One By One (editing)

Chapter Twenty Four

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I shifted uncomfortably, for the first time in my life feeling very very awkward in front of my own dad. Other than passing each other at home, this was the first real time I'd talked to him since I'd learned the truth. I guess I'd been unintentionally avoiding my own father.

He looked around, taking off his suit jacket and setting it over the back of the chair. "They couldn't at least paint this room? Make it a little more lively?"

All I could offer was a stiff laugh and a, "Yeah," that trailed off. This room wasn't too bad. All it was was a hospital bed, a chair, some white walls, and a bathroom. It'd do the job and this wasn't a hotel room. I was supposed to be out of here by tonight.

"So, how are you?" He took a seat in the chair and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. I felt like one of his business clients.

"I'm pretty good. The doctor said I was lucky enough to walk away with some bruising and a cut on my nose."

"Oh, that's good." He ran his hands through his hair, ducking his head down and looking sickeningly relieved.

"But Natalie," I started, the anger building up. "Dad, she's in surgery right now. When I saw her out there she was unconscious, covered in blood and glass. I'm not sure how lucky she will be."

I managed not to scream, "THIS IS YOUR FAULT," but I definitely implied it. I wanted him to feel guilty, I wanted him to stop this and fix this problem by himself. He's the one who caused it, and I didn't want him feeling relieved and thankful that all I had was some bruising. I wanted him to know that I knew this awful thing he did, and how bit by bit he was putting enough stress on our family to make us collapse like wet paper maché.

"Oh my - what? Is she going to die?" He gulped.

I shrugged, officially deciding I wasn't going to tell him that she was probably going to live, I wanted him to feel guilty for what he'd gotten us into.

"I-" he trailed off when Mom burst through the door.

Her eyes instantly focused in on Dad. "What are you doing here?"

"Christine, what are you talking about? My daughter is in the hospital. I'm pretty sure that's self-explanatory."

"Can I talk to you outside?" Mom gritted her teeth. "Please?"

Dad sighed and stood up, "Christine, what is your problem? Do you not want me to see if my daughter is okay? She was in a car accident!"

"No, Mark. I just -"

"What, Christine? Say it. What are you trying to say?"

That question was like a switch and Mom's blue eyes turned cold and icy, her tone hard. "You know exactly what I'm trying to say."

"That what? I caused this?'

"Your words, not mine." Mom folded her arms and refused to tear her gaze away from her husband.

Dad's forehead wrinkled up and his face heated up with anger as he shouted, "Are you kidding me? You think I caused this? You think I wanted this to happen?" He jerked a hand in my direction, gesturing towards my injuries.

"Mark," she snipped coolly. "I can only imagine what you're thinking right now. But you don't want to know what I'm thinking because it involves me and a call to my lawyer if this problem keeps up, and you know what I'm talking about so don't even try to pretend you don't." She snapped her head to me, "Carter, we're leaving. Get dressed in the fresh clothes I brought you and I'll go sign you out."