Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 49 ' Hi, G.

I don't think I've ever cried this much in my entire life. I mean there's that time Dad promised to, then didn't show up for my seventh birthday. And there's that time I mistakenly locked a door on my toe . . . but nothing, nothing has ever hurt this much.

And it worsens. It worsens every extra second I live. Every inch the car moves on its way to the hospital increases the pain and guilt. And fear.

Fear of what's happening and could be happening right now.

Fear over Jason's life.

Fear of how everyone is going to take the accident in connection to me.

Fear of facing the people I intended to ditch, who now know I intended to ditch them.

Mom.

Gosh, Mom.

How will I face her?

I don't think I'll ever be able to look at her again. It'll crush me to meet my gaze with hers if I ever try it. It'll destroy me.

She probably hates me already. I brought this upon Jason, anyway. It's because of me, all because of me.

Mr Philip. He hates me. Definitely. His son's life is in danger because of me. He absolutely hates me.

Everyone most likely hates me. It's a festive season in school and I singlehandedly ruined it. I'm sure everyone despises me. Is . . . is going back even the right thing to do?

"Yes," someone says beside me. I would be surprised if I weren't too forlorn to be.

I just turn my head to look at Dad who has since taken the position of the chauffeur.

"It's the right thing to do, no doubt," he continues. "All that guilt on yourself is unhealthy. I'm sure no one feels that way about the accident, so don't worry." He pauses before asking, perplexed, "And since when do you talk to yourself?"

I respond with a brittle tone, my vocal cords tired from screaming. "I've always had the habit."

He's thrown off. " . . . oh?"

I return my eyes to the windscreen, wishing to see the outside world but only sighting Jason's face; bloodied. I shut my eyes.

"What are your other weird habits?"

I scoff. He's unbelievable. Even at this moment that I care least, he manages to be irritating. "Not you telling your daughter to tell you about herself."

That does a good job of shutting him up. All the way to the hospital, I drown in depressing thoughts, making sure this time that none of them escapes my mouth.

---

Dad and I reconcile once we arrive at the hospital because by then I'm so weak that I can't stand by myself, I have to hold onto him. My hands grasp his right bicep so tightly that I might be hurting him, but he doesn't look like he minds anyway. He gives me supportive looks and smiles and nudges as we trudge into the hospital. What strikes me at once is the number of familiar faces in the waiting room. I can tell these are people from school. I hide my face as Dad leads us to the receptionist.

The attending nurse looks up reluctantly. "Welcome. Treatment or visiting?"

Dad doesn't answer any of her questions. He rather brings out a card from his pocket and shows it to her. Her mouth opens in shock as her eyes dart to and fro Dad and the complimentary card.

She stands straight at once. "Welcome, welcome! What could you possibly be-"

"Sorry, this is an emergency. There's a patient we have to see right now."