A Gang of Our Own

Chapter Thirty- Three

The tiled ceiling above my head was eggshell white with black borders around each individual square, resembling highways crisscrossing, intersecting in the sky. I stared at the black paths as they zigzagged and ran over my head, until the fireworks in my brain were too much and I had to close my eyes. My pulse sounded like the beating of a tom-tom in my head and I inhaled deep breaths of the hospital's stale air. I've had the same headache for twenty-one hours now. The doctors have been pushing liquids through me ever since I arrived in this room, and they swore that it would get rid of this damn migraine but it wasn't working. I wondered how Matt and Blair were.

The cops had told us to walk over slowly and we did. They asked us for Triston's name and who we were. Matt was the most level-headed out of the three of us, and he gave the officers a complete synopsis of the fight. The officer's realized we were victims as well, and they rushed us into ambulances and we were all split up. I hadn't seen Blair or Matt since the fight. I knew Blair's arm was pretty jacked up, and the doctors told me Matt had two cracked ribs, but that's all they would give me. They wouldn't tell me anything about Triston. I didn't want them too.

The doctor walked into the room and smiled at me. "Hello, Avery." I didn't respond. "I have some good news." He sat at one of the bedside chairs. "We're giving you the clear. You were lucky and received minimal injury. How do you feel?"

"My head's been killing me since I was brought here."

"The water hasn't helped?" I shook my head. "Have you been eating?" I looked at my full plate of food by my bed. The nurse had to remove my untouched dinner before she could bring me my breakfast. I shook my head. "The food would probably help." He said.

"I'm not hungry." I grumbled.

"Blair and Mathew-"

"It's Matt."

The doctor looked at me tiredly for second before continuing. "Blair and Matt also get to go home here in the next few hours. We'll give your mother a call, and since Mrs.Moriss is not capable of driving and your families seem to be close, we'll see about having her drive Blair home, also."

"When can we leave?"

"Around three."

It was only ten. I looked at him disapprovingly. He ignored me and stood. "In the meantime, get some sleep." He wrote something on his clipboard and left the room.

The hours were painfully slow. I would look up every, what I thought was, twenty minutes, only to find five minutes had passed. At noon a nurse came in and told me my mother was here to visit.

"Are you well enough to have her visit?"

"Sure," I grumbled lazily.

The nurse left and I looked at my lunch. I took a grain of rice and tried to get it in the sink. I began shooting my whole meal into the sink, and I knew Mom would flip if she saw me. I took a brussel sprout and threw it across the room and into the trashcan.

"Nice shot."

My heart skipped several beats when I heard the voice. I whipped my head in the direction of the door, my eyes wide and my jaw dropped. "Mom?"

My mom stood quietly in the doorway. My real mom. We looked at each other in a still silence. I was too dumbfounded to speak. I couldn't even begin to mentally formulate words to say to this woman. I watched her take a deep breath and walk in the room. She slowly approached me and stood quietly beside me.

"What did they do to you?" She whispered as she looked me over. She reached out to my swollen lump above my eye. I flinched away and she drew back her hand, a look of deep hurt on her face, tears welling up in her blue eyes. I always thought I got my eyes from my dad, but at that moment, I wondered if I had been wrong all these years. She never took her pale eyes off of me as her body slowly sank to the side of my bed. I couldn't look at her anymore so I stared at my lap. I felt her eyes on me as I pretended to brush away crumbs and straighten out my sheets. My heart was pounding as I briefly looked up at her. Our eyes met and I quickly returned my focus to the bed. Silence overtook our room with the only sound being the faint ticking of the clock. I tucked hair behind my ear, fiddled with something, untucked my hair, scratched imaginary itches, looked out the window, I did everything but acknowledge the familiar stranger sitting at the foot of the bed.