Whatever it takes

9. Baby Steps

CW/TW: blood

August 30, 3:52 pm.
Dream POV.

I wanted to cry. My wrist hurt like hell and so did my head. I heard yelling in the background but didn't pay much attention to it since I was focusing so much on not breaking down then and there.

There was a shuffling noise along with the sound of footsteps before I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I didn't look up but I knew it was my father, probably coming to tell me to grow up and deal with it. "Dream," he whispered so only we could hear. "Are you okay? Do you need to be taken off the field?"

I know he was just trying to show sympathy but I obsess that okay and needed to be taken off the field. I nodded my head as tears slowly ran down my face cause the pain was so bad.

"Do you want me to carry you or do you think you can walk?" He asked. I didn't want to be carried off the field, that was the last thing I wanted right now. But I also didn't know how well I could walk, god, I haven't even opened my eyes since I hit the ground, for all I know I could be hallucinating.

I held up two finger signaling that I wanted to walk instead of being carried. I opened my eyes and dad stood up, reaching out his hand for me to grab onto to help me up. I grabbed his hand and stood in place, my head was spinning and I couldn't see straight. "You still need me to carry you?" He asked, I shook my head in response.

He let go of my hand and I started to take a few steps, passing everyone before I hit the ground again. Shit. This was so embarrassing. I looked around seeing my father walk over to me and picking me up bridal style before walking me to the car. I turned my head and stared at the group of teenagers still stood in the eighteen, all looking at me.

I just closed my eyes again and prayed for this all to be a Dream. I wanted to just wake up and for it to be this morning all over again. I wanted to not have my wrist potentially broken and my head throbbing in pain. I wanted to not be picked up by my dad like a child and carried away from everyone else like that kid that always got too rowdy at birthday parties and had to be taken home early.

Dad carried me back to the car and put me laying down in the back seat. "I'm going to go talk to Coach Phil okay? I'll be back soon." I nodded my head, grabbing it with my hands and cramming my eyes shut. I let it all out.

I started sobbing loudly, not caring who saw or heard anymore. Everything hurt, my wrist, my head, and my pride. I sobbed knowing that my dad was just going to get into a screaming match with Phil. And he was going to come back and tell me that everything was fine. He was probably going to drive home and throw and ice pack to me and tell me to deal with the pain.

After several minutes of me sobbing in the car alone he eventually came back, looking more content than before. His face wasn't red and the vein in his forehead was prominent like it usually was when he screamed at people. And come to think about it, I heard no yells coming from outside.

"Talked to Phil about what his kid did to you. He said he'd talk to him about it, maybe even bench him for half the season too." He smiled as he inserted the keys into the car. He pulled out of his parking spot and turned right out of the lot, and not left where home was. Where were we going?

"I'm taking you to the ER. Your wrist is bloody and I'm pretty sure I saw bone, plus the back of you head is now red with blood too." He explained, grabbing a towel from the passenger seat and throwing it back to me so I could lay my bloodied head on it.

"I called your mom too. Forgot she was supposed to fly in today. She said she's sorry for missing the game because her flight got cancelled due to a storm. Said she should be her in a few days once it calmed down. Sorry you missed your weekend with your mother. I know you enjoy those." His voice was neutral and cautious. Not wanting to say the wrong thing to upset me.

I mean I am upset that mom missed the game. But I already knew that. Usually she'll drive me to the game and we'll just talk. talk about my sisters, the team, dad being neglectful again. I loved them because they were fun. They were the most fun I have, and it sucks that they don't happen very often. I just wished that she never moved to Oklahoma and had stayed in Florida.

The rest of the car ride was silent on the way to the emergency room. We got there and he walked me in, letting me lean onto him since I still could see straight. The woman at the front desk took one look at me and picked up the phone near her and spoke a few words before giving me a small smile.

We sat down and waited for approximately ten seconds before someone walked over and took me away and leaving me in a blank room.

It was about an hour later when they came back and said they were going to do and X-Ray on my wrist and head, to see how broken they were.

Another few hours later of waiting for the results since they didn't want me to go home and just mess everything up to be even worse than what it is now, I got to leave. I had broken my wrist and tore a piece of my scalp off on my head, and also had a concussion. At least my scull wasn't broken.

I was told that since I had a concussion that I couldn't play any sports for about two weeks, and that I should come back after those two weeks to see how my brain was holding up.

My head had started to feel better, and I could finally see clearly again. Dad and I walked back to the car in silence. It was only when we were five minutes away from home that I said something.

"Thank you for caring. About me, I guess." I said, staring at the cast on my right arm. "You're welcome. And hey, don't think that just because I'm around your sisters more than you doesn't mean that I don't love you. I do. And I only want the best for you and I'm sorry I can be all pushy about it sometimes." He responded, stuttering over some of his words nervously.

And something inside of me started to heal. It started to feel better. It might not have been much but it meant a whole lot to me, even though they're just baby steps.
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Word count: 1232