Just How Life Is.

Just How Life Is. Chapter 21

I was sitting outside of Troy’s hospital room. After they brought us here they brought him into the ER, while they brought me somewhere else to check out my arm.

It was dislocated; so they had to set it back, which hurt like hell. But as soon as they finished that I went right to Troy’s room, but they wouldn’t let me see him yet.

After what felt like hours a doctor came out to talk to me.

“How is he?” I asked.

The doctor frowned, “The knife hadn’t hit any vital organs, luckily, but he lost a lot of blood and is still unconscious and has a slight head wound.”

“Does that mean he’s in a coma?” Dear lord, that better not happen.

He shook his head, “We don’t know for sure yet.”

I sighed, and rubbed my left shoulder, it still hurt from being put back into place and I had my arm resting in a sling. The doctors said that I might have to do some physical therapy if it doesn’t heal right, joy.

“So, why does that boy have that horrible thing written on his back?” the doctor asked. I looked at his name plate; it said “Doctor Lucas”.

 “Well, um,” I shifted my feet uncomfortably as I sat there, under his gaze. I forgot about that. It must still look really bad. But there was no hiding the truth anymore.

“You see… his father did that…”

“Oh… Oh!” Lucas said, realization hitting him like a brick. “Oh, dear… Excuse me.” Then he left and walked over to a police officer; the one who found us today.

I sighed, I’m sorry Troy, they need to know now.

 Then the police officer came over.

“I will need to know what happened,” he announced, getting out a notepad.

I sighed. “Well, obviously, his father abuses him. I found out a few weeks ago.”

“How do you know for sure?” he asked.

I gave him a look, “Well, one day he called me to come over. When I got there he was lying on the floor in a bloody mess and had that on his back,” I said referring to his scars. “After I helped him clean it his father came home, and well, yeah.”

“Did his father hurt you?” he asked wide eyed.

“He tried, but Troy, um, stopped him…”

“How did he “try”?” the cop asked, interrupting me, his pen moving quickly.

“He tried to hit me in the head with a bat,” I said in a flat voice.

The cop continued writing, then, “Can you tell me about today?”

And I did. I told him how Troy was staying at my place for a few days because he got kicked out, then how when we walked to his house his neighbor came out; which I told him to ask her stuff, she’d probably know. Then when Troy came running; all the way up to when his dad found us. I also told him, and made sure he knew that the monster had run away. His hand never stopped moving across the notepad. Then, when he finished, he looked at me with sad eyes and told me he would have to ask Troy questions later, and then left.

 I sighed, again. Now I just wanted to see Troy. I knew all of this would be way too much for him to handle. But most of all, I just wanted to be in his embrace and let him know I was there for him.

A few minutes later, a doctor gave me the ok to go see him, but Troy was still unconscious. I walked into the room and I knew that this frown I wore would be hard to wash away.