10. Sick

TEN

Sick

I ran.

Everything was long forgotten.

I ran until my legs burned, and then I pushed myself further. By the time I started to recognise my surroundings, the moon had taken over the sky and my lungs felt swollen, on the point of bursting. My breath was rasping violently, my legs shuddering so badly that I thought I was going to collapse.

I headed to the all-night diner, stumbling through the doorway and collapsing into a booth. I pulled my legs up to the seat, tears of pain stinging in my eyes, a curse hissing out between my teeth.

"Grey-girl?"

I tilted my head up—it was suddenly heavy, so it took longer than usual. Jean was standing over me, a few girls I recognised from the track team fanning out behind her. I was starting to feel the small-town curse again for the first time since I'd left the institution. That sinking inevitability of running into at least one person that you knew every time you stepped outside. Jean took a step toward me, but one of the girls grabbed her arm, looking panicked as she whispered something into Jean's ear. Jean scowled, pulling her arm free and slipping into the booth beside me. The girls quickly melted away, escaping out of the front door of the diner.

"Bitches," Jean muttered, turning back to me. "What's up? What's wrong with your leg? Why do you look like you just ran to San Fran and back?"

"Not that far," I gritted out. "Just some crappy beach."

"Want me to text Marcus? He can give us a lift."

"Sure. Thanks."

She pulled out her phone, sent off the message, and then tossed it onto the table in front of us. "Why are you out running so late? It's like midnight or something."

"I was at a party with Duke."

She looked me over, a frown settling into the lines about her mouth. "Did he do something to you?"

"No."

She nodded, but the critical expression didn't go anywhere. If anything, it grew worse. "Are you coming to training tomorrow afternoon?"

"Need to beat the leaderboard time for the four hundred."

"You're a long-distancer. You can't out-sprint those girls."

"It hurts more."

She laughed, her head shaking from side to side. "Then you're not doing it properly. The long-distance runs hurt a lot more. Try the two-thousand with Kells. You'll die. For sure."

"Okay. So what were you doing out here so late?"

She sighed, tipping her head back to look at the plain ceiling, her eyes following the movement of the fan above one of the booths.

"Char was having a moment. Her guy dumped her. Jeff, you probably know him."

"Probably."

"He's on the football team," she told me, as if it would jog my memory.

I shrugged. "Why'd he dump her?"

"She got wasted at a party last weekend and let his teammate strip her in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Only problem was … they forgot to pull the curtains. Everyone could see them from the lawn."

"Stupid," I muttered.

"Everyone's talking about you at school. "

"Is that new?" I was aware that the incident had caused a lot of talk at school. Most of those rumours still haunted me.

Jean seemed to understand my reaction because a brief expression of pity fell over her features. I was glad it passed quickly.

"It's a new kind of talk," she specified. "They're saying that you offer tugs for money."

"Tugs?" I understood the term, but it seemed expected in that moment to question it.

"Hand jobs. And if you don't know what that means, the rumours definitely aren't true—not that I thought they were in the first place."

"Why are people saying that?" I was surprised. Astounded, even. It didn't really matter to me one way or another what people said about me, but that particular rumour was a little far-fetched.

I hadn't tugged anyone. But today, I let Trip touch my?—

"What can I get you two?" a server interrupted, appearing at the table.

I had let him, hadn't I?

Jean answered, reminding the server that she'd been at another of the tables, and we were leaving now. I didn't pay much attention, my eyes fixed to the table even after the server wandered away.

"Did you piss someone off?" Jean questioned, cutting into my thoughts. "Maybe they're trying to get back at you?"

"Maybe. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Marcus is here." I pointed to the doorway where Marcus was standing, motioning us over.

We got out of our booth, approaching him. I realised why he wasn't coming in when I got a good look at him. He was wearing pyjamas, flannel pants, and a faded tank, his dark hair mussed.

"Hey, Grey-girl." He grinned at me, nudging my shoulder as I passed. "Hey, sis."

Jean smiled at him before walking off to his car, which was still idling at the curb. She slid into the front, so I sat in the back. It was hard to move my legs. I might have injured myself, but I didn't want to say anything about it.

"Thanks for the lift," I muttered, running my hands surreptitiously down the backs of my calves, trying to find any spot that hurt more than the rest of my legs.

"No problem," he replied easily, flipping his turn signal on to pull back onto the street. "Mom pulled out the spare mattress for you, so you can stay at ours tonight."

What? "Ah, thanks."

I glanced at Jean, who was obviously the one to set up my impromptu sleepover, but she wasn't looking at me. She was staring out of the window, her expression vacant. She didn't seem to be paying attention to what was happening inside the car, but I was sure she wasn't paying any attention to the road either. She had gone off into her own little world again. It caused a small spark of worry to ignite in the back of my mind.

I didn't like it when she did that.

It didn't look the same as when other people got lost in their thoughts. It made her look like something was eating away at her, gnawing on her mind and stealing her from the world, piece by piece.

I fell back into my seat, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my legs, and the way my stomach clenched sickeningly. I didn't even know what was wrong with me anymore—it seemed like there wasn't a single part of my body not hell-bent on violently protesting against me. Marcus turned on the radio, adjusting the volume to a pitch that was barely audible, though he still managed to hum tonelessly along to it until he pulled into their driveway. Their house was small, and I was pretty sure it was in the same neighbourhood as Summer Estate, because I recognised most of the surrounding streets.

They had a park right across the road, but no street lights, so everything was thrown into foreboding darkness. As soon as Marcus cut the engine off, their porch light switched on, illuminating us in a sudden, bright halo.

I tried to exit the car, but my body had simply had enough. It was giving up, saying enough , and sending me tunnelling toward the pavement.

"Jean!" a woman's voice suddenly sounded, ringing in a hollow way, floating on past me. "Your friend?—"

I landed with a hard smack against the concrete.

"Mom, put that down. She definitely won't want us to call an ambulance?—"

"She needs to go to the hospital." The woman sounded impatient and breathy. "She dropped so suddenly … it was lucky that the grass caught her face, otherwise we'd have a very different problem on our hands right now."

Arms shifted beneath me; one across the backs of my knees, the other behind my shoulder blades. It wasn't the woman, or Jean. Probably Marcus. He was walking, but he didn't go far before lowering me onto something soft. I peeled my eyes open—though it took considerable effort—before dragging myself into a sitting position.

"I'm fine." My own words sounded garbled .

"You're not." The woman was kneeling beside me again. She had dark hair and soft brown eyes—but that wasn't surprising. She was an older version of Jean. "You fainted in the driveway. Hit your head. Have you been drinking?"

I started laughing, my head too heavy to hold up anymore. "You're such a mom," I choked out.

She seemed confused for a moment. She flicked a look back at Jean, who was standing in the doorway, that faraway expression back on her face.

"I'm Alicia." The woman turned back to me, giving up on whatever explanation she had hoped to get out of Jean. "And yes, I'm their mother. I need to call an ambulance."

"I'm fine," I reiterated, my laughter tapering off. Shit , I was acting crazy. Going crazy. Remaining crazy.

"Let me drive you to the hospital." Alicia stood, brushing off non-existent dust from her skirt in an efficient sort of way. She hadn't seemed to be asking a question, more like delivering an ultimatum.

"I can drive—" Marcus started to speak, but she quelled him with a single, cutting glare.

He tossed his hands up in supplication, smiling sympathetically at me before backing out of the room.

"Help me out," Alicia said, prodding Jean's arm. "I need to get her into the car."

I assumed her was me , so I swung my legs to the side of the couch, rising unsteadily to my feet. "I'm fin?—"

Darkness swam into my vision again, yanking me back in the direction of the floor. An arm slipped beneath mine, catching me at the last possible moment.

"Fine," Alicia supplied, her tone tense. "Yeah, I can see that. Jean? Jean! "

"Huh?" I heard Jean mutter. "Oh, yeah, right. Sorry." An arm settled around my waist, and together, they started to walk me out of the room as my vision gradually cleared again. "Overdid it a bit, hey, Grey?"

I tried to answer, but my mouth felt sticky. Maybe I was about to vomit.

"Grey?" Alicia asked. "That's her name?"

"Her name's Mi?—"

"Grey," I forced out, my voice gravelly.

We made it to the garage and Alicia yelled out for Marcus to move his car as they piled me into the passenger seat. My head rolled, falling against the window as the garage door made its slow, rumbling progress open. Two more doors slammed, and then we were moving. The road felt smoother beneath us, scrolling evenly, without incident.

It was soothing, almost.

I closed my eyes, my body growing heavy with fatigue. Maybe I would rest for just a minute.

"MIKA!"

I stopped in the doorway, my eyes drawn to my mother's face.

What was the worst thing that could ever happen to me?

It was a question I had asked myself, once. It was part of a game—a stupid, mindless game that I had played with my friend, Lacey. She told me that the worst thing that could ever happen to her would be for her boyfriend, Nate, to dump her. After a moment, she was viciously shaking her head, changing her mind. Her parents getting a divorce. That would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her. She told me that it would destroy her. Destroy their family. Destroy her future, because she would never be able to trust anyone ever again. Because it would give her issues.

I felt that happening to me as I stared into my mother's face.

I watched my trust dwindle and filter away into nothing, like sand through an hourglass. I watched our family crack down the middle, and then crack again, shattering into so many millions of shards that we all immediately lost sight of each other through the glittering of the glass downpour. It rained over me, all those pieces of us. It rained over me and shredded me up .

It destroyed me.

I would have endured a thousand divorces to avoid that one night.

"Did she do this to herself deliberately, Mrs. Moreno?"

"Of course not." I recognised Alicia's voice. "She just trained a little too hard. She's very serious about track."

"And she was staying with you at the time?"

"As I said to the triage nurse, she's been with me all weekend. She's a good friend of my daughter's. They're on the track team together."

"Your daughter isn't hooked up to a bag of fluids right now."

"Grey's a little more serious than I am," I heard Jean say, sounding as though she was admitting something embarrassing. "She trained an extra few hours."

"Is that normal for a seventeen-year-old?"

"She's eighteen," Jean muttered defensively. "Turning nineteen. Got kept back a year."

"There's no such thing as normal," Alicia asserted, sounding annoyed. "What's with the twenty questions? We're very grateful to you, we really are, and I know we're all feeling a little stressed right now, but …"

"The girl clearly hasn't been eating. I'd be surprised if you told me she ate anything at all today, let alone yesterday. She was dry-heaving when we put the catheter in, but there wasn't a thing in her stomach to throw up."

"You know how these teenage girls are." Alicia was speaking lowly now, as if afraid someone would hear her. "They told me they were eating at the diner, but I guess she was worried about her weight. I'll talk to her about it."

I finally managed to open my eyes, bringing the nurse—who had been speaking to Alicia—into focus. She was plump, with surprisingly gaunt cheeks and intelligent eyes. Her hair was a shiny blonde, but it had been pulled into a coarse bun. She turned, seeing Alicia's eyes flick to me, and I braced myself as they both stared at me. Jean seemed to have disappeared, which was strange, considering she had been speaking only a moment ago.

"How are you feeling, Miss Grey?" the nurse asked, leaning over the end of my bed to grab a clipboard from the holder it had been slotted into.

She glanced down at the notes, as though she needed to remind herself of who I was—even though she had just been talking about me .

"I feel fine," I rasped. There wasn't any point in playing it up. I was already in a hospital.

The nurse pursed her lips. "Well, Mr. Fell will be arriving in a matter of minutes. Our registered psychologist has agreed to let him assess you tonight since he's your usual."

"Mr. Fell?" I repeated dumbly. "Registered … my usual ?"

"Your registered mental health carer," she specified, her pursed lips now forming a frown. "He was your emergency contact."

"He … what ?"

"He certainly wasn't as surprised as you apparently are, Miss Grey."

Alicia reached out a hand, pressing against my arm and forcing me back into the hard hospital pillow. I hadn't even realised that I'd half jumped from the bed. I stared down at my lap, the shock making its sluggish, painful way through my body.

"Can I please have a minute … to myself?" I asked, looking at the nurse.

She nodded, sliding the clipboard back into its folder and flipping the curtain open to walk through. Alicia moved to the curtain, and I thought that she was leaving … but she only fixed up the cloth and returned to my side, sitting on the edge of my hospital bed. She took my hand. I stared at her fingers as they cl osed around mine, and I found my eyes suddenly itching.

"Grey?" She squeezed my hand. It wasn't quite forceful, but it wasn't entirely gentle, either. "I'm going to go and give you some peace, in a moment … but I was talking to the kids earlier, and I was wondering if you'd like to stay with us for a little while? Maybe a few days? A week?"

I didn't know what to say. I finally forced my eyes from our hands, bracing myself for the look of pity on her face, mustering up the courage to tell her that I didn't need her help, but my words died as soon as I saw her expression.

She was pleading with me. She was worried that I would say no.

"Okay." The agreement had escaped my lips before I even had the chance to taste the word properly, but I was surprised that it didn't leave a sour feeling behind.

Okay .

Maybe everything would be … okay .

"Good." Alicia squeezed my hand again, standing from the bed. She sucked in a deep breath, brushing the hair from her face, and then she gave me a brief smile before slipping between the curtains.

I watched her go.

The hope went with her.

Things definitely weren't going to be okay .

I reached over to the needle in my arm, peeling the tape off. I didn't want to watch it come out, so I gripped it as my eyes followed the tube up to the clear, plastic bag hanging by the side of my bed. It had some medical jargon printed on it, and half of the liquid inside was sucked out, making it look like the top half had been vacuum-sealed. I focussed on the drip drip of clear water falling into the tube from the bag as I pulled out the needle. There was no pain. Only a very muted, underwhelming pinch.

I tossed the thing aside and swung my legs over the hospital bed, sucking in a steadying breath as I attempted to stand. I could feel the pain now. It thrummed up the muscles of my legs and cramped in my stomach, making my head swim. It was all still understated, in a way. Nowhere near as severe as it had been before I fainted. The nurse had obviously given me something to dull it.

I moved to the little pile of folded clothing on the chair beside my hospital bed, finding everything there that I had worn to the party earlier that day.

What time was it now? What day was it now? I had no idea. I couldn't see any windows, or any clocks, and my head was swimming too dizzily for me to concentrate. I pulled off my hospital gown, replacing it with the pale blue sundress that only reminded me of the brownish tint of Trip's hand against my thigh. I pictured his square-shaped fingers, with the square-shaped nails, and something tightened in my throat, a roll of nausea instantly overtaking me.

I gagged, shooting a hand out to the back of the chair to steady myself. My body was punishing me again. Protesting my habit of running away from my own problems.

I steadied myself as soon as I was able, moving to the curtain and pushing the material aside only enough to peek out into the corridor. It was busy: nurses bustling past, doctors slipping into curtained-off areas, visitors shuffling along with their arms around patients. I couldn't see Alicia or Jean anywhere, so I stepped out and tucked my head down, following a couple to the end of the corridor and then out into the waiting room. We made it to the parking lot, but they paused when they reached their car, staring at me.

I nodded to them casually, moving past and approaching the road. I had no idea where I was going, but I obviously couldn't just get into their car and follow them around for the rest of their lives. I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing, my arms wrapping around my middle, my breath almost visible in the air. It was night-time still, but barely. I could see the sun peeking over the horizon. It seemed tentative.

I didn't blame it; the world was a painful place.