TOO YOUNG TO BE SO SAD(ECCEDENTESIAST)

SIX

Just as I pulled into the driveway, I spotted Dad's car approaching from the opposite direction.
"Hide!" I hissed, quickly ducking down and slapping his head while simultaneously pushing him down with me. I stretched out my arm and turned off the headlights.
"Ouch! What the heck, dude?"
"Shh!" I whisper-yelled urgently. Dad stumbled out of his car, drunk as usual, accompanied by one of his companions. I sighed in disappointment. His daughter lay helpless in the hospital, yet here he was, reveling in a night of debauchery. What else could I expect from someone who cared only about himself? I silently wished for him to face financial ruin. Maybe then he'd have no funds to squander on such indulgence. But then again, it would be tough for us as well.

The woman draped herself all over him the moment they entered the house. I shut my eyes tightly until they disappeared inside. Exhaling a deep breath, I straightened up in my seat.

"Wow, your parents really know how to party, huh?" he remarked with a dumb grin. I shot him a withering stare before exiting the car. I made my way around to the back of the house and slipped in through my sister's window. Carefully, I collected the necessary items she would need, including her cherished childhood teddy bear that provided her comfort.

Moving with utmost care, I tiptoed back to my room. Snatching my hoodie and phone, I shut out the clamor and commotion from downstairs. I quickly returned to my sister's room, slipping outside once more, my movements calculated to be as noiseless as possible.

Returning to the car, I drove to the hospital, the ride characterized by a simmering anger that hung in the air. It was quiet and somewhat soothing, offering an element of relief amidst the tension.

"Hey, um, I'm sorry abo—"
"Listen, rooftop, you've got one job to do: sign the consent form and then get the hell out of my life! Got it?" I snapped, my irritation evident.
"Alright, girl, chill."
Chill? Was he for real? He witnessed two grown idiots having fun and deemed them my parents. Will I ever have a real parent, or will I keep seeking help or begging him to sign a consent form? Dumbass. I sighed inwardly, yearning to have him out of my sight as soon as possible.

I parked the car in the hospital garage and we both stepped out, walking almost a centimeter apart into the building, with me leading and him trailing.

"So, here's the plan: I'm your uncle, your only surviving relative. We've been living together since you were kids. What's your name?" He asked, trying to match my pace.
"Why?!" I retorted, a lost expression on my face.
"I need it for the story, stupid."
"Crystal. Crystal Harrison."
"Okay, I'm Steve Harrison," he replied with his customary cocky grin.

I shot him a glare. "For now, jeez," I muttered, rolling my eyes at his extended hand.

He went into the men's room to change, and after a few minutes, he emerged looking completely different. He was unrecognizable, appearing much older than my actual uncle. He resembled more of a grandfather than anything else. I had to stifle a laugh; the transformation was just too comical. Clad in a gray shirt and black jeans, his appearance had a distinctly different vibe. His half-bald head and unkempt beard seemed almost absurd.

We entered the doctor's office and obtained the consent form, which he signed and paid for the surgery as well. Assisting the medical team in moving my sister to the surgery room, I found myself sitting outside, waiting restlessly for the procedure to conclude.

"Hey," his voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to find him standing there, still sporting his odd costume.
"Hey," I responded, my tone reserved.
"She's going to be alright," he reassured me.
"Why are you still here?"
"The form says the guardian should stay until the surgery is over," he explained, attempting to take a seat.
"I didn't give you permission to sit. Just go, your job here is done!" I snapped.

"Hey! I'm only here to help. If you want to risk getting caught and have your sister watch you go to jail after saving her, then fine!" he retorted, ready to walk away. I'm not entirely sure why I did it, but I stopped him from leaving.

"Can you stay until it's over? I'm scared," I pleaded, my eyes brimming with tears. It's not in my nature to cry so easily, but the thought of my sister in there, surrounded by strangers fighting for her life, terrified me. I didn't care how much it hurt; I wanted to shield her from pain. I didn't want her to be sick or experience agony. All my life, I've worked to ensure her happiness and shield her from suffering. Some situations, though, are beyond our control.

I allowed myself to cry on his shoulder, an unusual but strangely comforting experience. My tears gradually soaked his makeshift attire while he softly patted my back. Just then, the door swung open, and the doctors emerged, followed by my sister. I hurried over, taking hold of her hands and calling her name. Together, we helped them move her to a ward.

"The surgery went well. She's unconscious and needs rest. We administered pain relief, and she should be fine by tomorrow and ready for discharge. She's indeed a strong girl," the doctor explained. I expressed my gratitude and settled beside my sister, grasping her hands as I waited for her to wake up.

"Sis," a faint voice called.
"Sis," I opened my eyes with a start.
"Izzy, you're awake. Are you okay? Does it hurt?" I inquired anxiously. She reached out and wiped away tears that I hadn't even realized were streaming down my face.
"I'm so sorry, Izzy," I sniffled.
"I'm fine, sis. It's been a while since I heard you call my name. Being sick feels kind of good," she let out a weak laugh. I mirrored her smile, her laughter filling me with a sense of relief. Drawing closer, I embraced her gently. "Thanks for fighting, girl," I said, and she winced in pain.
"Sorry. Does it hurt?" I asked, concerned.

She chuckled, pointing at my furrowed brow. When I grasped the joke, we laughed together. The doctor returned for her final checkup, issuing a discharge slip that allowed us to leave once she had finished receiving the last IV fluid. As I packed her belongings, she asked the question I had hoped she wouldn't bring up.

"He didn't come, right?" I nodded in response.

We were finally discharged late in the evening. As we settled into the car, I noticed my sister drifting off into thoughts, probably worrying about our father's apparent lack of concern for her whereabouts. To lighten the mood, I switched on her favorite song, "Girls Like You" by Maroon 5 and Cardi B. I cranked up the volume, waiting for the part where Cardi would start rapping so she could dramatically join in.

"C'mon, do it," I encouraged.
"No way!" she protested, shaking her head in disagreement.
"C'mon, sissy, the music's playing," I said, giving her a playful pout.
"Okayyy," she finally relented.

I watched her theatrically perform the remaining part of Cardi's rap, mimicking the artist's style. When we reached the chorus, we sang at the top of our lungs, laughter filling the car as we had a blast.

Seeing her smile so widely and regain her energy as if she hadn't been fighting for her life just hours ago brought me an immense sense of joy.

We parked in front of the house, and I helped my sister out of the car, supporting her as we walked inside. I opened the door, and my heart dropped at the sight of a frighteningly angry man. Every step he took toward us seemed to intensify my anxiety, leaving me fidgeting nervously.

I need to get my sister to her room, shield her from this scene. She shouldn't see this, not now, not ever. I must come up with a plan. Should I turn back? Should I try to escape with her? What explanation could I provide to her later?

"I can explain. It's my fault, I ju—" his slap caught me off guard, striking my face.
"Dad!!" my sister exclaimed.