Mr. Halloway's Pet

Chapter Thirteen

One week later:

I bite my lip as I stare at my phone screen and think about what I could say in response to the hundreds of notifications. Maybe not hundreds, but it's what it feels like as I scroll through them.

It's been a week of sitting in this hospital bed and I'm nearing a breakdown of some sort.

A week of avoiding everyone except for those who visit me.

A week of avoiding a certain individual who thinks he can weasel his way back. I'd gotten flowers from him while I was unconscious, ones that I threw in the trash.

Followed by various messages and apologies.

As tiring as it seemed, today I finally decided to turn my phone on and do some damage control.

However, I find myself getting overwhelmed very quickly. I'm still trying to come to terms with what had happened.

I learned that I was unresponsive on scene of the crash but they quite literally brought me back to life. It's enough to send me spiraling into dissociation.

Not only that, but once we arrived at the hospital, I'd gone into a coma for about 2 days before waking up. It'd be badass if it was so traumatizing. Never did I think I'd experience a coma. Though it wasn't anything I find too memorable, I still feel like I won't live it down. I don't recall anyone speaking to me or anything while I was in the camotose state. It's just as if I was sleeping.

I think about how I'll tell this story 20 years from now. I'm definitely going to have to overplay it as I barely remember any details, but my future kids are going to think I'm cool either way.

Shaking my focus back to the phone screen, my lip is once more a victim as I gnaw on it nervously.

He doesn't deserve a reply from me, but I want to be petty and guilt trip his ass. I blame the crash on him 100%. Yes, I was the one that was driving, but I would've had a much faster reaction time if I wasn't squinting through a curtain of tears in the dark.

His previous messages fill the screen, and if I'm being honest, I didn't read half of them.

Most of what he said to me was all the same. Just sad excuses that I don't believe one bit.

His explanation was that him and his wife had just rekindled their relationship to raise Charlie in a better family environment. That it'd be healthier for all of them. Either way, I'm calling bullshit. I trusted him the first time and I regret it.

I definitely won't let it happen again.

Who knows if he's been lying this entire time? I sure as hell don't and I wouldn't put it past him.

Along with the fact that he hadn't spoken to me a week before everything had happened proves that he doesn't respect or care for me. If positions were reversed, I'd have the decency to communicate.

He's just a coward.

Sighing, I click my phone off and set it aside. Maybe I'm not ready to do damage control. I'm tired and have more important things to dwell on that don't involve stupid, blind love on my part.

I'd been informed that mom was doing good, making a quicker recovery than me at least. I asked to not hear from her.

It may be brutal, especially with her state of mind and the fact that she's being transported to a psychiatric hospital three days from now, but the very thought of even talking to her leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. A taste that leaves a coat of resentment and betrayal in the back of my mind.

I can't make an excuse for the fact that she lied to me. About everything. She selfishly put mine and dad's relationship on the line, literally stabbing him in the process, and making sure I lost all contact with him so I couldn't find out. I don't know how I'll mend our relationship, but I don't want to make that call until she's out of the hospital and back on her medicine.

I think of the past year with her. Did she ever feel guilty for lying? Or worse--was she ever unstable enough to stab me? Did she ever think of it?

I try not to dwell on the questions for too long but a part of me is afraid to go back to how it was before. Dad and I have been talking a lot, regaining trust in one another. A lot of our conversations lead back to me going home with him.

The thought of a new start with him is exciting. It gives me something I can look forward to. What kind of life could we have?

One without mom.

As much as I try not to feel guilty, I can't stand the thought of mom being by herself. What life will she end up living without anyone to support her? She doesn't have contact with any other family as of last year.

I can definitely see all the signs I'd missed before. How all of a sudden she fell out of communication with every single friend and family member. How she slowly wilted like a dismembered flower petal.

Just as my constantly excessive thoughts go on a journey, dad enters the hospital room, looking as if he's trying to look inconspicuous but making himself more suspicious in the process.

I furrow my brow, leaning up a bit to see what he has cupped between his hands. He opens them, revealing whats hiding inside, and my eyes widen as I look around, making sure no one else is present.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" I ask him, focusing my eyes back to his hands.

"Shhh! What they don't know won't kill them." He reassures, slowly handing over the goodies.

A single reeses now rests in my hand, looking delicious as ever. "Are you sure it's okay for me to eat it?"

"Yes, they've kept me updated on your clotting and now they're acting on precaution instead of necessity." He says, just as a doctor walks in.

I'm quick to shove the candy behind my back, but not fast enough.

"I hope that's not what I think it is." The doctor says, his voice ringing in my ears. The tone is eerily familiar, I still haven't gotten used to it. Everytime he speaks it catches me off guard all over again.

He sounds so much like Mr. Halloway it's almost painful. It took a couple days getting used to, but now I'm able to hear him talk without my chest aching so much.

"It....it's definitely not a reeses." I stutter, with my hand still tucked behind my back.

"Would you be able to explain the bright orange packaging with the letters 'Reese's' written across it or should I?" He asks, tapping his fingers against the clipboard.

God, even his mannerism is similar.

I'd actually wonder if they were brothers if his last name wasn't Hactor.

I admit defeat, "Okay, but it was just one."

My coming clean is met with a smile, "We'll, good news. You can eat that. And I was just talking to your father about maybe getting you out of here today. How're you feeling?" His words bring me so much joy I can't help the gasp that leaves my mouth.

"I feel amazing. Great. Fantastic, even. I can give you more adjectives if you want." I offer with wide eyes. I sit expectantly, hoping to appear well enough to not be stuck in this sterile room any longer.

"I don't think that will be necessary." He comments, somewhat jokingly, "Let's go finish those discharge papers, hm?"

I was only lying a little, I still feel pain in nearly every fading bruise but don't care. As long as I can eat whatever I want and smoke some weed, I'm fine and dandy. Anything is better than sitting here twiddling my thumbs. I feel like I'm just slowly rotting away at this point.

My mind backs up a notch, thinking about the one thing I've been looking forward to more than most of everything else.

Weed. I never thought I'd miss coughing my lungs up as much as I do now. The longing is what drags me out of the hospital bed to stand.

Though unsteady at my sudden movement, I regain my posture and take a coupke test steps. I'm just glad they don't have to wheel me around in a wheel chair anymore, I took for granted being able to walk on my own and not have to pee in a bed pan.

Doctor Hactor gestures for us to follow and I continue my small steps.

With him leading the way and dad following behind to make sure I don't lose my balance, I hobble as fast as I can.

I'm ready to get the hell out of here.