The Prostitute And The Player (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter Ten

“Caleb?” I question, opening my eyes from the stupid sunlight. “Jake?” I ask, totally confused. I get my answer when someone’s hands were around my waist and I was laying down on the bed in the built in add on hospital room. I knew my brother would be in recovery by now, so I get ready and speed up there, Jake sleeping peacefully.

Opening the door slowly, Caleb looked just as if he was sleeping. The only thing that would make you realize he wasn’t were the three large cords sticking up in his arms, leg, and chest area with the suction cups. I felt so horrible for him that I just burst into tears right then and there. “Allie?” A rough, hoarse voice questions my name into the silent atmosphere.

I ignore the beeping of the heart monitor and grab a chair, pulling it up to my brother’s bedside. His face is pale, his cheeks completely colorless which scared me. Good thing I knew this were all side effects of surgery and his last chemo treatment. They only gave three to observe Caleb for the first few months. Dr. Schwartz had promised that the surgery went well, and the tumor was almost completely gone.

“Hey, buddy. How you feeling?” I question, grabbing his tiny hand in my own.

“Fine.” I look over at him.

The Spiderman I had given him before his surgery was still resting next to him in the same position it was when he went in for it. Only this time it had a bandage wrapped around it’s waist, which cracked a smile on my face. I was just so thankful to see Caleb’s eyes open. “Dad came by to see me.” He croaked.

“R-really?” My heart had stopped for a few seconds and I went cold. Why had my father even stopped in this hospital to see him? If I ever caught him here again I would kill him.

“Hey, Caleb-” I turn around and glare daggers at the speak of the devil. My father appeared in the room with flowers, a coloring book, and a teddy bear.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss through my teeth once we were clear in the hallway, free from Caleb’s ears. I tapped my foot, waiting for an answer.

“Seeing my son.”

“Oh yeah? You never treated him like one.” I spat.

“At least I’m not a slut.” That stung, but not for long.

“Better than being some lazy no good dad who sits on his ass at the bar all day.” That earned me a slap in the face, which stung even more than his comment.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that again!” Dad yelled.

“Watch me.” I whisper, rubbing my cheek.

My dad lurched towards me and tackled me, myself landing on the tile. People were looking at us like weirdo’s. “Come outside.” He barked, grabbing me roughly by the arm. “Look, she’s my daughter, she just got caught having sex.” Dad grumbled. He was such a liar! But it definitely caused the by-standers to look away.

Once outside, the cold rain hit my clothes and face and arms.

Dad slapped me again, and I yelp in surprised pain. It was heard even over the loud rumbling of thunder. Then, he pins my arms down on the ground, leaving me no chance but to head but him. That earned me a satisfying groan and time to run. Then, he pulled me by my leg and a smack to my face on the hard unforgiving cement. “Stop it!” I beg, gripping my arm when pain shot through it.

“No, you’re the reason your mother left!” Everything else gets blocked out. He resented me because he thought it was my fault that my mother died. Thought I had caused all of her stress. He punched me a few times, hard in the jaw. I felt my elbows and hands scrape against the cement, earning me that rug burn feeling.