(Sequel to Two Gangs and a Golden Girl)
***
"If you even think about touching me, I will literally rip off your arm," I growl when Xavier prowls closer. He doesn't stop. His poison green eyes drill into mine.
"I will have you, Marigold, and we will...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sun starts setting when the new hospital finally finishes all their tests and leave to check the results. The first hospital made sure Owen is secure and that his lungs didn't collapse after the fall. But when they picked up on the severe spinal cord injury, they told us there was nothing they could do.
So I told them in what gang I am and they immediately organized a helicopter for Owen and I to take us to a hospital up North - about 2 hours away from Tygerwell in flying time.
"This can't be happening," Owen whispers.
I'm in the seat next to his bed and look up. They have the bed angled so Owen can sit up straight somehow. His legs that he still can't feel or move is under the covers. He looks unnaturally pale and even his copper hair has lots its color.
"This isn't happening. You're fine. That other hospital was a piece of shit," I reassure my friend.
Owen looks out of it. His dark eyes are in a different memory as he says, "I hate the sound of wheelchair wheels. I hate it. If they tell me I can't walk, Blake... If they tell me I have to sit in a fucking wheelchair the rest of my life and piss through a fucking tube, I need you to be my friend."
"Of course I'll be your friend. I'll always be your friend," I reassure him.
Owen turns to me with a deadly reassurance - his dark eyes even darker than usual when he says, "If they tell me I'm paralyzed, I need you to kill me."
My heart stops at the words. It's a miracle Owen is alive and already he wants to be dead?
"You're not going to be paralyzed," I say firmly.
He better not.
Owen looks back out in front of him and we wait in silence. The only sound is his heart monitor and the regular beep from other machines. I look around and feel so filthy among the white walls and medical smell. They washed Owen up for the tests, but I'm still in my bloodied leather jacket and pants.
A few more minutes pass before a doctor walks in. On his tag it says: 'Edwarf'. He's a tall man and old too, with thick eyebrows and a permanent frown. The frown stays as he walks in with his clipboard. "I need you boys to listen to me very carefully," the doctor says.
