Baby Fat

fifty-nine

RECAP: Corrie was preparing to leave rehab when he was attacked and choked by Manuel, a kid from his group therapy. Corrie was thankfully saved and lived. He was sent to a hospital to recover from his injuries.

There are no words to express how thankful Corrie is. How thankful that he didn't die. How thankful he is that Bradley and Devon showed up at the hospital he was taken to for the recovery.

When Devon saw him lying on the hospital bed, he broke down in tears. He'd never sobbed so hard. This is the second time that Devon would see him in a hospital after almost dying. Once was a lot. Twice broke him.

Bradley, on the other hand, nearly killed the hospital staff. He was so fucking mad that this could happen. He was raging. How could Corrie almost die in the place where he was supposed to be safest? Bradley was going to fucking sue them.

Corrie's father showed the most affection Corrie had received in years. His father touched his shoulder and told him he was glad that his only child didn't die. Then he added that it would be a pain in the ass to press charges for murder. Corrie took it. Sure, it was a jackass thing to say, but you take what you can get.

Now, he's in a wheelchair getting wheeled to his father's car. Much to Corrie's surprise, it is actually his father driving the car. Ophelia is sitting in the passenger's seat, her baby bump nice and clear.

His father helps Corrie into the backseat of the car. Corrie barley holds back a scream the whole time. Breathing hurts like a bitch with a broken rib, but moving is like jumping into a pit of lava filled with sharks. Not. Fucking. Fun.

And unfortunately for him, hard painkillers are off the table altogether. There wasn't even a discussion about it. He flat out told them he couldn't take them, he'd overdose the first time he'd open them.

"You good?" Corrie's father asks from the driver's seat. Ophelia is humming along to a whatever is playing on the radio. Corrie tries to focus in on it to distract his pain.

"Uh--" the car runs over a speed bump, "fuck! Jesus fucking Christ I'm dying. It hurts so bad, Dad. So. Fucking. Bad."

Corrie's father apologizes, for the first time in Corrie's entire life. Corrie tries not to be shocked, but this is the same man who kicked his own son out for telling the truth about his fiance.

"How far along are you again, Ophelia?" Corrie asks, trying to make small talk. He needs a distraction, like, big time.

"I'm eight months along," Ophelia responds in a cheery tone. "It's a girl!"

Corrie's smile comes out more like a grimace and Corrie has never been so thankful that they couldn't see his face. "Have you picked out a name for her?"

"We haven't been able to decide yet," Ophelia pats Corrie's father's shoulder. "But, we do have the nursery set up."

"That's great," Corrie tries to stay interested in the conversation. "Where is it in the house?"

"It's on the third floor with the master," Corrie's father responds frankly. "We thought it would be best."

"You're right," Corrie finds himself agreeing with his father. He can't be a recovering alcoholic and living on such an unpredictable schedule that is a baby.

The rest of the car ride is spent in a comfortable silence. Corrie tries to rest as much as he can. He can't fall asleep, not sitting up at least. He does allow himself to space out.

"We're home," Ophelia announces to the car. They've pulled into Corrie's driveway. He realizes that he hasn't been to this place in maybe a year. He almost forgot what it looked like. It's fucking massive. A lot larger than Corrie remembered.