I'm so sorry.
You're behind me right now, lying in that uncomfortable looking bed. Nobody's telling me what's happening to you, they just keep running around the hospital shouting things at each other.
You know what's messed up? The book I'm writing this in is the same one that you went on the road to get in the first place. They gave it to me while they put you in a stretcher. Like that somehow made up for it.
"Hey kid, your dad might be dying because of you. You know what, have a notebook."
You'd expect me to want to burn it or something, but it's actually turning out to be pretty useful. I can write down all the things I want to say to you.
Ryan and the other boys in my year would be getting on me for keeping a prissy diary if they knew about this, but I figure I should get a free pass since I have a good excuse.
Or at least I hope it's a good excuse.
Because if it isn't, then I got a half chewed biro from the medical desk (one that's probably infected with whatever the last person who used it had) for absolutely no reason.
Anyway, I've never felt like a bigger idiot than I do now.
I haven't left your side since they brought us in here but I can hear mum crying in the waiting room. She's trying to do it quietly so I don't feel worse but it's not working.
She keeps trying to tell me that it wasn't my fault, but it was.
I could have done so many things. I could have told you to stop before you went onto the road, or pulled you back as soon as I heard the car.
I could have even done what I should've in the first place, which is gone and gotten the book myself.
But I didn't, and that's why I'm writing this.
I'm really, really sorry dad.
And I want to tell you face to face, but you haven't opened your eyes since we got here.
It's scaring me a little.
I would give anything for it to be me instead of you in that bed right now, but since it isn't, I need you to come through for me.
Open your eyes please.
By the way, that's how my teacher said that people end their letters, and this felt kind of like a letter so I thought I'd try it.
I looked up from the page of the notebook that Gabe had given me to read, unshed tears blurring my vision.
YOU ARE READING
When the judgement and expectations of the people around her become a tight cage, Cora Alcott drives away from her graduation ceremony and never looks back. She winds up in London, the perfect place to begin her career as an artist, and works in a...