Before It Ends • Hessa • Emery Scott

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

This hospital also has dull depressing white walls and the floor almost matches the walls perfectly making it look like a big black hole that is white.

"Let's get you home and get you a warm shower." Mom had said, rubbing my shoulder gently as we walked. I could hardly listen to her supposedly comforting words because my mind was screaming all of the odd questions those cops asked me only minutes ago.

Has this happened before?

Yes, but he was drunk. He didn't know what he was doing until it happened.

Was there anyone else there with you?

No. It was only us in the room.

Did he touch you sexually in any place?

What the fuck kind of question is that?

Did he?

... no, he didn't. And even if he did, it would've been mutual.

Before I knew it I was in the back seat and my father was looking through the rear view mirror with a worried look in his eye.

I look up at him now and he has the same worried look but he seems to be trying to hide it by looking around at the walls and people passing in a hurry.

"Room 217." The nurse says, gesturing us inside. Dad enters the room first, almost eagerly to see her while I am hesitant.

It's my fault. It's all my fault and I'd rather not see the disappointment on her face. She should be unconscious, but that doesn't help me. If anything it scares me even more.

As I take small steps inside of the room, I begin to name every thing I've done to her. Every single thing.

I've ignored her.

I've been a bitch to her.

I've kicked her when she was already down with my words.

And worst of all, I've put her in this hospital bed.

I've brought pain to her side and covered our dark wooden floor with her blood.

It was me. My fault.

Her pale face is ghostly and her eyes are shut so softly that I am sure they will open in any second.

My eyes ache like they never have and my heart pumps so quickly I can hear it. I begin to wipe my hands onto my shirt again. I can almost feel the blood on my hands. More so now than when it was actually on my hands.

The blood is on my hands. I'm the guilty one.

And before I let my tears fall, I realize my father is here, his forehead pressed to her shoulder with his hands on hers. I did this to him too.

This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for me and if I wasn't here everything would be better. I'm not talking about offing myself, because I'm a coward. That is too difficult for me. I should've ran away with Addy. England sounds so fucking amazing right now. I won't have to face mom when she wakes and I won't have to constantly think of what would happen if I didn't fucking screw up at every corner.

My throat is beginning to hurt at how badly I'm holding tears in and I decide I'm done being in this hell called a hospital. I clench my fists together, forcing myself not to cry for just a little bit longer. I just have to tell dad I'm leaving.

I am leaving.

"I'm..." I stop, my throat croaking as I continue. "M' going to wait outside." My face scrunches up, and my hand darts to my lips to cover the hideous expression I'm making.

Dad doesn't lift his head, his fingers swiftly brushing his eye as he nods slightly. "Okay. I'll be a few more minutes." He replied with a surprisingly level voice.

I know she isn't dead and I know he knows it too. It's just very tough to see a person that you see every day, either smiling or trying to make you smile, in a bed almost lifeless in front of you. Especially when you're the one who caused it.

I'm quick to turn around and walk out the door and I don't stop outside of the room, I keep going down the hall. I need fresh air.

I take my phone out of my pocket and find multiple calls from Cole and even voicemails from him. I decide to listen to his voicemails before calling him back.

"Emery will you call me back when you get a chance? I come home from church and there's multiple police cars at the front of your house. Call me back so we can talk."

The second one sounds more worried than the first, "what happened? Call me back I'm worried about you."

The third sounds more frustrated than anything. "Please don't tell me you got hurt. Did your parents hurt you? Is that why you didn't want to go home? I know you are dealing with shit but I'm refusing to believe you're enable to use your phone. Will you fucking call me back?"

Jesus, persistent much? I get he's worried but he has no idea what's happened to me. And I don't have the strength to explain it to him. I still find myself clicking his contacts, my hand pushing my phone to my ear.

"Emery?" He greets rather harshly, but he immediately sighs afterwards. "Sorry, I've been at the edge of my seat all day and there's still a few people walking in and out of your house. Are you there? Should I come over?" I can picture looking through my window to see his head peaking out of his curtains down at my driveway. A smile almost slips onto my lips.

"I'm at the hospital. Can you come pick me up?" I ask, my voice quiet. It's probably very noticeable that I'm on the verge of tears.

He doesn't answer for a second, probably trying to figure out what I even said. "Emery, what the fuck happened? You-"

"Just come pick me up Cole! I'll send you my location." I snap, not wanting to talk about it anymore. I hear him sigh at the same time that I hang up and I quickly send him my location and walk out of the hospital and plop my butt onto a bench, my head immediately landing inside my hands. I'm sure everyone is looking at me oddly as they pass me. I still have blood on my shirt. A nurse offered me one of those scrub shirts but I refused. I don't know why I did, probably a self-conscious stubbornness deep inside me telling me I don't need anyone's help.

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𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎

Hope you all are doing okay.

Chapter forty three: Jan, 22, 2021