By the time Jack and I got out of the hospital, it was almost six in the evening. I figured it'd take a while, but I didn't know it would take that long.
"Told you it wasn't broken," said Jack as we walked through the parking lot to his car.
"It really felt like it was broken!" I said.
"Bet it did," he said, finding the car and opening the passenger-side door for me.
I carefully climbed into the car, resting my sprained wrist on top of the glove compartment. Jack got in next to me and started the car up, and began driving to my house.
We were in a hurry to get there, so we didn't play any music. It was a totally silent ride, but it wasn't a bad silence. It was the good kind of silence you have with someone you like.
When we got to my house, Jack got out with me and insisted on walking me to the front door. To my relief, my mom's car wasn't in the driveway, which meant the door would be unlocked. I could pretend I hadn't been at the hospital for six hours.
(I did call her in the waiting room. Goddamn it, I'm not that bad a child.)
Jack waited until he was sure I was inside the house to leave, which I guess was nice of him. He hugged me on his way out. "See you Monday, unless you fall down the stairs again."
I laughed and waved him out.
My mom got home barely five minutes later and immediately started complaining again. I only half-listened, praying she'd start making dinner soon so I could leave.
*****
The next morning, I woke up and accidentally tried to use my left hand. MISTAKE.
You'd think the fact that there was a very obvious elastic bandage on my wrist would remind me it was sprained, but no. Apparently, I'm just that dumb in the mornings. Maybe that's why I got a C on my English test.
I checked the time. It was eight-something, much earlier than when I'd woken up the day before. I got out of bed and performed my usual morning routine-put on clothes, shower, take meds, eat breakfast.
Halfway through my breakfast, I decided I actually wanted to leave the house that day. I wondered if Rian hated me for bailing on him yesterday.
Welp, there's only one way to find out.
A: Do you hate me?
It took him a few minutes to reply to my text, but he, thankfully, didn't answer the way I'd been expecting him to.
R: Of course not!
A: Thank you.
R: Why would I? Something came up, I get it.
A: I can come over today if you want.
R: Okay, sure. Does twelve work for you?
A: Of course it does. I have no life.
R: Great! I'll see you then.
I put my phone away and finished m breakfast, feeling very proud of myself. I'd actually initiated a conversation and gotten what I wanted from it. Yay me, I guess.
Hopefully Rian was serious when he said he didn't hate me.
*****AUTHOR'S NOTE*****
Sorry this is so short. I didn't have enough motivation to write more.
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I Painted A Picture (Jalex)
Fanfiction"You know, you're really hot." "What?" "Fuck, that was a terrible idea, why did I say that?" Alex Gaskarth, a painter with a fucked-up life, meets Jack Barakat, an actor also with a fucked-up life. All goes well, until we get to the fucked-up life p...
