The Lies He Spoke

TWENTY

BLAKE 

Olivia sat in a chair next to Logan's bed, her chin resting in her hand, her elbow propped up on the hospital mattress. Blake was sitting on the pale green couch next to Andy, flipping aimlessly through a sports magazine he'd found in the hospital room. Andy was snoring lightly beside him, long lashes casting shadows across his cheek, his dark lips slightly parted, the silver ring in his bottom lip glinting in the light. He hadn't slept all night after he'd driven Blake straight from the party to the hospital where Logan was admitted.

It was almost noon. The doctor had been in once to check that Logan had stabilized after what she'd confirmed was an overdose of a GHB, but he'd still not woken up. Every time the nurse came in, Blake asked her when he would wake up, and the poor nurse would smile and tell him that everything would be okay, but Blake was still on edge.

The last time he'd sat by Logan's bedside in a hospital like this, he'd been thirteen years old. He was in eighth grade, excited about some middle school dance that had seemed such a big deal at the time but quickly turned stupid and mundane once Elijah woke him up in the middle of the night and half-carried, half-dragged him to their Toyota, where he sat in the backseat next to an unconscious Logan while Elijah oversped to the hospital.

He'd cried a lot back then. He cried so much that Logan started crying and then Elijah had to spend the next hour quieting both of them and then Elijah left for an hour after that and when he came back, his eyes were red and puffy.

Blake looked out the window now, swallowing the uncomfortable pain in his throat. This wasn't then. This had been an accident. Or something.

Elijah had always taken Blake to his doctor's appointments and Logan to his therapy sessions and stayed awake watching over Olivia after she'd been shot. Now, Blake kept glancing at the door, half-expecting his older brother to come in and take control of the situation and tell them everything would be okay.

But he didn't come.

Blake had tried calling the prison, but he'd found out inmates weren't allowed incoming calls. If he wanted to tell Elijah, he would have to drive down to the prison and do it in person. As soon as Logan woke up, he would do that.

Blake stood up from the sofa and stretched his arms overhead, trying to dissipate his uneasiness. His muscles itched and he was suffocated in the tiny hospital room from the strong, bitter scent of disinfectant and the never ending beeping of Logan's heart monitor.

"I'll be right back," he told Olivia, who murmured something noncommittal in response.

When he pushed open the hospital room door, he didn't feel the relief that he thought he would. Outside, the air was certainly less restricting, but there were so many people strolling down the halls, talking, whispering, laughing, crying.

Ordinarily, Blake loved crowds - he fit right in with a lot of people - but now with Logan lying unconscious in bed, he couldn't shake off the horrible feeling that someone was watching him. Someone was waiting for one of them to slip up. He wondered if maybe one of them was whoever had done this to Logan. Or maybe it was one of those people that had cornered them at the grocery store.

He opened the door to the stairwell where it was much quieter, and took a deep inhale of the slightly musty air. No one could get to him here. He was alone.

A hand touched his shoulder and he let out a little yelp and jumped sideways, his heart nearly leaping out of his mouth. He shook his head when he saw that it was only Andy. "Jesus," he said, exhaling slowly. "You scared me."

"Sorry."

Blake dragged a hand through his hair. "It's me, I'm just a little freaked out."

"Things turned out okay," his roommate said softly. "The doctor said he would be alright."