“Unexpected”, a word that plagues many people to this day. No matter how well, or how shrewd one can be, you can never plan for every single outcome or circumstance. You can plan to have a wonderful day, check the weather, and it says that there is only a 2% chance of rain. You can bring an umbrella just in case of the off chance that you would need it. But what if, despite the forecast, it begins not just to rain, but to storm? What if the winds and rain are too much for your umbrella, and it blows away?
Then you’re stuck in the rain without the umbrella you happened to prepare with.
It was this similar feeling of dread that overcame Eden when she strolled into the crosswalk. It was snowing very lightly, most likely a flurry, and it was a bit hard for her to see past some of the snowflakes, despite how sparse the precipitation was coming down.
A careening high pitched whine, like the aged breaks of a yellow public school bus, rang out.
At first, it was soft, almost imperceptible, but by the time Eden looked up, the noise was earsplitting. The wall of sound screaming from her immediate right had paralyzed her like some sort of cruel sonic weapon. The car this was coming from, a brand new silver Mercedes, seemed very out of place near the dingy facade of the LaGuardia airport.
The driver, his bright blue eyes wide with shock, seemed unable to stop the car. And no wonder, from the sound of those breaks.
Her arm raised in a futile effort to protect herself, Eden stumbled backwards.
With a single loud THUD, her body flew in a small arc from the dented bumper that collided squarely on her hips. The lightning bolt of pain that rippled through her body was intense, and very much like touching a live electrical wire. The equally loud CRACK and second impact when her skull hit the pavement echoed out in all directions.
For a moment, the other pedestrians only looked on in mute horror. But then, there was a sudden flurry of motion from the others in the crosswalk. One of the women who was next to Eden when she was hit, cried out, a scream of terror peeling from her red lipsticked mouth. The car had only missed her by mere centimeters and the young woman who it contacted with, was a broken mess in the crosswalk, dark red starting to pool in between the white bars of false safety painted on the road.
For some reason, the car stopped after the collision, its breaks no longer malfunctioning, and the driver, equally as flabbergasted by this situation, stepped out. He was tall, with hair the color of mature wheat, and wearing a navy 3 peice suit that was so well tailored that it was like he was made for the suit, not the other way around. His skin was deathly pale, paler than most people would be when shaken by an accident.
“Somebody call an ambulance!” shrieked the woman with the red lipstick, taking out her phone. But the man from the car suddenly lay his right hand on her wrist, his fingers as gentle as a feather.
“It’s alright,” he reassured her, despite the obvious panic on his face. “I’m a doctor.” His voice was certain and strong, but the guilt was palpable. It wasn’t a lie, either. He wasn’t dressed in scrubs and lab coat, but his attire definitely screamed “highly paid doctor working in New York City”. He had been on his way to pick up someone and drive them to a charity event they both had planned to attend when this accident precipitated like a sudden cloudburst.
“But—,” stammered the woman, already lost in his distant blue stare, “don’t you have to report…an accident?”
Ignoring her he, almost too quickly, bent down to see the poor victim of circumstance and cursed under his breath. “This is not good.” While the bleeding was minimal, the blows to her head looked severe. Unconscious after a head trauma was never a good sign, and she probably had a concussion. He felt her limp wrist for the briefest of moments, and sighed in relief. Eden’s breathing was shallow, but her pulse was strong.
While he was examining the unexpected patient, a very displeased gentleman marched up to the scene. He had been several feet away and pointed at the gentleman from the car.
“Do you have any idea how close that came to hitting me?” he bellowed. His face was so red it could rival a Roma tomato in color. A single vein was pulsing on his temple. His suit was almost equally as expensive as the gentleman’s but it was a very strange shade of taupe that matched his rage-filled eyes.
The gentleman glanced up briefly, displeased at the division of his attention. “But I didn’t hit you, right? Forgive me if I’m paying attention to the person that actually got hurt today.” He stared directly into the man’s eyes, and grimaced. Disgust seeped into his tone, which had been ice cold before. “You seem like a selfish lecherous man. Don’t you have some mistress to run off to?”
The man balked for a moment, the red lessening for a second, but then his entire face turned a sickly shade of eggplant. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?” he spoke the question like a demand, his fists balled, ready to fight.
But by the time the man started marching even closer, the gentleman already had scooped up the young woman in his arms. His dark suit was wrapped around her shoulders for warmth, as she was already shivering while still unconcious. Wether it was from the shock or her thin attire—only jeans, a t-shirt, and jean jacket, he could not accurately tell, but it was still concerning nonetheless.
Without a word, or protest from the other bystanders, the gentleman placed her into his car and buckled her in securely.
The man who had been ready to fight was bewildered that he was being ignored, and could only stare in open mouthed befuddlement. His fists were loosening. The anger that had gripped him when suddenly confronted with the guilt of what he had planned to do today…was also loosening. Before he could form another sentence, the gentleman had already left.
A single silver Mercedes sped off down the road under an oppressive gray sky, moving so fast that the falling snow was whipped into erratic whirlwhinds trailing behind the vehicle.
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