Playing Games

Chapter 39

LOGAN POV

My body has been glued to this bed for so long that I've lost track of time. Everything still hurts no matter how much morphine they put into my system. All that there is for me to do is just drift in and out of consciousness.

Each day it's almost as if I'm fading in and out of reality, allowing myself to be swallowed by my self pity consumed dreams. That's all I can do with myself.

Every night I have nightmares about the crash which cause me to wake up in a sweat. I can still hear the sound of the tires skidding, and all of the glass shattering as my car kept flipping. Just thinking about it makes me shake, so I try not to dwell on it too much.

Just the image of Brendan taunting me in here a couple of days ago makes me sick to my stomach, and I lose my appetite even though I didn't have much of it because the hospital food isn't very good.

How I managed to let him have Savannah so easily is what makes me upset. It's not even like I could fight for her because she already decided to go to him, and then the car accident happened, so now she's all his.

I've lost her for good.

I should've known that whatever was running through my mind that night that I met Savannah wouldn't have worked at all. But of course, the demon in me had more power and now so many people have been hurt.

Savannah especially, because she probably could've been with someone who actually gave a fuck about her, not some egotistical player who thinks he can win every girl he talks to.

I've completely ruined my friendship with Anthony, who was basically the only person who seemed to tolerate me anymore. I only had him around all the time because everyone else that I had become friends with abandoned me, and he was the only one who still genuinely enjoyed my friendship.

Well, not anymore.

Slowly, I lift myself and turn so that I'm on the edge of the bed. Angrily, I tear the IV out and throw it aside. Putting pressure on my legs to stand hurts like hell, but I grit my teeth and deal with it so that I can slowly make my way to the bathroom.

I hardly move anymore since the doctors have basically required me to be on bed rest while I'm healing, so whenever I do move, I'm incredibly stiff.

I don't even recognize myself in the mirror once I look into it. My face is still so damaged and misconfigured, red and black and blue from the bruises, and sore no matter how gentle I try to move. The ghost of where my hand used to be looks so strange.

The stitches that hold it together looks like I'm some old doll made of cloth that's been stitched together so that it lasts a little longer. My bruised face could resemble the doll with different colored patches to symbolize the bruises.

I'm a bruised and battered mess.

I try to get into the shower as slowly as possible, but when I do, there's a puddle of water underneath my foot which causes me to slip and fall. My cheek slams against the cold and slimy tile of the shower, and the collision of my ribs and the floor causes me to groan.

Luckily, my neck brace is still on and supporting me because if it wasn't, I'd probably have another thing to add to my list of injuries.