Weight

Part Twelve

The next morning when I woke up to get ready for school, the first thing I did was check on Nate. I knocked softly on his door, and when I got no response I figured he was still sleeping. Cracking the door a tiny bit, I peeked my head in and, sure enough, Nate was still tucked in underneath the covers and breathing evenly. I pushed the door open farther and tiptoed in. Making my way over to Nate, I shook him gently, trying to wake him up.

"Nate," I whispered. He stirred a little, eventually coming to. He squinted up at me, confused at first but eventually gaining his senses.

"Morning," I said. "How are you feeling?"

Nate groaned as he pushed himself up so he'd be leaning against the headboard. The sheet fell to his waist, exposing the dark bruises on his stomach. Nasty shades purple marred his normally perfect skin.

"Sore," he grunted. I nodded in understanding.

"Think you're going to school today?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, as he reached down to peel off the bandage from last night. "I think I have to."

I cringed looking down at the gash beneath his ribcage. The surrounding skin was red and irritated, and the cut itself didn't look so happy either. "Nate, this doesn't look good," I muttered as I inspected the wound. "Why won't you go to the hospital? I really think this need stitches," I urged.

Nate frowned, looking off at some unknown object across the room. He was holding back. I didn't want to pry, to make him tell me, but I knew he needed to share with somebody. If he kept everything inside, he would implode. I reached across the bed, to where his was poking at his bruise. I wrapped my hand in his, showing my support. "You don't need to talk to me, but I think you should talk to somebody, anybody. Bottling your sadness and anger up is dangerous."

Nate looked down at our intertwined hands, then up to meet my eyes. He stared, contemplating whether or not he was ready to open up.

"I don't want to spend any more time at the hospital than I feel like I'm going to have to," Nate confessed. My heart wrenched as I remembered his father. I felt stupid that it never occurred to me. His father was ill, and Nate anticipated potential days or weeks he'd spend at his father's bedside.

A single tear fell from my eye as a single tear fell from Nate's.

With my one hand still laced into Nate's, I stretched out my other arm and wiped Nate's face before nodding in concession. "Okay," I relented, "no hospital." Reluctantly standing up and letting go of Nate, I sighed lightly trying to lift the mood. "If we're not getting that checked out, you're going to at least let me clean it for you until it heals."

With that, I walked to the bathroom to get the necessary supplies.

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All day at school, Nate acted like nothing was wrong even though I could see him aching. I wanted to reach out, comfort him or tell him to go home, but I couldn't.

At lunch, I asked Nate how he was feeling.

"I'm fine," he said. I shouldn't have expected any other response.

Just then, Nate's best friend Tyler came over and clapped him on the back. Nate jolted from the sudden contact, but smiled at Tyler anyway.

"Ready for the game tonight, bro?" Tyler cheered, as he walked by on his way to the other end of the table. My first instinct was to roll my eyes at the use of the word "bro." My second was alarm.

"He still thinks you're playing?" I questioned. Nate stayed silent.

"Why does he still think you're playing?" I forged on.

Nate looked down to the sandwich he was nervously pulling apart. "Because I am," he admitted quietly.

"You're what?"

"I have to play in the game tonight," Nate said. "It's a playoff game, and they need me."

"Nate, a game isn't worth getting hurt all over again. If you get hit, the cut is gonna reopen, and who knows what will happen then?" I waved my hands emphatically, and I persistently reminded him, "And what about all that sweat and the germs that are gonna get into your cut? You'll get infected."

Nate looked down shamefully, but had no words of defense or remorse. "That's it?" I scoffed. "Nothing to say about that?"

When I still received no response, I shook my head and got up. I was having a conversation with myself, and, if he wasn't going to listen to me, I wasn't going to waste my breath.

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This part is so short. I'm embarrassed. And sorry. I just had so many ideas, and I didn't know which to include. This is what I settled on. Thanks for reading, anyway :)