Our Beginning | Mickey Altieri

Chapter Fifty-Four

I only cried and cried and cried. Just seeing Randy's body being taken on a stretcher while he has an oxygen mask on for support, and bandages. Many people gathered as they saw. Many glared at me as if they thought I killed him, which is not what it is. They're glaring at me because of my bloody figure. My hand is bandaged until no spot of my skin was showing. My side, also bandaged. I was sat on the ground, and Ryan kneeled down beside me.

"Everything will be okay," He said. "They'll do whatever they can to keep him alive."

"I don't feel good," I whispered. Not good that I saw one of my best friends in attempted murder and to the fact the killer slammed my head onto the table in the van. The smell of blood made it worse, given the urge to throw up.
And I got up and ran to the nearest corner to throw up.

Footsteps followed and a hand rests on my shoulder. "It's okay," Ryan said. "It's okay."
I stopped and continued to throw up, making me feel more disgusted whenever I puked, and more sick. I continue to sob, hitting my knees on the floor. "I can't—I can't take this anymore." Ryan's arm wraps my shoulders. "I'm scared to lose him, Ryan. I'm not ready for that..."

He didn't speak yet. He knew I'm still continuing with my words.
"I was close. So. Fucking. Close to find out who it was." Right now, it's a broken pattern. No one got kill in broad daylight from its last spree. None of it no longer makes sense now, but it will eventually. "I want to slit that fucking killer," I whisper, before breaking down again.

—

"Jesus Christ, you put up a fight."

My eyes wandered to Reggie at the hospital. His eyes red from tears after he saw my body covered in nothing but blood and bandages when he parked near the grassy area after his classes. No one—doctors nor nurses—told me about Randy yet. And I'm afraid.

"I was so close, Reg," I retorted. My body refused to move a single limb. "I just want to know if he's okay. I need him to stay..."

I was silenced by his embrace around me. He pulled back a bit, and lifted my arms to rest around him.
"He'll be fine, Y/n. I have faith that he'll survive."
We stayed in that position for a while until the nurse told him that his visiting time is up. "I'll see you later, okay?" I nod, ruffling his dreads before he left off with a wave.

—

Nobody else from the group came to see me. I didn't want them to. I don't want them to sadden by the second they will see me in the hospital bed with bandages. And the fact Mickey is the only person who doesn't know what happened to me in the van. Dewey told the gang for me, except for Mick.
I just don't want to see him hurt that much.

My body slightly moves, and I got up from the bed to grab a cup and fill it with water. No answer about Randy whether he is okay or not. I don't even know where they took him. The hospital is five stories tall. I'm on the first floor. I have no clue to what floor they brought him to.

I begin to stare at the mirror after I filled up the clear, plastic cup in my hand. My eyes look more red and dead than they were. Part of my face red from where the killer punched me. I looked at my arm to see a slight amount of blood dripping form the stitches. "Damn it," I muttered, taking a paper towel, and applying a bit of water to clean it up. Unfortunately, it caused it to drip more. "Fucking unbelievable."

Whenever I look at myself, I feel more dreaded. More dead. Just practically un-alive at this point. Reggie says that is not what he sees in his perspective. But this is what I only see in me.
And five months. Only five months I have been here, and this happens. The more I continue to stare at myself, the more bitter details I can see with a clear form of focus.

"FUCK!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing the cup of water at the mirror, only to end up punching the mirror afterwards. And with my bandaged hand, that solution made it worse. The ringing in my ears grew louder.

And louder.

And louder...
So strong enough to hear that any other outside voice was blocked.

"Hey!" Not until a voice snuck through my ringing.

I have my eyes closed. I refuse to even see anything. I wanted to see nothing. Yet every second, my mind flashes to Randy's unmoving body.

"Hey! Please, hear me!" A pair of hands made contact with my shoulders. And I ended up opening my eyes to aim a punch at the sudden figure. Again, with my bandaged hand.

"God! Fuck!" I hissed in pain, with tears pricking out.

I spot a pair of shoes, trailing upwards. Only finding Mickey on the ground with his back resting on the wall. Groaning in pain.

"Oh my god. Mickey..."

I got up slowly, limping to his figure a few feet away. My balance can't maintain well, to which I result in falling back down on my knees. His eyes move to me. From what he sees now would be me in a sobbing and bloody mess. "Mick—" He tackled me in for a hug. I felt my side sting, but I don't care. Mickey's here and that's all I need.

When I pulled back, I didn't see sadness or anything visible to what he's feeling. It's only anger.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" I jumped slightly. "Don't you have ANY—just any FUCKING idea to how worried I was when I didn't see you at the dorm!?"

"Mick, I'm sorry...I just didn't want you to feel hurt and-"

"Hurt? HURT!? You not telling me hurts more!" His tears gave up as they stream down his face. "Dewey had to come and explain to me how you didn't want to tell me—which you know is never the solution!" He runs his fingers through his hair, frustrated and worried. "How can you try to hide that when you know damn well you thought that I could've lost you?"

He begins to break down. His tears refuse to stop as he continues to wipe them off, only causing more to fall. "I lost someone I love a few years ago. I don't want that to happen again."

I crawled my way to his arms, pulling him for an embrace. "I'm sorry for not telling you," I whispered. "I really am. I'm-"

"You know I will always forgive you," he interrupts. "I should be sorry for yelling at you when I came here a second after." I pulled from our hug, gently caressing his face with my hands. A blood print stains his cheek to where I punched him. "There's no need to," I answered. He leans in to my touch. Grabbing my un-bandaged wrist, leaning closer.

"But Randy," I finally choked out. "They never told me if he's going to survive. I—I can't lose him, Mick. He's one of my best friends." I cried more, remembering what happened. Mickey brought me closer to him. His thumb rubbing circles on my back as I let down more and more tears.
"Now what am I gonna do for a friend?"

I buried my face on his chest, crying more until I ran out of tears. Which never happened and more continues to flow down. "He's going to make it out of this, I just know it." He spoke to gentle, yet quiet. It sounded as if he didn't want to break down too. His hand lifts my chin up after pulling back, bringing me for a gentle kiss. "I'll tell the nurse if I could stay here all night with you, okay?" I nod slowly before he pulls me in for another.

"C'mon. Let's get your heads clean." I look down to my wrapped-up hand. Blood dripping through the fabric. Droplets hitting my other. "I don't know what to say about the mirror though," I whispered. Him and I turn our heads to the broken mirror I punched. He lightly chuckled. "I'll cover that up for you."