I'll Be Fine

Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. Part 1

🌹This is gonna be a long chapter so clear your schedule, grab your fuzzy slippers and get comfortable *wink wink*🌹

"Excuse me, Miss Allen?" a female officer asks, looking down at a small notepad that has tons of scribbling on it. "Yeah?" I ask, somewhat confidently. I'm used to this whole process. The police officer will ID me with the school, ask me questions about what Mason does for a living, and I do my best to get him out of any trouble he might be in. It happens more often than you might think.

The police officer continues, "We need to take you in for some questioning, but first would you like to see your mother?" Wait, what? Why would my mother be here? They never bring her. They only interview me. "Um, pardon, but why would I need to see my mother?" I ask, my voice unsteady.

The officer looks at me for a second before clearing her throat and looking down at the notepad again. "It seems she's been injured by a Mr. Mason Allen." she says in a confused voice. I immediately see red. "This doesn't happen often?" she asks, still clearly confused.

HOW DARE HE HIT HER!! SHE'S BEEN NOTHING BUT FAITHFUL TO HIM AND ALL HE DOES IS SIT AROUND ON HIS LAZY ASS AND SPEND ALL OF HER INCOME ON BEER AND CIGARETTES!

I shake my head. This never happens. If it did, let's just say Mason wouldn't be a problem anymore. Not an idle threat, either... "Um..miss? Are you okay?" I shake my head again, unsure if I can trust my voice enough to speak without screaming profanities at...well, life. Mainly Mason though. I eventually open my mouth and shockingly, coherent words come out. "How bad is she? My mom?" I hate myself for even asking this question. I thought long ago I'd told myself to never ask questions when the police got involved. Especially not questions I didn't want answers to.

"The doctors reported she has a broken collarbone, several impact marks that appear to be wounds from repeated punching and kicking, some of her hair has been seemingly ripped out in chunks, and they suspect some minor internal bleeding due to a rather harsh fall down a flight of stairs. We don't know if she was pushed yet, but I wouldn't bet any money on your stepfather's innocence, either." The officer says, her voice lacking any emotions whatsoever.

I start struggling to breathe. Here I am wanting to rip Mason's throat out and my mom could be INTERNALLY FUCKING BLEEDING.

I finally nod after taking a moment to process all this new information. "I-I want to s-see her." I finish, unable to say anything else. My breathing becomes labored again and I lean against the wall. This cannot be happening. Not my mom! Why her? Why not me? Or Mason? Especially Mason! Why is karma so unfair? My mom did NOTHING to deserve this!

The police officer ushers me through the empty hallways of the school. 3rd period is about to end and I'm already leaving. Hey, at least I won't have to worry about Intro to Business now...

*****

I sit in the Hope Haven waiting room. Our local hospital didn't have technology necessary to treat some of her larger wounds, apparently. As I'm told this, all I hear is that Blossomvale couldn't get it's shit together long enough to help her. She's been lifted to Hope Haven General Hospital, I'm told. I let out an emotionless laugh. Ironically enough, there's never hope for anyone who has to be transported to Hope Haven. They're basically the backup hospital, the one people go to knowing their time is up.

But my mom won't die. She can't. Surely they can treat internal bleeding? They HAVE to! With all the available technology, they must be able to do SOMETHING...anything...I'm desperate...

*****

It's been 6 hours, 34 minutes, 12 seconds. 13 seconds. 14 seconds.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock here is loud. If you become too zoned out, it penetrates your thoughts. Brings your mind back to Earth. Why? So it can remind you that your loved one is probably dying. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I was given a police escort. That turned some heads. I hate how quiet it is here. Nobody says a word, and there are at least 17 other people in this waiting room.

They have to have a large enough waiting room to hold the families of dying patients.

I immediately regret the thought. I mean, yeah, mom has internal bleeding, but that's only because of a fall. Surely it would be different if she suffered from a gunshot or stab wound? Just the thought makes bile rise up in the back of my throat.

What the actual fuck, Mason? That's all I've been able to think for the last 6 hours, 34 minutes, 21 seconds. I've dozed off countless times. I never sleep enough at night, and paired with the stress and worry I've encountered today, it's almost enough to send me spiraling over the edge of insanity. Almost.

The only thing I can trust right now is that little sliver of integrity. So far, I've cried 0 times. I've given up hope 0 times. I've broke down and screamed until my throat was raw 0 times. More than some other waiting families can say. Not that I can blame them. Since I got here so many hours ago I've had the urge to do all 3.

The head doctor treating my mom won't let me in. Says she's unstable, that maybe I can see her in an hour or so. He says this every hour. I don't understand what's taking so long. But I know it's not my mom's fault. She doesn't deserve any of this. How long before she's able to testify against Mason in court? How long before she can work again? How long before she can go back to being my mother? Immediately, I correct that last thought. She's never been a mother to me.

Yeah, she supports the family-though family isn't the word I'd use- but she doesn't love me. I'm the product of a drunken mistake from 16 years ago. One that my dad ultimately had to pay for. No, not Mason. My real dad. When my parents found out they were pregnant, both at the ripe age of 22, they panicked. Mom didn't have a steady job. Dad had one, but balancing college and the job meant he didn't get paid enough for it to matter. Speaking of college, my dad dropped out soon after my mom announced she had a bun in the oven. It was noble, really. My dad always wanted to be an astronomer, but because of me, it never happened. He went on to work at a space museum giving tours. Don't ask me how he got that job without any kind of degree, but if I had to guess, I'd say it was probably because my dad was always a charmer. He had that charisma and loveable personality that everyone wanted to surround themselves with.

3 months after I turned 4, dad died of a heart attack. I don't remember him really. I only know what he looks like because of the photo I keep hidden in my room.

After he died, mom got depressed. She lost her already-unstable job and got addicted to drugs. When I was about 9, she almost died of a heroin overdose. Said it scared her straight, made her realize how much she had to lose. It wasn't until 3 years later that I learned she was only worried about losing her deadbeet secret boyfriend, a guy named Mason.

4 years later and here we are. Dysfunctional, unconnected, and none of us sees much of one another anymore. Mom's always cooped up in her office and Mason's always passed out on the couch, sleeping off a hangover.

Normally when the cops are called, it's just because they think Mason's in the business of dealing drugs-which he is-and they need to question my mom and I. Not a big deal after a while. And after the first time he hit me, I learned to talk him up, make sure the police thought he was innocent. Just like my mom. I was 11 years old then.

Aaaaanyways, I'm depressing myself again. Way to go, me!

I suddenly feel like I'm gonna hurl. I dash out of the waiting room towards the nearest bathroom and puke my guts out once I get there. I just feel bad for the janitorial staff. If there's one good thing I have to say about Hope Haven, it's that the place is absolutely freaking immaculate. Clean white walls, clean floors, tidy bathrooms, etc. Even the waiting room magazines are stacked straight and neatly. Not to mention the stench of bleach permeating the air. Okay, so maybe the freaky-clean walls and the smell of bleach are nauseating, but still, kudos on that.

My phone died hours ago, and I can't be bothered to dig through the bottom of my bag to find my charger. Not that I'd want to use it here; something bothers me about hospital outlets. How many people have plugged in their phones or iPads, dreading the news that's to come regarding someone they care about? Way too many as far as I'm concerned.

The waiting room door opens and I lift my head up to see which doctor it is, along with everyone else in the room. I recognize the head doctor working on my mom and my heartbeat quickens.

This is it. The moment of truth.