The Boy Who Broke Me

Decide What's Real

GAVIN

The whole time I'm driving, I can't keep my nerves together. Thoughts of every shitty thing that could be waiting for me swim through my head, giving me goosebumps, and make me want to turn around. Whether the guy's alive or not, either way this is the very last place I should ever be. It feels dangerous, and risky, and totally disloyal to Vincent. On top of all that, there could be a cop there outside his room, or a security guard or something. Not that they would know who I am, but it still feels like a gamble.

Despite some light traffic, I actually make it in pretty decent time. It's ironic, because this is the one time in my life that I wish the freeway would crawl. Instead of parking, I pull into the traffic circle for people picking someone up, scanning the crowd for Madison. She sees me immediately, throwing the door open before I can get a word out. Before she gets a word out, I can see that she's upset. Her eyes and nose are red like she's been crying, and she's wearing long sleeves again despite it being way too hot. I shake my head, not sure if I want to interrogate or comfort her. I should peel out of here as fast as possible, but instead of getting back out on the main street, I pull over to a smaller parking lot.

"Everything alright?" I ask, looking out my window instead of facing her.

If I look at her, I'm afraid she'll be able to read my face and see how nervous I am. Normally I could play it like I don't care, but the combination of this place and being around Madison is too much, even for me. I bite my nails and bounce my knee up and down, pathetically trying to contain it.

"No" she mumbles quietly, "I came here to see Bennet... you know, my boyfriend?"

"And?" I ask, letting out a huge sigh. I can't stand hearing her use his name and boyfriend in the same sentence.

"I couldn't see him" she practically whispers. "I was going to you know... tell him what happened last night, but I couldn't see him because you need a password or something to know what room he's in."

I chew my lip and finally allow myself to look at her. She doesn't notice because she's staring out her window with her chin on her fist, looking fed up and stressed out.

Of course she doesn't understand, but it's painfully obvious to me why this kid can't have visitors. If someone gets shot over a drug deal, the hospital won't let just anyone come in off the street. For all they know, it could be someone trying to intimidate or finish him off.

For a second, the thought of Vince coming into the hospital to shoot the kid over again creeps across my mind, but I force it away, telling myself he'd never do that. It was an accident. I lie to myself. A one-time thing, Vince didn't mean it.

"You really want to tell him?" I mumble, hoping that maybe she'll change her mind and forget the whole thing.

"No, I don't want to, but I have to." She mutters, "It's the right thing to do."

I sigh again and rub my hands across my face before answering her, knowing this is about the stupidest situation I could possibly put myself in. "What's his name and his birthday?"

"Why?" She asks, turning to look at me.

"You want to see him, or not?"

"What are you going to do?" she asks, looking afraid.

"Just don't say anything." I tell her, pulling up the hospital number on my phone.

"Saint Anthony's hospital, this is Beverly, how may I help you?" An elderly sounding woman answers.

I take a deep breath.

"Yes, Mam. My name is Kyle Gilner and I'm a social worker through Department of Human Services, I run an organization called Teen Survivors of Trauma and I have an appointment this afternoon to interview a patient named Bennet Larson, date of birth is 08/12/2005. The thing is, I misplaced some of my paperwork this morning and I'll need his room number, please."