Anger Issues

fifty four

Jessica

I froze. I wasn't even sure how to process that information.

"Jess, he'll come back. He just needed to cool off. Relax," Noah said, bringing me out of my trance.

"Y- yeah," I nodded, hoping it was true.

I put my things on the counter and finally walked to the kitchen, seeing a whole bunch of shattered glass on the floor.

"What did he do?" I asked, realizing that's why Noah was bleeding. "He flipped some stuff off the table," he said, surprisingly calm for how bad his arm was.

"Let me see," I said, trying to help him.

I pushed the cloth just a little bit out of the way, only to see a lot of blood.

"That's not gonna stop," I said. "I know. Could you drive me to the hospital?" He asked.

The hospital.

"Yeah," I nodded, ignoring the recent traumatic memories.

I remembered everything from the news we got. From getting the sonogram to getting over the procedure. Noah had to call school for me and tell them I was sick because if not, Mom and Dad would've gotten a call telling them I was absent.

I grabbed a few paper towels and wrapped them around his arm, before we went out to the car.

Kyle was still waiting outside, and I didn't realize until I saw him. "Hold on," I quickly said to Noah, rushing to Kyle's car. He rolled down the window.

"Kyle I'm fine. Thank you for waiting, Noah just got hurt. I'll text you, okay?" I quickly explained.

"Oh, alright," he nodded.

I weakly smiled before rushing back to my car, and getting in.

Driving to the hospital, we were able to get a doctor rather quick. Noah definitely needed stitches, which wasn't a surprise.

He explained that he was picking up glass and accidentally cut himself, which was reasonable to believe.

His arm was full of blood. They had to rinse it off, put some antibacterial stuff all over it, and then start stitching it.

I couldn't bare the sight of the stitches being put on him. It was nauseating.

"Jess, wait outside," Noah said, obviously noticing how uncomfortable I was. I wanted to be supportive, but I would've thrown up if I stayed.

I stood right outside the small room and leaned my back against the wall, thinking about what happened.

I still couldn't process what Noah said about dad. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. For some reason, unlike all the other times, I didn't. I wasn't suppressing it, either. It naturally just stayed in me.

After about a minute of thinking, my phone rang in my hand. Mom was calling.

"Hello?" I answered. "Jessica, where are you guys? And what happened at home?" She immediately asked, worry in her voice.

"Dad and Noah were arguing, and Dad broke some stuff," I quietly explained. "Noah tried cleaning it up and cut himself, we're at the hospital now," I explained.

She sighed. "Is he alright?" She asked. "Yeah, we'll be home soon, Mom," I assured her. "Do you need me to come there?" She asked. "No, we're fine. He's getting stitches right now, it shouldn't be that long," I explained.

"Where's your father?" She asked. I paused for a few seconds, nearly zoning out. "Noah said he left.." I slowly said.

She had no response. I couldn't pick up a single sound from her side of the call. "Okay," she said. "Be careful on your way home, it started raining." She said. "Okay, bye."

I sighed and put my phone down, leaning my head against the wall again, focusing on absolutely nothing.

When I heard the doctor talking to Noah as if he finished up the stitches, I walked back into the room.

"You'll have them for about two to three weeks..." he started explaining precautions Noah needed to take. After a few minutes, he was done.

"Thank you," Noah said, standing up. The doctor nodded, leaving. Noah sighed. "Let's go," he said.

We walked back to the car. He had a bandage wrapped around his arm, so nobody could see the stitches.

As we got in the car, we sat in silence for a few minutes, until I broke it.

"Mom called," I said. "I heard you talking to her," Noah said. I nodded. "I told her about Dad," I quietly said, focusing on the road.

He stayed silent for a few seconds. "What did she say?" He asked. "Nothing," I told him.

"Why did you and Dad argue?" I asked him. He shrugged. "He was gonna go drink again and I told him not to, so he freaked out," he simply explained.

I nodded, not having anything to say to that. Dad was becoming an alcoholic. He might've already reached that point.

"When do you think he'll come back?" I asked. "I don't know," he said. "He will, though. Don't worry," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but a part of me couldn't. So much shit was going on at home. What if he didn't come back?