Devil

-7-

-Esla-

"Esla, you should have told us." It seemed like my mom was repeating it over and over. Okay, the shit is in the past! Why do you keep bringing it up? I clenched my hands into fists under my thighs. I wanted to shower and be in my bed back at home, not worrying about whether the sudden seizure my father had was going to kill him, allow him to function normally, or leave him brain dead.

"I don't know what we're gonna do," my mom sighed again, shaking her head as she stared off into space. That was my last straw. I stood up and offered her a weak ass excuse: "I'm going to get some coffee." Hospital coffee was always bomb. It was one of the only times when I drunk coffee anyways.

I found the area by the vending machines and waited to make my cup. I crossed my arms and tried to regulate my breathing. Okay, this is all because of something I was a part of. That leaves me to fix things. Whether my parents want the help or not, I'm going to get that money from Rick. Despite what my mother told me the cop said, we can't chance letting these type of people know we snitched.

Some things in life you have to take into your own hands and make yours, and thankfully I was always good at pottery.

After I had my cup, I walked slowly back towards the direction of the waiting room. I sipped the hot, steaming liquid carefully, the smell filling my nostrils. I decided to sit on the other side of the wall from my mom, out of sight. I drunk my coffee, trying to make sense of my life.

If Mom and I had to start working more because Dad was either dead, unfit to work, or recovering, then I'd have to find some time to fit in for myself and to go to Rick. Perhaps I could stay out late and have fun, and lie and say I worked my hours when really it's Rick's money that I'll give to my family.

But then Main Event would fire me, and what about when the money runs out, and I'll have no job?

I guess working and slowly giving my family some of Rick's money would have to do after my grieving time was up. But I'd have to explain the whole snitching thing to him too. He seemed like a guy I could be honest with. They'd still give us the money right? It's not like the cops even know specifically who is trying to kill the guy who shot my dad. People like Rick and his boss probably wipe they ass with money.

Everything will be fine.

I finished my coffee and went back into the waiting room with my mother. "Can we go home?" I asked her, trying to keep my tone respectful and considerate. She still fixed me with a glare. "Your father is in there dying because of your mistake, and you're wanting to go home. I can't even look at you right now, Esla."

The waiting room grew quiet as the people around us awkwardly shuffled in their seats.

"I didn't know that he would get shot. That the girl's friends would do that stuff, Mom. It isn't my fault," I argued.

"If you hadn't fought that girl, he wouldn't be shot," my mother restated, a firm look in her gaze. I took a step back, embarrassed and hurt at the same time. But she was right. If I had made another decision, besides being impulsive, then Dad would be just fine.

I turned and left out of the waiting room, walking through the maze of a hospital until I made my way outside. It wasn't where we had came in at but it was still outside. I was hot and I still felt confined.