Bad Boy With Scars

Chapter Four: The Truth

Connor's P.O.V.

It's been two days since I've been admitted into the hospital. Chelsea was the first, and only, person to visit me. It shocks me that she even came. At least I'm going back to school tomorrow.

My grandma came and picked me up after the doctors ran one last test. They had to make sure that I was fine. I wasn't, but I told them I was. Not so I would leave sooner, but so my grandma could have some peace in mind as she slept to tonight.

She's the only one that truly cares about me. She doesn't judge me when I smoke or drink. The others did. That's why they wanted me out.

"Connor, darling, will you grab the remote and bring it to me?" Grandma asked from the living room.

I grabbed it from the counter and walked over to the little old lady sitting on the couch. I really did love her. I have this fear, everyday. I fear that when I go to make sure she's awake or okay, she won't be.

She kissed my cheek and I smiled at her. I walked back into the kitchen and continued cooking.

"What do you want for lunch?" I asked her softly.

"Soup will be just fine with me." She smiled. I smiled back and grabbed the can from the fridge.

We live in a fairly small house. It use to seem bigger, but then my grandpa died, and things kind of went down hill. An addiction came back and I can't seem to shake it now.

I put the soup in a bowl and set it in the microwave. You could clearly see the living room from the kitchen. There wasn't a wall or anything. Just a small island. That makes me feel better so I can always keep an eye on her. I worry way too much.

The microwave ding came and I grabbed a spoon and brought the soup to the living room. I sat next to grandma and began to help her eat.

She can't do anything for herself anymore, so I always help her. From eating, to simply putting the covers back on the bed, she needs help.

I don't help her change her clothes though. She told me she didn't want to scar me with, as she put, her "saggy milk cartons". I was fine with hiring someone else to help her.

"Sweetheart," her voice was soft and tiny. "How many days has it been since you've-" I cut her off, not wanting her to finish the sentence.

"Three days. I couldn't do it in the hospital and I've been trying hard not to since I came back." I told her. She looked at me and her eyes watered. I guess she expected a different answer.

"I'm really trying." I whispered.

She gave me a weak smile before pulling me into a hug. We stayed like that until I fell asleep. She always helped me to sleep when I couldn't. Yes. An eighteen year old boy, almost nineteen, needs help falling asleep. If you knew why I've been through, you'd feel the same.

The next day was a normal day. I attempted to get in Chelsea's pants like always. She rejected me, like always. Only if she knew why I was such a dick. I already opened up too much to her. I can't tell her anything else. Ever.