Outsiders

Chapter 6

We were at the hospital, Michael and I sitting in the sterile, cold waiting room. The antiseptic smell filled the air, and the bright fluorescent lights only heightened our sense of anxiety. Michael had his face in his hands, his body slumped in defeat. The distant sounds of beeping machines and muffled conversations added to the tense atmosphere.

"This is all my fault. If I wasn't drunk, we wouldn't be here," Michael said, his voice muffled by his hands, a deep sense of regret evident in his tone.

"No, it's not your fault, it's mine. If I hadn't been blacking out because of Chloe, none of this would be happening," I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. Michael looked up at me, confusion in his eyes, the dark circles under them standing out starkly against his pale skin.

"Blacking out? That happened to me before I set the curtains on fire," Michael said, his voice laced with disbelief. A light bulb seemed to go off in my mind, and I remembered what Chloe had told me earlier.

"Wait, Chloe mentioned something about her controlling us! She must have embedded something in us that allows them to control us. So far, it has worked on Nash, me, and you. That's probably what happened at the party last night," I explained, my voice urgent. Michael gripped his pants tightly, his knuckles turning white. I could tell he was pissed and wanted to punch something.

"That bitch. When I get a hold of her next time, she's toast," Michael said, his breath coming out in angry huffs. Smoke started to curl out of his nostrils, a sure sign he was about to lose control. I was about to say something to calm him down when a nurse walked in.

"Snow Rogers and Michael Young?" she called, her voice breaking the tense silence. We stood up as soon as she said our names. "Your friend Josh is going to be okay, but he will need to stay at the hospital for a week or so. The bullet just missed his stomach, so we have to make sure he doesn't have any more internal bleeding. If you guys want, you can go see him, but he is asleep."

We nodded, and she motioned for us to follow her. She led us through a maze of hallways to Josh's room. We walked in and saw all the machines attached to him: an IV to ensure he was getting enough fluids, a heart monitor to make sure his heartbeat was regular, and other machines I didn't recognize. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a stark reminder of Josh's fragile state. The nurse turned to us, her expression gentle.

"If there's any trouble, just call," she said, her voice soft and reassuring.

"Thank you, Miss," Michael replied, his voice barely above a whisper. She nodded and walked out of the room. I walked over to Josh, tears welling up in my eyes. It was my fault; I couldn't protect him.

"I'm sorry, Josh. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm the worst leader ever," I said, crying softly, my tears dripping onto the pristine hospital sheets. We sat there for a while, hoping he would wake up, the room filled with the sound of our quiet breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor.

It was about 10 at night, and visiting hours were almost over. Josh was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily. Michael gently grabbed my shoulder, causing me to jump.

"Snow, we need to head home. We'll visit him tomorrow," Michael said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Just then, I started to feel light-headed and dizzy again, a familiar and unwelcome sensation. Suddenly, the window shattered with a loud crash, sending shards of glass flying through the room. Michael and I covered our heads instinctively, the sound of breaking glass echoing in the confined space. Ropes shot through the broken window and wrapped around us, binding us tightly.

"What the hell!" Michael yelled, his voice filled with shock and anger. His hands flared with heat as he burned through the ropes with his powers, the smell of singed rope filling the air.