Ryan's parents came and picked him up a short time after our conversation and I was left alone to my thoughts. Usually I would prefer solitude, but at the moment I really wished I could talk to Edward. I kept thinking about what would happen if my dad was in danger still, or if my mom got to him before I had the chance to warn him. My hands kept playing with the sheets on my bed while I subconsciously chewed my lip to shreds, trying to blink away my anxiety to no avail. I didn't know if I should be nervous or excited to go home. If my dad was okay then I should be happy. Then again, if he was okay then I couldn't get rid of my mom. But if he wasn't okay, there was no way my mom would let me just waltz right in and take her down. I chewed my bottom lip some more.

As the day progressed, I turned down lunch and dinner, and I hardly spoke to the doctor or nurse unless I had to. My mind was just too conflicted at the moment, nothing felt wrong, but nothing felt right either. It was maddening. The nurse seemed to notice and tried to talk to me, but I just brushed it off with a soft "It's nothing..." and went back to staring out the window.

As the day came and went, I sighed and closed my eyes. It was almost 1:00 in the morning and couldn't sleep. I was exhausted, but I just couldn't make my mind shut down for the night. It was annoying to say the least. I ran a hand through my hair and bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted metallic.

The nurse came in with a glass of water and held it out to me. "Here," she said. "It'll help you sleep."

I took the cup and glanced at the contents. I wondered what nightmares I'd see if I swallowed it and whatever was mixed into it. "No thanks," I said. I set the glass on the table beside my bed. "I don't really want to sleep..."

The nurse frowned. "Why not? Is something the matter?" she asked.

I sighed again. "I don't know... Maybe."

The nurse pulled up a chair and sat down. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No..." I said.

Her frown became one of worry. "Honey, it can't be that bad, and if it is, then you really should say something," she urged. When I didn't reply she said, "I know! Why don't we get to know each other? Then you won't be so nervous to tell me what's wrong." She smiled brightly. "Let's start with names. I'm Sylvia. What's your name?"

I knew she already knew my name off of my charts, but I decided this little game would be a good distraction, so I went along with it. "Jacob," I said.

She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Jacob."

I shook her hand. "You too..." I mumbled.

She smiled. "What's your favorite color?" she asked. 

"Uh... Silver?" I told her. It was the same thing I told Ryan when I first met him, but I didn't really have a favorite color. I told the nurse this and she smiled at me.

"That's okay," Sylvia said. "You can make stuff up if you don't have an answer. My favorite color is purple."

Then she told me to ask a question. I hesitated. "What's your favorite hobby?" I asked randomly.

"Oh, that's a hard one. I'll have to go with flower stamping. I have a bunch of flower stamp books filled to the brim with flowers," she said. "What about you?"

This conversation went on for a few hours, late into the night and much past Sylvia's shift. But she didn't leave, she sat by my bed and made me laugh and joke with her until I had all but forgotten my mother and my worried. Eventually, I felt my eyes getting heavy and I yawned several times, until Silvia told me she thought I should get some rest.

Sylvia smiled and pulled the blankets up to my chin before she left. "I won't be at the hospital tomorrow, so I can't see you off, but if you ever need to talk to anyone just give the hospital a call. You're a sweet kid," she said. She waved before flicking off the lights and leaving the room.

Despite my previous insomnia, I slept pretty well that night and was actually quite anxious to get home when I awoke the next morning. The doctor changed my bandages like always and told me not to move too much or I would tear through the stitches. I didn't want to sit in bed all day, so I asked the doctor if I could have a wheelchair or something and he agreed. I sat near the window, sometimes talking to a doctor or nurse that came to check on me. I would have wandered around in the wheelchair, but the doctor's one request was that I didn't use my upper body, even to move the wheelchair.

At about 2:45pm there was a knock on my door and the doctor poked his head in. "Your mom is here to pick you up," he said with a smile.

I turned my chair around as the doctor and my mother entered the hospital room. She didn't smile at me and I could see annoyance in her eyes. I shrunk away under her intense stare, looking past her for my dad. The doctor walked towards me to move my chair, but my mother quickly took the first initiative. "It's alright, Doctor. I'll take it from here," she said with a fake smile that only I could read.

I flinched as I heard the slight scratch of her fake nails as they scraped along the plastic of the handles. I don't know why I didn't wait to ask, but I suddenly blurted, "Where's Dad?" I should have kept my mouth shut.

My mom placed a hand on my shoulder and I shivered. The sensation was disgusting. She smiled at the doctor again, refusing to make eye contact with me. "He's just home with a small cold. He wanted to be here, but he just couldn't make it," she said.

I stayed silent, knowing it was a lie, but too afraid to say anything in my father's defense. If I hadn't had a giant hole in my side from a bullet, I might have had more courage to speak my mind. However, my injury cause me to wordlessly worry that I would regret speaking later. The doctor and my mom conversed for a few more minutes about my condition and what would be needed for a safe recovery before my mom signed some paperwork and wheeled me out of the room. I couldn't help tightening my grip on the arms of the wheelchair as we neared the parking lot.

Once we reached the car, my mother carelessly opened the door to the passenger seat and walked to the other side, leaving my wheelchair alone by the open door. I frowned. Did she seriously think I could get into the car by myself? I sat there with a cold glare in her direction while she watched me expectantly from the driver's side seat. When I still didn't get in the car, she sighed angrily, got back out, and stormed around the car to my side, practically shoving me into the car and slamming the door. I winced in pain as my side throbbed from her force, and I placed a hand to my wrap. She put the wheelchair in the trunk and got back in the driver's seat. As we pulled away from the hospital, now in the secluded car, she started in. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked.

I turned away, trying to pretend like she wasn't talking. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with her? I almost died because of her selfishness. She was the one who got me into the mess I had been in.

When she saw I wasn't paying attention to her, she reached over and grabbed my ear, yanking it painfully. "Why the hell couldn't you just die?" she hissed.

I scratched her hand away and glared at her before crossing my arms and turning away so she wouldn't see me cry. I hated it when she said that. It was starting all over again. I stared out my window as we drove towards home, trying to focus on anything except my mother in the seat next to me. We passed Ryan's house and I wished he was there with me. Maybe it had been a bad idea to tell him to go home.

We pulled up to the house and my mom helped me back into my wheelchair, pushing me inside the house. When we got to the stairs, the part I had feared, she turned me around and carelessly tugged me up the bumpy staircase. I gripped my chair as pain shot through me with ever stairstep. Once we were up the stairs, I hoped my mom would take me to my dad's room so I could see him, but instead, she wheeled me past his room and towards mine. "Wait," I said, trying to stop the wheels and only effectively burning my hands on the moving rubber. "I want to see my dad."

She ignored me and kicked open my door. I tried to keep her from wheeling me inside, but she slapped my hand away from the door frame. "I don't need you in the way right now," she said. I wanted to shout, I wanted to use the confidence Ryan had given me over the past month, but my mother pretended she didn't even hear me when I spoke. She pushed me to the center of my room and left me there. "Keep quiet," she said. She smirked at me. "Your dad is trying to sleep."

I watched her as she closed the door and left me alone. Great, I sighed. Then I heard a clicking and I looked up towards the door. What was that? I quickly rolled myself over to the door and grabbed the handle, twisting it around only to have my suspicions confirmed. It was locked. I pulled my hand away and it dropped to my lap. The door knob was swapped. My mom had changed the door knob so the lock was on the wrong side.

My hands started shaking on my thighs. My dad probably wasn't just sick, he was probably on the verge of death. I rolled myself over to my desk to use my bedroom phone, but when I reached for it it was gone. She took my phone too. I felt myself going into panic and I ran a shaking hand through my hair. What was I going to do? I didn't have my cellphone or my bedroom phone and my door was locked from the outside. I had nowhere to go and I couldn't call anyone.

I wheeled over to my window and looked out, hoping I could climb out. It was a high drop being on the second story. In my current condition, there was no way I could jump; I would tear my stitches. I could hardly even stand, let alone climb out a window. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up. I was completely locked away... in a prison.

*******

Subscribe to my YouTube at: Melanie Eberheart

Donate to my Patreon at: patreon.com/MelanieEberheart

Or follow me on Tumblr at: nekosaysmeow333

-Nekoco