Little Things

Chapter 38

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Although the game is rivoting and any other time I would be as into it as I was the night of the Stanley Cup Finals, I end up drifting to sleep within ten minutes. When I wake up a few hours later, Harry and Liam are gone and Morgan is no where to be seen. I turn on the television just to check then time and contemplate going back to my nap when I realize it's not too late at all.

I reach across my bed, shuffling my blankets looking for my phone, and then sigh when I remember Niall still occupies my stuff. 

I really need to get it all back; especially my phone. It's my source for time, contacting people, emails, work.

Work.

I groan, making my head pound even more, because of the fact that I am now basically jobless. Thanks to the very intelligent Irish boy who lost it for me. Creds to him.

I pick up the house phone that is still next to me where I put it after I got off the phone with my mom, and dial the hospital's number. Once it's picked up, I ask to be transferred to Dr. Jammeson. And then quiet elevator like music plays and I want to hum along, but decide not too because it would be awkward if he picked up in the middle of singing to myself.

"Hello this is Dr. Jammeson," he introduces himself.

"Hi, this is Allyson Parker; the one who got in the accident last night," I explain.

"Oh of course, is everything alright? I only discharged you a little while ago," he sounds uneasy in his words, but I guess a doctor would be getting a call from a patient they had just let leave the vicinity.

"Yeah, I just had a few questions,"

"Then ask away Miss Parker," he says ever so politely.

"Okay, first thing is what should I be doing? For my concussion and my foot? Should I rest or..."

"Concussions are tricky. No electronics, no reading, no loud music; basically no stimulation. As for your foot, keep off of it as much as you can. I hate crutches more than anything, but use them until it doesn't hurt to walk again. But don't use them out of habit because you could only mess up how you walk," he answers and I nod even though he can't see me.

"What will I feel? Like with my concussion?"

"Headaches, severe and simple. Sharp, aching, quick, long, all of the above. It differs from everyone and the extent of the injury. You'll also be very tired so it's good to take lots of naps."

"Okay thanks. And also I don't know if you're the person to ask this but....what's going to happen to me?" I blurt.

"What do you mean? I don't think I understand,"

"Like, I was drunk driving. And you obviously already know this but I'm underage. What's gonna happen? Am I gonna go to court? Will I get a fine?" I blurt.

"Ah...Yes, this is a tricky situation. You will have to pay fines, that is no doubt. Whether or not you will recieve court time and all that,  fun stuff, is up to the government and police officers," he explains.

"I hope this all goes aways soon," I mumble.

"What was that Miss Parker?"

"Nothing. Thank's for everything," 

"Of course, if you have any other questions you know how to reach me. Feel better Miss Parker," he says and I guarentee he is smiling.

"Thanks," I mutter again and hang up the phone. Just as I do so, a searing pain shoots across my forehead and I wince.

How long do concussions even last? Because it's been a few hours and I already can't stand the pain. I wish I asked that to Dr. Jammeson.

I yawn, stil tired. Not only am I physically so beat and hurt that makes me tired, but just mentally I am tired of everyone and everything. I just need a break. A break where I am alone; just interruptions, nothing to keep me from thinking about what's important.

I hear steps down the stairs and assume it's Morgan.

"How ya holdin' up champ?" she calls out.

"This fucking sucks," I answer and she laughs.

"I bet," she sits on the edge of my bed and looks at me, deep in thinking. 

What is she thinking about? Probably what an idiot I am for getting into this in the first place. But, what can you do about the past? Absolutely nothing.

"So the boys left," 

"Yup, they had plans," she answers and I look at the television that is still on. It doesn't have any noise playing, but it's currently broadcasting Hocus Pocus. It's way too early for Halloween; considering it's only September.

But I don't change it anyways. It's the least of my worries.

I roll myself around, forming a coccoon. It's extremely warm and I smile at my cleverness. Modest, I know.

"So Kevin," Morgan says, sitting back in her chair and resting her head on her arms.

"So, what about him?" I ask.

"So, stalker or nah," she can't keep a street face while she says it.

"Nah," I repeat and we both laugh.

Moments like these are why I always feel so lucky to have an amazing best friend. . I would be scared in and of life without her.

"He's so into you," she smirks, taking a sip out of her water bottle.

"So not!" I react a little too loudly.

"So true!" she counteracts.

"Well, he's just a nice person," I  defend him. "He just needs a little...guidance."

"Guidance?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, like, help. I guess. Help in direction on where to go," I answer and she nods.

I grab the remote and decide to check the television guide to see if there is anything else to watch. As much as I love this movie, I just have to wait til at least October. I don't even think we are past September 10th yet. Let alone close to Halloween.

But then again, they are already starting to hang up Christmas decorations at the mall. Figures. So typical of them to be like that.

"Harry and Liam were asking where Niall was..." Morgan trails off. I love how she automatically knows the soft subject of Niall. How to never take it too far.

"Don't know. Don't care," I shrug and she sighs. "What?"

"Nothing," she rolls her eyes.

"Hey I saw that!" I call her out but she doesn't seem phased. Little tricky girl.

"What happened?" she asks and I sigh.

"What hasn't happened in the last; like, I don't even know...Four days? Is that even right?" I ask, genuinely unsure.

"Anyways,'' I continue "He just always says the worst things at the worse times. Well not always but a majority," I say and she laughs.

"I can see that," she smirks.

"Yeah, same," I reply.

"So that's an adios for Irish boy?" she asks and I consider the factors.

But then I remember all of the good of him. The way he doesn't care what anyone else things, his voice, how he cares about everyone and anyone. 

And himself, in general.