She is actually losing it! Her childhood best friend is bleeding out in front of her, and once again there’s nothing she can do to stop it!
“Hey, Anne,” Marcy places a hand on Anne’s arm. There’s dried blood on it, oh god,
Marcy’s blood is on her now, she’s going to be sick–
“Anne. Breathe with me.” Despite everything, Marcy’s breaths are smooth and unbothered. “There you go, that’s it.”
“This is ridiculous,” Anne sobs. “You’re the one dying and yet you’re comforting
me. How are you so calm!?
”
“I’m not dying… probably.”
“Gee, glad to hear.”
“
Anyway,
” Marcy rolls her eyes. “That’s not why I’m so calm. You wanna know why I’m not freaking out?”
Anne definitely does not pout. “Yes.”
“I’m not freaking out because I’m with
you
.” Marcy smiles. “I know I’m going to be ok, because no matter what, you’re here. We’re gonna be ok because we’re always ok when we’re together.”
Anne’s cheeks are warm.
Goddamnit, Marcy.
It’s impossible to be angry with her. Not when she’s smiling like that, looking at Anne with such simple adoration, with a worship that Anne does not deserve, has not deserved all day. But goddamnit, if anyone is going to break heaven and earth to deserve it, it will be Anne.
“Um, order for Marcy?”
“Here! Can you just, you’re gonna have to, yeah,” The lady tosses the taco bell over Anne’s lap towards Marcy. “Thanks!”
“Marcy, hold onto something.” Anne growls. Her engine revs.
Marcy’s hands grip the pole.
“Something else.”
“Oh, right.”
Anne peels out of the parking lot at a speed that’s highly illegal. She passes through traffic lights, stop signs, it’s all a blur. Fuck the law, fuck medical bills, traffic tickets, fuck the cops, fuck it all! Who cares! Marcy is in trouble, and Anne is nothing if not a dutiful friend who will stop at nothing to ensure her safety. Be it from a tyrant or a truck! Her turns are sharp, almost tipping the car over. Marcy curses around her pole, hissing in pain as it slides around. Guilt warps Anne’s gut, but she pushes it down, her thundering heart overtaking her entire chest as the adrenaline blazes through her veins at breakneck speed.
“Anne! Slow down! You’re gonna get a ticket!”
“What, like I haven’t already?”
“Fair point. But still!” The hospital comes crashing into view. “You can’t park in the ambulance zone!”
“This car is an ambulance now!” She wrenches the steering wheel, slamming on the breaks. Her mind drifts back to Bessie, to reading that silly book and everything that came with the wild driving style she learned before she learned to actually drive. Isn’t it strange, she basically got her license at 13.
Her tires screech, her head screams, Marcy shouts, and the car finally slams down perfectly parked between two ambulances, the tip of the rod just barely grazing a back window.
Silence rings, save for both of them struggling to catch their breath.
“Jesus Christ.” Marcy whispers.
Almost immediately, EMTs rush out from the hospital, carrying various pieces of equipment. They swam the vehicle, working quickly to cut Marcy loose and get her prepped for surgery. And in all of it, Anne sits still, fingers still clenched around the steering wheel. It’s not until an EMT gently shakes her shoulder that she looks up.
“Ma’am,” they say gently. “Are you hurt?”
Anne blinks.
“Ma’am?”
“Can someone get Sasha Waybright? We brought her taco bell.”
She passes out straight onto the steering wheel.
When Anne wakes up, Sasha is chewing on a soggy taco.
“I mean, I’m not turning down free food,” she says. “But just so you know I brought my own lunch today.”
Anne sighs with the air of a woman much older. Is this how Hop Pop felt? Did she do this to her poor Hop Pop? She should apologize if she sees him. “You’re killing me Sash. I’m going to die and it will be your fault.”
“Nah, you were killing yourself,” Sasha nods to the monitors. “Apparently your blood pressure was stupid high. The doctors thought you were having a heart attack.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Anne drones. “But Marcy’s ok?”
“Mhm!” Sasha pulls out her phone and sends off a quick text. “She’ll be out of surgery soon. It only really damaged her liver. Hey. Did you know those can grow back? Cool right?”
Anne smacks the taco out of her hand.