We've all heard and devoured the classic trope involving the shenanigans of a jock, a princess, a nerd, and a criminal. Although who knows of the trouble capable of ensuing when The Breakfast Club isn't PG-13 anymore?
That's the 2007 freshman batch...
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George and I stand before the door, my feet constantly moving back and forth on the hospital's greasy floor. "I can't do this, George."
"Do you think it's easy for me? She will want to kill me when she finds out," he murmurs and clasps my hand within his, the warmth least bit assuring.
Mia's mother called to give the news about her seizure. I tried to sound taken aback, but we all knew how she was derailing and that was simply what she thought she could put on display for us to feed on. She wanted me to visit Mia, to be there for her, and I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. That George or I being with her would hardly make any difference to her condition, worsen it even if we stayed too long. As far as I have observed, there is only person who can actually help her and why I can't manage to put together it's organic nature bewildering to me. But as timing would have it, Archie is off to a trip with his football teammates to Washington.
"Let's go," George pulls me back to reality, and I nod in approval. He pushes the door open while I duck behind, following him inside while my fingers clutch harder onto his. My eyes waver off to the gloomy, pale pink wallpaper of the room. It appears like a regular bedroom with a four shelved closet, a flat screen hung up on the wall, some paintings, and yet looks so insipid at the same time. Just the feeling makes me sick to my stomach.
And that is until I spot Mia. She is sitting up straight on the bed with the biggest smile plastered on her face. To anyone else she would look appear the happiest person to exist, but not everyone has access to the handbook to reading Mia and all the bloody exceptions she came with. "It's the medicines, right?"
"Yeah," George whispers, snapping his gaze from her visibly swollen arm, right above the cannula attached to her veins.
She looks at us both with dead eyes, and I cannot help observing the contempt brewing within them. "Look at that, Emma, you were right after all. I ended up in a rehab." It was already coming to be difficult. I can bet that I'm not even the last person she would have wanted to see right now. "What are you doing here?" She sternly questions, her voice coming out as an ironical whisper.
George and I simultaneously exchange glances before answering. "We wanted to see you, and... apologise. I never should have initiated that bet, Mia. I started it all as nothing more than a joke, I didn't even think it would come down to them winning." George explains, and it's funny how it is the actual truth. The blunt honesty isn't going to work in this case, though.
Mia gives an illusion of analysing his words before spilling the venom sitting at the tip of her tongue. "Have you ever caught an STD? If you do, I wish for it to be so horrible that it kills you."
George doesn't argue with it for Mia's sake and because he knows how those words are inevitably sitting on his karma, already spoken by a majority of girls in the tri-state area. But the colourlessness of his face is well visible within the corner of my eyes, screwing with my nerves.
