READY FOR LOVE | JENLISA

Chapter 69

Lisa

The illumination of the television casts shadows along the hotel room walls as I mindlessly flip through the channels, hardly paying attention to what's on the screen. I'm sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with a wrap around my chest and a cast on my leg.

After nearly two days in the hospital, they discharged me. I don't remember much from the accident, but the driver that hit me, ran the red light at the last second and smashed right into me as soon as I was going through the intersection. I was in and out of it for a while, only recalling bits and pieces of the ambulance ride, and by the time that I was fully conscious they already had me all bandaged up and Jennie was at my bedside, scared out of her mind. The doctors claim that I'm lucky to have come out of it with only a couple of broken ribs, a broken leg, a shit ton of bruises, and some road rash.

The bathroom door clicks open softly and Jennie quietly pads her way into the room, her vanilla body wash wafting in the air. She's in an oversized sleep shirt and shorts, her hair damp from her shower as she walks over to her suitcase, neatly placing her clothes inside.

She glances over at me, finding me awake. Her eyes drift over to the clock hanging on the wall, and I can see her mentally doing the math in her head to calculate how many hours it has been since the last time I took my pain meds.

Since we got back from the hospital a few hours ago, she's been taking her role as my nurse very seriously. It's like every ten minutes she's asking me if I'm okay or if I need something, and while I know that she is being helpful, I can't help but find it extremely frustrating that I can't do anything myself. It's aggravating to feel so useless, helpless, and I can't help but feel mad at the whole world right now.

Jennie walks over to the desk where she has all my pills neatly lined up next to the papers which the hospital provided. She pops a few of the pill bottles open and shakes out the correct dosages, recapping the bottles after. Grabbing a water bottle, she walks over to my side of the bed and places it along with the pills on the nightstand.

"Take these." she urges softly, giving me a small smile before wandering back into the bathroom to brush her teeth and finish getting ready for bed.

I grab the water bottle and uncap it, taking a few swigs before grabbing the pills off the nightstand, one accidentally slipping from my fingers and falling to the floor. With an aggravated huff, and without thinking, I go to lean over the side of bed to pick it up. A sharp pain rips through my side and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth while letting out a low curse. "Fuck!"

I hear the faucet turn off in the bathroom and Jennie comes rushing out, eyes wide, alert. "What's wrong?"

"Everything!" I snap, with all my pent up emotions bubbling to the surface and boiling over. "Everything is wrong!" I reiterate, picking up my water bottle and throwing it across the room where it smacks into the dresser, collapsing onto the floor and spilling all over the carpet.

Jennie stares at me, stunned.

After a beat she approaches me slowly, with worry and concern flooding her eyes. "Hey." she coos calmly. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" I shout. "My fucking leg is broken!" I gesture down to my leg that's covered in plaster from my foot to mid-thigh. "How the hell am I going to play football now? You can't fully come back from an injury like this, and no scout is going to want to talk to me when they find out about my injury!" I explain, furious at myself.

"You don't know that." she says softly, optimistically, making my blood boil further.

In a way, deep down, I wish she'd yell at me, be just as furious at how stupid I am. Somehow, I think it would make things twistedly easier. To me, anger is better than pity. I'd rather have someone screaming at me, reminding me of what a fuck up I am, than give me pity. Pity makes me feel weak, vulnerable, and I hate people seeing me that way. At least with anger, they think I'm strong enough to take it or I'm not completely torn down yet.

"Yes, I do! My whole future is down the drain. What the hell am I supposed to do now!?" I fight back.

She carefully sits on the edge of the bed, gently placing her hand on my knee. "You're still getting your degree. You have options."

I let out a low growl, scrubbing my hands harshly over my face in frustration. The NFL has been my dream for years, I can't swallow the fact that it's all over just yet, and she obviously doesn't understand that. She has her whole future ahead of her, all perfectly mapped out and tied up with a fucking decorative bow.

"Hey." Her thin, cool fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling my hands from my face. "Don't shut me out. Talk to me." she begs softly.

"I don't need or want to fucking talk, Jennie!" I snap, pulling my hands from her grasp. "Talking isn't going to fix anything." I insist.

Hurt flashes across her face. "You're mad at the world right now. I get it. But..."

I bark out a laugh, cutting her off. "How could you possibly get it!?" I argue. "Jennie, you have the perfect fucking life! You have amazing parents and you're so fucking smart that you're going to become a cardiologist. You literally have a white picket fence! So don't tell me you get it."

Her lips press into a thin line, with pain written all over her face at my harsh words. I instantly regret them.

Fucking hell. I'm such an idiot.

I know that I'm being a dick, and the tactless words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I feared this would happen. That I'd lash out on her and make her my emotional punching bag. Anger always seems to be my default setting. I use it to mask my weakness and not show what I'm really feeling. It makes me feel strong and powerful. Like I'm in control when I actually feel anything but in control of my fucked up life.

"Fuck, baby..." I grab her wrist as she stands from the bed, ready to walk away. "I'm sorry."

Reluctantly, she sits back down on the edge of the bed, refusing to meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry." I repeat sincerely. I exhale a harsh breath. "It's just that after all that's happened between the other day and today, I feel like everything is crashing down around me. I feel like everything I've worked so hard for is gone in the blink of an eye. And being here of all places... as a kid, I've always promised myself that I'd be something. I wanted to prove everyone wrong. Even prove myself wrong. With football, I thought for once that I was going to be something. Make something out of myself. All of my childhood, I felt so unhappy and unstable. I just wanted a life that I could finally be proud of."

Her honey coloured eyes finally meet mine, full of sadness. "I understand." she says softly, and I bite my tongue about how she'll never understand.

Sensing my restraint, she stands from the bed once more, and I'm certain that she's about to walk away but I wouldn't blame her. She should have walked away from me a long time ago, because she deserves so much better. Not a miserable fucked up person who can't do anything right at all.