A/N--Soooo yeah, this is the second chapter in two days. Just saying. You should all love me and reward me with comments and likes :))
Oh and this chapter is dedicated to the beyond amazing Miss Phoebe Gardens, because she made me super happy by making me my first fan art which you can see right to the side ---> Gorgeous, isn't it? Makes me happy :))
But yes, I'm going to stop talking and just tell you all to enjoy the chapter! Sooo...enjoy :)
"I just...I just cannot even believe this has happened, can't believe she's done something so stupid..."
"Everyone makes mistakes, hon. You need to calm down; you're worrying yourself sick..."
"My daughter's in the hospital because her friend was driving drunk! She was supposed to be home last night, I told her to, but she never goddamn listens...I just don't even know what to do with her anymore..."
"Kelly, she's a teenager, she makes mistakes. Just be glad nothing worse has happened, she was the least hurt out of all of them."
"I don't care, Hayden! I never thought I'd be that mom who gets the phone call that their..."
I cut them both off by groaning in pain, their escalated voices far too much for my pounding head to handle. My head's not even the worst part of the pain, though; no, it's just the fact that my entire body hurts. That everything in me is just swimming in pain right now.
"Hayden, I don't think...I can't do this. I'll go get the nurses," I hear my mom's defeated voice say, and seconds later I hear the loud thud of a door being closed.
It's then that I feel warm skin brush against my arm, causing my eyes to flutter open, only to squeeze them tightly back shut because the light in the room is so bright. "Ow," I murmur, feeling like this could put any hangover in history to shame. I can't even open my eyes right now...this is ridiculous. "Dad, could you...?"
"Sure honey," he says and I listen in as I hear the scratching of a chair being pushed back and the soft thudding of his footsteps. When he says, "Okay, you're good now..." I once again try to open my eyes, and this time it is much more successful. While the sunlight filtering in through the window blinds still makes my eyes want to cry out a little in protest, it's nothing that I can't handle. I'll just need to look the other way, into the darker part of the...of the hospital room?
"Dad?" I question softly, my brain trying to rack through memories of things that could have brought me here. I was just...the last thing I remember is sitting in Fred's living room and playing on my phone while the three of them watched Spongebob. How the hell am I in the hospital? I mean, I guess when I was coming in on their faded conversation I picked something up about the hospital, but I had no idea that it related to me at all.
His blue eyes, so much like mine, come into focus as he leans in closer so that I don't have strain my voice to talk. God, I miss having my dad around all of the time. He's the only one in my family who I can actually have a decent conversation with, the only one that doesn't seem to hate me all of the time. He's so chill and so cool, even though he's one of Country's most loved singers right now.
Seeming to catch onto my confusion, he leans in and gently brushes some of the hair off of my forehead. He says, "Do you remember anything at all from last night?"
I shake my head, but stop immediately when I realize just how much that hurts. I say, "No...not really. I remember being at Fred's watching TV and that's all..."
"Well," he says calmly, "You went out last night, to a party at some guy's house. Fred was driving you and Jeanie home and apparently Fred was extremely drunk. He swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic and you guys were hit head on."
"What?" I ask in complete shock, not even being able to comprehend what he's told me. There is no way I could have been in my first wreck and not even remember a single part of it. And I've never gotten so drunk to forget past events! Not once. Why on earth would I forget...? Then it hits me. "Are they okay? Fred and Jeanie? They're not..."
Obviously sensing my distress, my dad grabs at my arm to calm me down. He says, "They're fine, honey. A bit more beat up than you, for sure. Jeanie had to get stitches in three different places I believe, and Fred fractured his collarbone. But they're alright."
"Oh thank God," I sigh, heaving out a huge sigh of relief.
The door then opens and when I look over in that direction, I see a pretty nurse dressed in green scrubs come in the room, a clipboard in her hands. She is the complete opposite of the blonde woman coming in right behind her. While the nurse is sending a gentle smile in my direction, my mom cannot even look at me without scowling. Instead of talking to me, she just goes over and sits on the couch in the bright part of the room. The part I can't look at.
Trying to ignore the pain of hurt that her not even being able talk to me causes, I meet eyes with the nurse again. She asks me, "How are you feeling? And be descriptive, alright? I need to know if anything is direly wrong."
"Really bad headache," I answer almost immediately, getting a slight chuckle from my dad. But judging my how soon he shuts up, I have a feeling that my mom shot him a glare similar to the ones she shot me. Once again ignoring the guilt that hits me, I tell the nurse, "And my body's sore...mostly in my chest. Other than that though, I think I'm okay."
The nurse nods understandingly at me, scribbling away on her notes. She tells me, "Well then I think after a couple of checkups today, you'll be free to go this afternoon."
"That's it?" my mom asks from her side of the room. "She gets in a car with a drunk driver, gets in a wreck, and that's all? She can go not even fifteen hours later?"
"Kelly," my dad sighs from beside me and when I look over at him I see him shaking his head. It's then that I brace myself to look over at my mom and when I see that she still can't be bothered to look back at me, I feel tears slowly start to climb up my throat.
I've finally fucked up. I've finally done what she's been waiting for me to do and she's mad that I haven't gotten punished more for it. And the fact that my mom wishes pain on me for punishment...well, it hurts. It hurts a lot actually.
The nurse, looking a bit uncomfortable at my mom's outburst, says in the most calm voice I'm sure she can muster, "Well your daughter was very lucky, Mrs. Hinton."
Obviously not wanting any more tension to be caused by my mother's comments, my dad says, "Thank you, nurse."
The nurse then breathes a sigh of relief, obviously thankful that she won't have to stay in the awful atmosphere any longer, and then says, "The doctors will be in soon," before practically scurrying out of the hospital room.
Once she's gone the room falls deadly silent. I'm too terrified at any possible reactions from my mom to say anything and I feel as if my dad is thinking the exact same thing. We're both just waiting for her to blow up like I know she wants to.
She does it two minutes later.
I'd been looking at the clock.
"Really, Hallie? Drunk driving? I thought you knew better than that, we raised you better than that!"
I go to say something along the lines of "I know you did, I'm so sorry," but I can't even find my voice before she continues, "You were supposed to be home last night! We were supposed to have a nice dinner with Ethan since you'd missed the one the night before! But God forbid you have to spend one fucking evening in and with your family! No, instead you decide to just pick up and leave without telling a soul and go get shitfaced drunk-again!-and then get into a car! Do you really...?"
"Kelly," my dad's voice booms across the room, effectively stopping my mom's rant. I feel his hand on my arm again, squeezing in reassurance that this is all going to be okay. It's then that I realize that I have tears pouring down my face, salty water gathering in the corners of my mouth.
I've finally done it. I've finally made her hate me...actually hate me. My own mom hates me and I honestly don't think I'm ever going to get her love back. Not with the way she's looking at me now. Her chest is heaving in and out in pure anger as she looks at me and I can't help but just want to crawl into my own skin and disappear in response.
"We'll talk about this later," he says, using that same stern tone of voice. "She's just woken up in the hospital not knowing what's going on. I feel as if you can give her a little time before reading her the riot act."
"Fine, just give pity to the girl who got in a car with a drunk driver," my mom practically seethes, and it only takes her seconds to finally have had enough and just storm out of the room. When the door to the room clicks shut, I feel some piece of my heart thud in pain.
"Dad," I manage to croak out in between the tears, "Do you think mom's ever going to stop hating me?"
Reaching forward to brush some of the tears off my cheeks, he nods his head and says, "Honey...your mother doesn't hate you. Not at all. She loves you to death and that's just why she's so upset."
"But she doesn't...she hates me, she yells at me..."
"Hallie," my dad butts in, "That's another conversation for another day, alright? Let's just deal with getting you out of the hospital today."
XXXXXX
I can't bring myself to go downstairs. Even when my stomach is practically howling to give it some damn food because it hasn't gotten any in almost twenty-four hours, I can't gather up the courage to just get out of bed and go and face my family.
The nurse let me go about three hours after she first came in, and the ride home was more awkward and tense than one could ever imagine. My mom hasn't spoken to me since her huge rant in the hospital room, my dad being the only one who can even stomach looking at me. I haven't seen Darla since she screamed at me yesterday either, and I know that she's home because I've been hearing Taylor Swift on repeat in her room for hours now.
I did see Ethan, though, right when my dad helped me walk through the front door. He'd been sitting on the sofa in the living room next to the garage, scribbling away in some notebook, and when I'd come up he'd given me the strangest look. It looked like he felt bad for me, like he was sorry that this had all happened, but even he couldn't look at me for longer than a second. Instead he'd turned his head just seconds after we'd made eye contact and had gone back to writing.
So apparently he doesn't like me too much either right now. Well, that took less than twenty-four hours. That must be some kind of record.
And because of the fact that three out of the four other people in this house are too mad at me to even look at me, I can't bring myself to get out of bed to just go and get some food. While the odds that someone is in the kitchen are slim, there is still that chance and I just can't risk it.
So I'm just going to stay here, Darko curled against my chest and sleeping soundly, while I watch all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies. Some channel has been kind enough to play them all back to back, and I'm definitely not going to let that go to waste.
I'll just have to be a hungry for a little while. That can't be too hard, right?
By eleven thirty that night, I come to the realization that it can be too hard. It now feels as if my stomach is turning in on itself, and the growling has gotten so bad that Darko got fed up from the constant rumbling and went to sleep on the pillow beside me instead.
Besides, everyone is probably asleep right now, so I doubt that I'll run into anyone. Right? My dad rarely ever gets to go to sleep early when he's on tour, so he always takes advantage of that when he's home and my mom always just goes to sleep with him. Darla, while she is now a teenager, still goes to sleep relatively early. And her music stopped playing through our conjoined wall about an hour or so ago, so odds are that she's asleep too.
I should be fine.
So with that thought in mind, I slowly and somewhat painfully remove myself from my bed and then after slipping on a sweatshirt-by dad loves keeping it cold in the house-I exit my room. I don't know the reasoning behind it, but I find myself tiptoeing down the stairs and across the wooden floors to the first floor.
And suddenly the kitchen is in my line of vision, looking like some kind of beacon of hope or something. I don't know, the stainless steel suddenly looks heavenly and I can't help but walk just a bit faster to get to it. But the minute I step through the archway and get a good glimpse of the dark room, I suddenly regret ever coming down here. Why? Because in the little restaurant-style booth next to our big window is Ethan, and there's a huge bowl of uneaten cereal in front of him.
Dammit.
I go to turn around and maybe just sneak away, but then my stomach lets out the loudest growl it has all day. I guess the actual sight of food makes it even worse. Awesome. And even more awesome is when Ethan turns his head over his shoulder and makes eye contact with me. He gives me a small little cordial smile, just out of politeness probably, and says, "There she is. How you feeling?"
"Um. Fine," I say, smiling just a bit because he's not just coming out and being mean to me like I thought he would. Maybe he doesn't dislike me like I'd originally thought. "Just really hungry, actually." And with the realization that I am definitely going to have to eat in here with him, I cross over the room and towards the fridge to grab a big bowl of leftover mashed potatoes.
Thank everything that is high and mighty that this bowl is still in here.
After sprinkling some cheese and extra butter on top-I haven't eaten in forever, I deserve to act like a fatty-I pop it into the microwave and then grab a soda from the fridge as well. I lean onto the counter while the mashed potatoes reheat, and ask him, "Are you a midnight eater too?" I can't even count how many times I've come in here in the middle night to just chow down on random snacks.
"Unfortunately," he chuckles, "My mom always got onto me about it, but I just can't help it. I'm always dying for some food right about now."
I scoff, "Everyone thinks it's so awful for you, but I've been doing this for years and I'm still fine."
He smiles at me, obviously thankful that he didn't have to start the conversation with me, but falls silent as he doesn't come up with a response to it. We're both silent for a little while, but it gets interrupted when the microwave starts to ding, signaling that my food is finally done.
Once everything is good and settled, I decide to just be ballsy and go sit in front of Ethan at the booth. I don't want him to think that I'm avoiding him or that I'm just plain out rude by me sitting across the room on one of the barstools. So I just take a deep breath and slide on into the booth, placing my food in front of me.
I'm practically drooling by the sight, and I don't even care that he probably thinks I'm some kind of savage. I basically shovel the first bite in, and can't help the light sound of approval that escapes from my throat. Ethan laughs, and when I look at him with my eyebrows hitched in questioning, I find that he's looking at me. Realizing that he's been caught laughing at me, he says, "Sorry I just...not many girls are so comfortable eating like that in front of people."
"I'm starving!" is my way of defending myself, now wondering if he actually thinks that I'm a pig or something. God, I hope not. I mean, I don't like him or anything, I don't know him well enough for that, but for some reason I feel like it'd suck to have him think I was this gross girl with no manners.
He shakes his head and says, "Oh no, don't worry. I like it. It's just...surprising I guess."
"Surprising?" I question him confusedly before shoving another spoonful of the fluffy and cheesy goodness into my mouth.
He shrugs his shoulders and says, "Not surprising...endearing, that's more like it."
"Good thing?" I make sure, not wanting him to insult me without my knowing or something like that. I'm not going to lie; my vocabulary is definitely not the greatest. I graduated high school with an almost below average GPA and my family is just proud that I made it into the community college and haven't dropped out yet.
He smiles, "Definitely."
Feeling a little bit better because the guy living in our house isn't a complete jackass and is giving me compliments, I grin through my food and say, "Ballin."
That cracks him up, and after that, our mindless small talk isn't as hard or awkward as I originally thought it'd be.
It's actually kind of....effortless.
We both finish eating about twenty minutes later and then agree that it'll probably be best if we get some sleep. Apparently he offered to mow our huge ass property tomorrow and I'm well...getting into a wreck really exhausts people. That's all I have to say.
I grab his bowl for him and bring it over to rinse it in the sink, but surprisingly he doesn't leave the room just yet. Instead he leans on the counter across from where I'm standing.
As I'm drying off the bowls we both used, a bright pink note near the stove catches my attention. I walk over to it to check it out, and I see that it's a note written in my sister's signature scrawl that's been taped to the top of a Tupperware container. After placing the bowls in the cabinet, I grab the note and read over it.
Hope you all enjoy these! Except for Hallie, you can't have any. -Love Darla.
Before I'm even aware that tears are building up, one escapes my face and drops onto the note, smearing some of the pen that she used. Is she for real with this? She's honestly not going to let me eat any of the cupcakes or cookies that she made for Ethan and apparently everyone else but me? I didn't do anything to her. I asked her if she wanted my help and she just screamed at me!
Why does my little sister hate me so much? I've never done anything outwardly mean towards her, not once. Well, not that I can remember anyways.
"Hallie?" Ethan's voice asks from behind me, startling me just a bit. Shit. I'm crying in front of the one guy that is somewhat of an ally in this house. Well, besides my dad but he's rarely ever here. But still, it's embarrassing to get caught crying by some guy that actually likes your personality. He liked me enough to stay and talk, to not leave when he was done eating. And I'm not even drunk.
And now he's going to see just how messed up I truly am.
I put the note down and after wiping quickly underneath my eyes to gather any other fallen tears; I turn around to face him, putting on my best brave face. But he quickly sees through it and asks me, "You okay?"
I nod, trying my hardest not to let it show how much that note truly did affect me. Just the fact that my sister doesn't want me having one of her cookies or brownies, as unimportant and trivial it may seem, really does hurt. But I don't want that to show. "I'm fine, why?"
He nods towards the note that I've put back onto the Tupperware container and says, "Because of that note."
"She just..." I go to say, but quickly stop when I realize my mistake. This guy doesn't want to hear my problems. He just...but seriously, with the way his eyes are looking it seems like he truly does want to listen to me. So I say, "My sister just hates me, that's all."
"She doesn't hate you," he says, and if I knew any better I'd believe him. He's got a voice that makes everything just sound okay and alright. But he can't sugarcoat this, not when I know the truth. "She's your little sister, she looks up to you."
"And this is the way she does it?" I ask him like he's stupid, reaching over and plucking the note up once more. I hold it up and say, "This is the way she looks up to me, by telling me to stay away from her baked goodies? Yeah fucking right." I don't know why I'm so riled up about this, but suddenly, I just want to scream at the guy standing in front of me.
He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my family. He doesn't know anything. And yet he thinks he can just stand in front of me and tell me all about my own problems? Who the hell does this kid think he is? Sure he's trying to make me feel better and whatever, but he doesn't know. He doesn't know a damn thing about my life.
He holds his hands up in front of his body in defense and says, "Hallie, I'm not trying to piss you off or anything..."
"Well then stop talking to me like you know all about my life, alright?" I cut in, not bothering to even let him finish his sentence. I know that I'm being mean and that he doesn't deserve the rudeness I'm giving him, but something about his words has hit a nerve. A nerve that doesn't need to be touched.
He nods, looking a bit taken aback at how rude I'm being towards him. "Sorry," he says sincerely, "I was just...just trying to help."
"And I get that," I say, my voice much softer this time but still not nearly as calm as I'd like it to be. "And I thank you for trying to help. But still, talking about it...it pushes a button."
"I got it," he says, nodding once again. He gives me a little smile, one that I know he's trying to make amends with, and so I just give him a simple one in return. I don't want to be on bad terms with the guy, I really don't, but I don't like people who think they can just butt into other people's business. But...I guess it does feel a little good that he's trying to help.
"Well I'm going to call it a night," I say, not wanting to stay down here any longer and make it awkward. "I'll see you at breakfast?"
"That you will," he says, "Do you need any help getting up the stairs?"
"I think I got it," I answer, feeling a bit taken aback that he's actually looking out for me. I'm really not used to people acting that way towards me. "But thanks."
"Anytime," he smiles at me, before going back to the booth and then pulling a little notebook out of his pajama pants pocket. Once I see him get to scribbling, I turn around and then head back out of the kitchen, my mind not really being able to wrap around what's just happened.