Unexpected

Chapter Eight

I run into the hospital around three and find Emma sitting outside of Zoey’s door, texting someone. She looks up at me and slips her phone in her pocket quickly. “Hey,” she says.

“Who are you texting?” I ask.

“No one.”

“Then why are you acting so secretive?”

“Are you covered in blood?”

I glance down at my white t-shirt and skinny jeans. It probably wasn’t a good day for white. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Why do you care who I was texting?”

“Because Zoey has been getting hate texts and if I find out you’re one of them I won’t go easy on you.” I smirk and push past her, into the small room. Jake and Tony are sitting on the window seal and they look exhausted. “I didn’t mean for everyone to come down here,” I say.

“What the hell happened to you?” Tony asks.

“I keep getting that.”

“Tell me you didn’t,” Zoey says.

I glance over at her and walk away from Jake to stand beside her bed. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I told you not to do anything!”

“What was I supposed to do?  Let them keep harassing you?”

“I had it under control!”

“Obviously you didn’t; you’re in a damn hospital!” I scream.

“Ma’am, you’re waking up the other guests,” a nurse says entering the room. I rub my face and turn away from Zoey and give a loud sigh. “Oh my…” The nurse walks over and lifts up my shirt to reveal my side and I flinch at the touch. “You have glass stuck in your side and you’re bleeding a lot.”

“Most of that blood isn’t mine,” I mumble.

“But some of it is and there’s glass all in you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you need stitches. Come with me.”

“No, please. I’m fine.” I’m shoved out of the room with everyone’s eyes on me and I’m pushed into a wheelchair. “This isn’t necessary.” She doesn’t respond, which makes me grumpier. Now that my adrenaline is gone and I’m calm, the glass in my skin does hurt like hell. No matter how many stitches I need, it was worth it just to bring them pain.

She pulls me into a small room and demands I strip off my clothes, so I do and I’m standing in my bra and panties. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I gasp. Blood lingers all over me and some parts of my body are beginning to turn black. I look down at her as she begins washing off the blood from my stomach. “Look, my girlfriend just attempted suicide; I really shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Is that what this was about?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

I huff. “They were bullying her and sending her hate. I just lost it… so I went to the guy’s house and beat him up and knocked the other guy out. I also punched some girl, but I was shoved into a coffee table.”

“So, you went in there alone to fight a crowd of people?”

“I make impulsive decisions.”

“I see that.” Once all the blood is off of me, she pours Peroxide on all the cuts and takes tweezers to dig the remaining glass. I suck in a loud breath at the pain and she mutters a “Sorry.” She wraps a bandage around my entire torso and then a portion of my arm. “This should heal up just fine.”