The Boyfriend Factory

Chapter Thirteen

All hospitals sucked.

Yeah, I'm sure the doctors were doing a great job saving lives and all – in that case, woo! Go you! But that wasn't the problem, the problem was always the events that led to the hospital. None of them were good. And who enjoyed the constant smell of antiseptic anyway?

The first time I'd been in serious condition going to the hospital was probably back when I was seven or six or so. A girl named Billy Bobina – don't ask – had stomped on my ankle, intentionally trying to break it. At that time, it sort of felt like I'd been ran over by a monster truck. Then the other times I went to the hospital were never as fun.

It always had to do with Jared or my Mum.

It made me sick thinking about it.

Though, now, the tables seemed to have turned a little. Towards me.

Another reason I hated hospitals was because of all the questions doctors and nurses liked to ask. Yeah, yeah, I know it's for 'important medical records', but maybe some things were meant to stay private. Sometimes I guessed the workers were just noisy to be honest, because they never seemed to ask the same questions as each other.

When I blacked out, all I remembered was feeling excruciating pain and not being able to move my body. My head had been throbbing like there was a mini rave in my head. I must've been out for a while, because I found myself in a hospital bed, my Mum sitting by me. Her face was sunken and sad, and it looked as though she'd aged about thirty years more. Her frame seemed to be growing more skeletal each time I saw her.

Of course, when she found me awake and staring at her, she'd cried like any respective mother. For a moment I couldn't remember why I had blacked out and started to freak out about the hospital. Then I remembered Jared. I immediately felt like throwing up.

I sat up to give her a reassuring hug and almost fell off the side of the bed when my head had gone spinning. She had to rush over to hold me upright and I almost cringed away when my shoulder brushed what felt like ribs.

She'd told me everything that had happened. After I blacked out she'd called an ambulance in a panic. I vaguely remembered something like it. I remembered slipping in and out of consciousness, but I thought those moments had been dreams.

I could just guess what Jared must've thought of it.

"I told them you . . . you tripped," she had whispered, her voice faltering. My heart had sunken for multiple reasons. I felt so overwhelmingly angry and sad I thought I was going to faint again.

Maybe if Mum had told them the truth we could've finally gotten rid of him.

Then a feeling of fear crept slowly up my veins. We could've finally gotten rid of him. He was still around. He'd hit me on the head and I had to be sent to the hospital. It wasn't the first time something as bad as this had happened, but I knew it wouldn't be the last. I was so lost I didn't know what to do. I didn't talk and just nodded distantly.

The doctors came in to ask more questions – great – which I reluctantly answered.

As I lied to them, Mum's gaze dropped and I noticed her trembling slightly. I was furious with her for being so weak, but even angrier at myself for not being able to do anything. I didn't know what to do.

They'd insisted that I stay longer, maybe a day or two to recover, and so that they could check that there wasn't any permanent damage, even though there seemed to be no problems they could find so far. What they didn't know was that permanent damage had been done. Maybe not physically, but it was there.