Chapter Thirty-eight

Shorty has been in the hospital for two weeks, and she still hasn't woken up. Although the doctors are optimistic that she will recover, and they moved her to a private room after her vitals returned to normal. Her mom hasn't woken up yet, but the doctor says her stats are improving which means they should be able to wake her up from the coma.

Josiah made a full recovery and has been going back and forth between his mom and Shorty's rooms. The first time he saw Shorty laying in the hospital bed looking lifeless, he wailed as if he was being tortured. He kept saying repeatedly, "I'm fucking sorry."

A few days after the incident, Josiah gave his statement to the police. He blacked out before his father went after Shorty and his mom, but he went into the horrifying details of the ongoing abuse they went through with their father.

Last week, Detective Carter received a phone call from a neighbor who saw their dad return home drunk off his ass. Carter arrested him soon after the call. Bastard had the balls to go back after he almost killed his whole family.

Mom and Dad went to the hospital daily, bringing me and Donnie changes of clothes and food. The guys would bring our homework and take turns watching over Donnie. Tia slept beside Shorty most nights until her aunt forced her to go home. Tia was feisty and wouldn't stop without a fight. Eventually, I was able to convince her to go home so she'll be strong for Shorty when she wakes up. That did the trick until she kneed me in the balls, threatening to cut my dick off if anything happens to her because she was forced to leave her side.

Fuck if that didn't turn me on.

We were all worried about Donnie. Even the doctors and nurses. They had to insert fluids through an IV for nutrition and dehydration.

Yeah. That's how fucked up this whole situation was.

Donnie hasn't eaten, showered, or shaved for two weeks. The nurses finally allowed him to set up a cot in Shorty's room after he refused to leave her side.

The last time I saw my brother fall apart like this was when he found out Shorty was dead. And he was just ten fucking years old. He couldn't sleep—walked around like a zombie half the time—refused to eat or drink anything. He lost interest in everything, including baseball.

When Shorty left the first time, a part of him died too. It took him years to get back the life he almost left behind.

And now? The darkness has taken over him once again.

"D. You need to shower, man. And you need to eat something." I stare at my brother, the person I looked up to, a broken soul trapped in a shell that looks like him.

"Come on, D. You can't do this to yourself. Shorty wouldn't want to see you like this."

He doesn't even look at me. He lays in the bed with Shorty with her hand resting on his chest as he wraps his arms around her with his face buried in her neck.

"D, you need to ta—"

"Don't. Ok, don't," he snaps.

Knowing I can't get through to him now, but I can be there for him from afar, I walk away toward the door.

With my hand on the door handle, I say over my shoulder, "I just want my brother back."

Before my foot is outside the room, he stops me in my tracks when he whispers, "I just want her back."

With my head hanging low, I walk out of the room in defeat.

Laying my head against the door, I make a wish. "Come on, Shorty. I need you to wake up. Bring life back to D. He needs you. We all need you." I pray to the universe or whoever has the power to fix this shit of a nightmare.