Brutal

Chapter 10: Sick Scars and Fast Cars

***

When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying in a hospital bed, a heavy scent of antiseptic filling the air. The steady beep of machines echoed in the background.

Jake and Josh stood by my bedside; Josh's face was etched with worry as he watched over me, while Jake grinned when he saw me open my eyes.

"Welcome back, Gretzky," Jake said.

"What happened?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You passed out in the car on the way to the hospital. Dude, I thought you fucking died for a second."

Josh didn't say anything as he stared down at me, visibly uncomfortable.

I noticed at that moment that I didn't really feel the pain. I looked down and saw that my left leg had a cast on it and there was an IV in my arm. I felt like I was floating.

"Doctor gave you the good stuff, you lucky bastard," Jake said, still smiling. "Your parents are on their way. Ben had to go, but he says to get better soon or whatever. I told Liv, so she'll probably be texting you nonstop." He then gestured to my arm, which was wrapped in a bandage. "You're gonna have a sick scar, though."

I realized, then, that I had a smile on my face. I brought my hands up to my face to feel it, and yep, there it was. I pulled my face down to try to stop my mouth from turning up, but it didn't work.

Jake burst out laughing at me. I even saw Josh smile a little.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked, confused.

"You're fucked up on pain meds, dude," Jake replied through fits of laughter.

"I think I saw God when I was out," I said. I frowned then, finally, because I realized I'd wanted that to stay inside my head.

The doctor came in a moment later and introduced himself as Dr. Roberts.

"Like Julia Roberts," I said in response, nodding.

The doctor smiled. "Yes, exactly. So, you have a fracture in your tibia, likely a concussion as well. It's going to take some time for your leg to heal, and you'll need to take it easy for the next few weeks. In the meantime, you'll need to use crutches and avoid putting weight on your leg. I'll let your parents know everything as well when they get here."

After he left, Jake said, "I don't know if you'll remember this, but I'm really sorry I forced you to play."

"It was my fault," Josh interjected. "I couldn't stop."

"Guys, I'm fine," I told them. "Seriously, I feel great."

Jake patted my arm that wasn't bandaged up. "Hopefully you'll be as forgiving tomorrow. I gotta head out, though, dude. I'll text you. Feel better."

After he walked out, I looked up at Josh. "Jake thinks we're best friends."

"Oh, really?" Josh replied. "And...you're not?"

"He's not my best friend. Liv is."

Josh nodded, looking thoughtful, as though I was saying the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

"Did you show up drunk to Jake's party?" I asked, my inhibitions off due to the drugs.

"No," he answered, a little too quickly.

"You didn't drink there, and David said you couldn't drive."

"Yeah, well...people were drinking there. What difference does it make?"

"Did you drive drunk?"

"No, I..." Josh sighed, something he seemed to do often. "I drank in the rink's parking lot."

"Why?"

"Because it's hard being social sometimes. I don't know."

"Do you like me?"

When I asked the question, Josh's eyes widened in surprise. "No," he finally said after a moment.

"I think you're lying," I replied. "And I know you're really hurt and sad because of everything you've been through, but I just wanted to tell you that I like you."

Josh stared at me in silence, a look on his face I couldn't decipher.

"You can leave if you want," I told him. "My parents will be here soon."

"I'll wait." After a few seconds, he added, "Maybe...we could be friends."

To which I, under the influence of painkillers, stupidly replied, "I have enough friends."

***

Josh stayed until my parents showed up a few minutes later, and then he slipped outside while they fussed over me.

"My poor baby," my mom cooed.

Sure, they acted all concerned, but they seemed to have taken their sweet time getting there.

"You doing okay, champ?" my dad asked. He didn't really know how to talk to me, how to be comforting, but the fact that he was even there felt like he was trying.

"I'm fine," I said.

The doctor talked to my parents for a while, and an hour later I was discharged. As my parents wheeled me out in a wheelchair, I grimaced each time it bumped; the meds were wearing off.

I checked my phone on the drive home. I had 5 texts and a missed call from Liv, a bunch of texts in our group chat, and a shit ton of Instagram notifications.

I opened Insta and saw that all of the guys at the party, including the hockey and soccer players, had followed me. Jake's friend, Tate, had tagged me in a photo of the puddle of my blood on the rink and captioned it "@connor_hill07 got #kronwalled." It somehow already had over 80 likes and 32 comments.

Due to my lack of athleticism, I had inadvertently become one of the boys.