seven. 

. . .

I sat by Briggs' side in the hospital room, our hands tightly clasped together. The room felt both serene and heavy with worry, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant reminder of Briggs' fragile condition. Time seemed to blur together as I devoted myself to being by his side.

Dr. Tang's updates consisted of "he's making progress" and "we're doing the best we can." And although I knew I had to be patient, it was hard.

I know I couldn't stop my life and stay at the hospital, but what else was I supposed to do? In order to get credit for school, I had to actually show up, but there was no way I was leaving Briggs. I'd already been fired from work, so it's not like I had a job to get back to. The trailer was untouched, according to Delgado, but I knew that meant I had to deal with the clean up once Briggs was discharged.

I hadn't left the hospital at all for three days; rather, Delgado had brought clothes for me to change into (his clothes!) and my sketchpad, hoping to distract me. But even Delgado had to go to school and work. 

My focus was always on Briggs.

Every rise and fall of his chest, every squeeze of his hand, became the center of my universe. The nurses came and went, their reassuring words washing over me, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from my father figure.

It was so wild that outside the sterile hospital walls, life carried on. People went to class, laughter echoed through the hallways, and lessons were learned. But in this room, time stood still, encapsulated in the cocoon of our shared presence. It was a strange mix of solace and anguish, a constant battle between hope and fear.

It was so unfair. Why the fuck was the only parent figure I knew laying at Death's door?

As the days stretched on, I felt a mixture of exhaustion and determination. I knew the importance of being there for Briggs, of offering my support and love, even if it meant sacrificing my own routine.

The world outside felt distant and insignificant compared to the weight of this moment, of being with someone who meant so much to me.

I could feel resentment building up within me. For people who had no problems. For the fuckers who hurt Briggs. For my mom, for just upping and leaving. For fucks sake, I wish I knew if she was alive or not. I don't know how much of a difference it would've made, but fuck man.

But at the same time, I could feel the fight within me leaving. What was the point? There was nothing I could do to change the trajectory of my life. At least, not right at this moment. I had no money, no job, nothing.

I didn't even have my high school diploma yet.

At this point, I didn't even know if there was any point in graduating and getting the stupid thing. I wasn't going to college, so why was I wasting my time?

I was burnt out.

But in the stillness of the hospital room, I found solace in the small moments: brushing Briggs' blonde hair from his forehead, whispering words of encouragement, and cherishing the warmth of his hand in mine. It was an unspoken language of love and devotion, transcending the need for words.

I needed my dad, alive.

This moment, surrounded by the steady hum of medical equipment and the unwavering strength of our connection, I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be. And even though the world carried on without me, I was at peace, knowing that my presence brought comfort to Briggs in his time of need.

. . .

Dr. Tang stepped into the hospital room, his calm and composed demeanor putting me at ease. He approached me with a gentle smile, and I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The anticipation filled the room as I awaited his words, anxious to hear an update on Briggs' condition.

"Willa, I have some good news," Dr. Tang began, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance. "Briggs will make a full recovery. The surgery was successful, because as we've been monitoring his body, he is responding well to the treatment."

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, and I felt tears of joy welling up in my eyes. A sense of gratitude overwhelmed my heart as I realized that Briggs was going to be okay. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I could finally breathe freely again.

Dr. Tang continued, his words grounding me in the reality of the situation. "However, it's imperative that he gets ample rest during his recovery. To ensure a smooth healing process, we will need to keep him on bed rest for the next two weeks. "

I nodded, understanding the necessity of taking these precautions. Briggs' health was my number one priority, and I would do whatever it took to support him during this time. The thought of him making a full recovery filled me with renewed determination and a sense of purpose.

I could do this. 

Dr. Tang placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch conveying a deep sense of compassion. "I know it's challenging, Willa, but with the proper care and support, Briggs will be back on his feet in no time. You have been an incredible source of strength for him, and I have no doubt that your presence and love will aid in his recovery."

I smiled gratefully at Dr. Tang, appreciating his confidence in both Briggs and me. The road to recovery might be long, but knowing that he had a fighting chance brought me solace. I was ready to be by his side, to offer my unwavering support as he rested and healed.

As Dr. Tang left the room, the renewed sense of hope and determination slowly turned into despair and anxiety. What if I couldn't do it? What if whoever hurt Briggs came back? 

I turned my gaze back to Briggs, who still lay peacefully on the hospital bed. With a gentle touch, I whispered to him, "We're in this together, Briggs. We'll get through this, one day at a time. I'll be here, by your side, every step of the way." My voice did crack as I said that, but at least I got the words out. 

There was knock on the door and I turned around to see the nurse who helped me initially come into the room with paperwork in her hands.

"Hey, sweetie. How ya doing?" Without waiting for my reply, she continued on, "here is some paperwork I need you to fill out. I know we're keeping Briggs here for a couple more days and I just need your signature to approve it." 

I took the paperwork she was handing me and began skimming over it. When I saw how much it was going to cost, I choked on my spit. 

"His stay is an additional four thousand per day?" Doing the math, I looked at her in shock. "That's twenty eight thousand dollars for two week! I don't have that kind of money." I could feel myself starting to shut down.

What the fuck, how was I going to afford all of this?!

The nurse could sense I was about to have a mental breakdown, and she quickly interjected.

"Yes and no." She flipped through her stack and handed me another sheet. "This is the financial aid application. Fill it out, give me copies of your ID and all the information it's asking for, and we can try to get this amount lowered or even forgiven."

She gave me a soft smile. 

"You're too young to be worrying about all of this, hun. I know it's tough, I was once in your position. But I got you, there are ways we can help you out." 

I took in a shaky breath and nodded at her words of affirmation.  

I got this. I'll figure it out. I always did. 

. . .

The hospital forced me to leave for a little bit on day 5. I think it was because one of my school counselors came to the hospital to see if I was okay. 

I'm not sure who told her that's why I wasn't showing up to class, but regardless, I was told my absences were forgiven and that my teachers would work with me when I got back. I think that was the nicest thing that school has done for me. 

After meeting with the counselor, I had a bit of time to kill before Delgado brought me lunch. I didn't want to, but he insisted. 

A part of me wanted to lower my guard and walls and just let him in, but I was still scared. 

Seeing his large smile and the bags of McDonalds in his hands made my stomach rumble and it was then that I noticed that I was starving. 

"Wanna eat here or do you wanna go to your home and clean up?" He saw my hesitance and added, "it'll be nice for Briggs to come to a clean house?"

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled and grabbed my bag of food. "Thanks for this, by the way." 

"Of course, m'lady," he winked back. 

As we walked out of the lobby, I looked at him in confusion. "Delgado, the bus doesn't run right now, we'll have to wait in the cold."

"Nah," he gave me a shit eating grin and held up his car keys. "I brought the car today. Felt a little bougie." 

Jesus Christ, with all the shit that I went through with him, I had forgotten that he wasn't struggling for money like me. He was filthy rich. 

"Delgado," I started, looking over at the car he was unlocking. "If you have such a nice ass car, why the hell did you take the bus with me all those times?"

He looked at me. His eyes softened and my heart began to race. Giving me a soft smile, he shrugged. "Maybe I wanted to spend more time with you?" 

"Oh." I didn't now what else to say. 

"Get in the car, Evans." He shook his head and got in from his side. Following him, I got in the car, buckled myself in and shut the door. 

"Is it okay if I eat in here?" I asked, not wanting to disrespect his space. 

"Evans, you could beat the shit outta me and I'd be okay with it."

I think I snapped my neck, that was how fast I turned my head. 

"What the fuck?!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide. He took one look at my face and started laughing.

"That was a joke. Please don't beat me up." He playfully said, laughter still in his voice. 

"You better watch out," I muttered, fries in my mouth. 

"Oooo, I'm scared," he snorted. After giving me a quick glance, he said, "I'll stop talking now, eat your food, Evans. You haven't eaten in five days and I was worried." 

I quickly sobered up. 

"But you do know what happened to Briggs is not your fault, right?" 

"Yeah, I know," I mumbled. 

"That wasn't very convincing," he shot back.

"I thought you said you were shutting up," I raised my eyebrows. 

"You're right, but my statement still stands-- you are not at fault." 

After a moment of silence, I sighed out, "thanks, Delgado," and he nodded. 

. . . 

Soon enough, we pulled up to my trailer and my stomach started turning again. This was the first time since I found Briggs that I was going back. 

 Delgado said he'd been going back to make sure nothing else had happened, but he hadn't messed with anything. 

 "Well, this is it." He looked at me, brown eyes soft. "You ready?" 

"As I'll ever be," I replied and got out the car. Surveying the front porch area, I narrowed my eyes at the footprints I saw. 

"Delgado, someone was here. Be on guard." At my statement, he walked in front of me. 

"If that's the case, let me walk in before you. I have a knife." 

"Mateo, what the fuck is a knife going to do in front of a gun?!" I incredulously asked him and he gave me a shrug. 

"It makes me feel protected. Also you used my name. Are we on first name basis now?"

"This is not the time for that," I hissed at him. 

"Right, sorry, I am focusing now." He gave me a thumbs up and I rolled my eyes. 

We walked inside the trailer and my jaw dropped.

There was no mess. I clearly remember a mess when I came home to Briggs in the bathroom. Instead, everything was nice and neat. There was food set out, the smell of fresh eggs filling the trailer. There was a cup of coffee next to the eggs, a used packet of Splenda on the counter.   

"Mateo, is this a fucking joke? Did you do this?" I asked him, my voice venomous. 

"Why the hell do you think this is me? I just got here, like you!" He shot back, looking around. 

Before I could reply back to him, I heard an audible gasp. 

"Willa?"

I turned around to see the one person I had never expected to see, ever again in my life. 

Before she left, 10 year old me was pleading with her to stop drinking. 10 year old me was praying she would stop bringing in random men into the trailer. And when she left, 10 year old me was begging for her to return. 10 year old me was screaming for a mother's love. 10 year old me was crying why I wasn't good enough. 

It was like I was drenched in freezing water.

In front of me, after eight years of abandonment, looking like she had gone through hell and back, was Faith Evans. 

I don't know what came over me, but I crossed the space in between us in the blink of an eye and slapped her across her face. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I seethed out, my voice murderous. 

. . .

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