A few weeks later, I'm finally let out of the hospital. Thank god, the food was starting to taste horrible. Jerome helps me out of the hospital bed and he drives me back to my house. We get out of his car and head inside. I head down the hall towards my room with Jerome following. We get to my room and I stop, my eyes moving towards the bathroom. Jerome follows my gaze and bites his lip nervously.
"Mitch..."
I walk toward the bathroom and freeze again at the door. The ground is quite clean, holding no evidence of the horrors that happened here only weeks ago. I shuffle up to the counter and open the drawer. I pull out one of the blades I didn't use. They obviously threw out the one I did use. I notice Jerome's eyes widen out of the corner of my eye.
"Mitch...dont...."
I meet his eyes and shake my head.
"I...I won't Jerome I promise."
I grip the blade in my hand, turn, aim my shot and...perfect. Jerome smiles and walks over to hug me.
"I can't believe you just threw it out..."
"I promised. Never again. And I mean it."
I hug him back tightly and he suddenly picks me up. I laugh out loud, the sound unfamiliar. I haven't laughed in a long time.
"Go, my bacca! Make me food!"
Jerome chuckles, running into the living room still holding me. He drops me on the couch and leans against the couch arm.
"Make you what, Biggums?"
"Umm....PIZZA!"
"What, homemade?"
I nod and he shakes his head, a goofy smile on his face.
"That might take a while, Mitch."
"I can wait."
Still snickering, Jerome heads into the kitchen to get started on the pizza. I grab the remote and start mindlessly flicking through channels. After a while, Jerome joins me. We eventually settle on watching some chickflick because there's nothing better on. Just as the movie is getting to an even more boring part, I hear the oven beep.
"PIZZAAAAAAAAA!"
We get up and I start jumping around impatiantly. Jerome looks at me, desperately trying to hide his smile.
"You're such a child, Mitch."
"Hey, I am only 6 days younger than you."
"6 days is 6 days. You're still younger."
I stick my tongue out at him playfully as we grab our pizza and head back to the tv and begin to flip channels again. I take a bite of my pizza and instantly feel a grin appearing on my face.
"This is really good, G."
"Thanks, G."
"Your genes are really good, clearly. You cook better than your parents!"
He laughs, making my heart feel all warm and happy.
"Don't tell them that. They be very infelice."
After noticing my confused look, he corrects himself.
"Unhappy, Mitch. Sorry, I felt the moment needed some Italian."
I laugh and shrug.
"As long as you tell me what this stuff means, I'm fine with you speaking it."
