Reputation
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Interlude, Part 3
“Room 244,” the lady behind the desk points to the hallway on the left side, popping her gum. I briefly thank her, before hastening down said hallway, urgently. I lift my wrist to look at my watch: 5:20. Darn traffic. Who knows what could’ve transpired within the three hours I was at a dead standstill on Main Rd.
Part of me is a bit worried. Will he be mad at me? Will he yell? Throw things? Will he even be conscious enough to state his hatred? Maybe I shouldn’t have taken things as far as I did, even though he did deserve it. Maybe I should’ve just let it go. Things would’ve been much different.
I reach the door, and open it, stepping inside. In front of me is a guy in a full-body cast, his heart beat moving slowly on the monitor. I immediately cover my mouth to stifle a gasp. He looks so still—almost gone.
“Oh my god.” I run over to him. “Weston, I am so sorry. I-I didn’t mean for all this to happen. It was just a joke. I’m sure you probably hate me right now, and I don’t blame you. But even though you get on my nerves, and every day I desire to inflict physical pain on you, I would’ve never wished this on you.”
I go silent, wondering if he’ll respond, but he doesn’t. I realize that he’s still unconscious.
“Weston, I know I’ve been really tough on you lately, and I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m so sorry. I guess, you just bring out the worst in me sometimes. And I really do care about you, even though you’re a sickening, no-good, manipulative, lying, arrogant—”
“Don’t forget narcissistic. That’s a big one.” I hear Weston speak, but his lips don’t move. It’s not until I turn to the side and see the curtain pulled back, and Weston standing in normal clothes, that I realize I’ve been talking to the wrong guy. I jump back, eying to see damages. He has a cast holding up his right arm, and a giant purple bruise on his forehead.
“You heard what I said?” I ask, and he nods. “Good. Are you feeling okay?”
“Well, I’m a bit high on pain medication right now, so I’d say I’m doing pretty good.” He says. “Just a bruise, and a broken arm. But they patched me up real quick.”
I find the ability to smile. “Wonderful. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Good to know someone cares.” His look changes and I realize that I’m his only guest. His father isn’t around. Chris isn’t around. No one. Mentally, I give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they don’t know yet. Maybe. “The Doc already let me out, by the way. I just came back to get my stuff.” Weston picks up his bag. “Apparently, I’ll have to become left-handed.”
I pause. “Weston, if there’s anything I can do—”
“You want to help me?” He raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely shocked.
“Yeah, I kind of got you into this mess. It’s only fair that I offer to help.” I say. And for the fact his dad couldn’t even show up at the hospital, I figure no one else is going to be helping him at home.
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Strictly Business
Teen Fiction"It's so simple," I say. "All we have to do is pretend we're in love with each other. You know, hold hands, share Eskimo kisses and all that crap. And at the same time, we'll destroy Jackson and Kristina's relationship. Make them think that thei...
