Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
At first, I’m just annoyed, but the more I drink, the more that feeling turns to anger. How dare she fucking ignore me? Especially after last night.
When I check my phone for the hundredth time and the message is finally marked as ‘read’, I sit up a little straighter. “She read the message,” I announce, waiting for the three dots to pop up, signaling her response. Only it never comes.
I stare at my phone for a few minutes, with Easton doing the same. Nothing. She is not writing back. My anger reaches new heights.
“Dude, we have to go to the hospital,” Easton groans.
“Fuck, I can’t drive.” I wipe my hand over my face.
“Neither can I. We’ll have to get an Uber,” my brother slurs a bit.
“At least our shift isn’t going to be boring,” I say with a smile. “Drunk volunteering sounds like a good time, actually.” I get up on my feet, immediately realizing how unsteady I am. Shit, this might be harder than I thought.
We clean up our glasses and put the bottle of booze back in the cabinet before calling an Uber and heading outside. It feels like forever until the car pulls up and takes us to the hospital.
“You can just drop us off at the… stop!” I call when I spot Emma’s car parked a few rows down. The car comes to a sudden halt. The seatbelt digs into my chest. “We’ll get out here,” I say as I open the door.
Easton follows me without a word. We get out of the car and walk to Emma’s rust bucket while I wonder who she is seeing here yet again. She told us it wasn’t a boyfriend, but I’m starting to wonder if she was telling the truth. Why else would she be so secretive about coming here?
Maybe it’s because I’m drunk, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And the more I convince myself that I’m right, the angrier I get. On top of that, I have to deal with a pretty new emotion. Jealousy.
“Let’s have her car towed,” Easton suggests out of the blue.
I look over at him, and his eyes are glassy and mischievous, but I know he is dead serious. I don’t have to think about it for long. “Let’s do it.”
The first tow company we call won’t do it, but the second guy is willing to do it for $500. I give him my card number over the phone and twenty minutes later, he pulls up to tow Emma’s car.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, watching with satisfaction as the guy hooks the piece of junk to his back and takes off. I almost wish Emma would come out and witness it, too. I imagine her running after it, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“We’re almost late now,” Easton mumbles as he checks his phone.
“It was worth it.”
We speed walk into the hospital, snickering about how she is going to come out and search for her car. I wish I could see her face when she realizes it’s gone. I bet it’s priceless.
By the time we are at the desk to check in, I’m out of breath and a little dizzy. “You boys look like shit,” one of the younger nurses points out. “You better not be sick.”
“Not sick,” I promise. “Ready to get to work.” I fake enthusiasm.
“Good, I have you on the schedule to go to the oncology department today. They want volunteers to see if the patients want or need anything. Sometimes they just want you to sit with them and talk while they are getting their chemo.”
Oh, well, I have to sit with some old lady with cancer and hear about her fourteen grandkids and three cats. Beats bedpans every day.
Glad that we have an easy job today and still giddy about having Emma’s car towed, I actually have some pep in my step as we make our way to the oncology department. With the alcohol still running through my system, and the satisfaction of messing with Emma, a smile plays on my lips. I push open the door leading into the treatment area and step into the bright open space.
Immediately, I scan the area for a nice old lady to sit with. Or maybe an old veteran who can tell me some cool war stories. Only I find neither when I look around the space. What I do find has me stopping dead in my tracks.
My feet become cemented to the ground and, for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. I have never sobered up so fucking fast in my life. My mind is suddenly crystal clear, but my body is frozen in time.
Right there in the center of the room is Emma, sitting in one of the treatment chairs while she is hooked up to some IVs. She is reclined back, her eyes are closed, and her head is lulled to the side. She looks like she is sleeping.