Just My Luck

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"Oh." Said Charity, not sure what else to say.

"I have to take medication to control the seizures." She said, looking away. Charity nodded, basically at a loss for words.

"It's why I can't drive myself," She rambled on, "and why my mom's so paranoid. Sometimes I stutter, and kids used to make fun of me. After fifth grade, by mom pulled me out to homeschool me." She said as tears started to escape her eyes. Charity reached out to hug her. She leaned her head on her shoulder and no one said anything.

"Well, at least now we can be medication buddies." She whispered. Avery readjusted herself to look at Charity.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, apparently I'm depressed." She said unenthusiastically.

"Charity, it will get better." She said seriously.

"I sure hope so." Yawned Charity. All this emotional talking had really tired her out. She put her head back on the pillow, Avery doing the same. They pulled each other close, and fell into a light, peaceful sleep.

They woke up the next morning, ready to go home. Avery wiped her eyes free of sleep, and Charity coughed, her throat dry from sleeping with her mouth open.

She looked down, and realized there was no IV anymore. She rolled off the bed, her legs stiff as logs. She she got up, and walked out of the room, to see where the others were. Even though the paper gown wasn't necessary, she still had to wear it until she left.

She heard a whistle from behind her, and saw Michael smirking at her, obviously from the open back gown. He was sitting in the corner, chair chuckling to himself.

"Aren't ya gonna cover up?" He asked.

"And why would I do that?" She replied, putting her hands on her hips, and strutting out of the room.

When it was time to leave, she changed into a baggy white t-shirt, and sweatpants. She couldn't wait to go home. Her wrist had been wrapped in a tenser bandage, and she'd be wearing a brace in a week or so.

Once she got home, she flopped down into her bed, only realizing now, how disgusting she felt. She hadn't showered, or brushed her teeth since yesterday morning. The film on the back of her teeth was so thick, she could probably etch her name in to it.

She got up, and grabbed some clothes. She headed to the bathroom. The water felt heavenly on her aching muscles, lapping over he entire body. Her hair was a lost cause, so she ended up putting it in a bun. She brushed her teeth, and enjoyed the feeling of the foam in her otherwise dry mouth.

She ran downstairs in an oversized band t-shirt, which she knotted in the front, and acid washed blue jeans, ending at her ankles. She made it to the front door and she put on her, you guessed it, mustard coloured work boots. She turned the handle, but not before she was stopped.

Her father called her over to the kitchen table, a place where they never ate diner. She knew this must be serious, since they hadn't sat here in years.

"I just want to make sure you're alright." He said.

"I'm fine dad, why wouldn't I be?" She asked, her voice higher than normal.

"You just got back from the hospital, it's okay to not be okay."

"But I'm fine!" She said, getting annoyed.