Piece by Piece

24. Crowded Room

Davyn's head throbbed and it wasn't in the rhythm of the much-too-loud corny dance music coming from some hidden speakers. If he were to die, he had the feeling it would be by Eurodance.

Somewhere along the way, after the game, he'd been dragged to some dude's house for an after-party. A part of him was sure he'd complained and protested. After all, he had to get back to the hospital and Ron.

It had taken the combined efforts of the school and Freider to get him out of there in the first place. He'd completely lost track of time, but the upcoming basketball game was important enough for the principal to call Freider and ask him just where the hell he'd been.

Davyn wasn't sure he cared, but he was so out of it that he'd let himself get pushed around, and before he knew it, he was in his uniform, on the field, his head pounding from the noise and the light. He couldn't focus at all, so he chose to just pass the ball and make sure not to fuck things up for his team. Everyone yelled at him to shoot for the hoop, but he didn't dare. Not when his vision doubled and half of him was still in the hospital.

Then, she came. Or had it only been inside his head?

Millie.

Millie, who had lingered on the edge of his thoughts while he'd spent endless hours in the hospital. Millie who he thought had truly abandoned him.

Why wasn't she there? How hard would it be for her to find out what had happened? To come see him in the hospital and offer some of her lame words of comfort?

But he knew. He'd been so evasive, there was no reasonable way for her to figure out where to find him. She didn't seem like the type to handle mundane things like that gracefully anyway.

He didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted her to do the impossible and come to his aid, pull him out of his misery. Why exactly, he still wasn't sure.

No one did. Until she'd shown up at the game and put his music on. The moment Shoot to Thrill started playing, his mind cleared and he could focus on the hoop. He'd taken his shot and scored. By the time he shook off his ecstatic teammates and turned back towards the door, she was gone.

Which was why he thought that maybe he'd hallucinated her in the first place. The ghost of the most typical savior.

That's a rescuer's fantasy, darling.

And yet, he hoped she'd want to fulfill it. Instead, she kept to the edges of his life, maybe too afraid to dive in.

Why would she leave? Didn't she want to talk to him? To see him? His pounding head made it hard to tell time. It also made it hard for him to focus on anything and pull himself together. He shouldn't be at this party. He should be on his way back to the hospital.

How long had he been gone? Was Freider still there, or had he decided he'd had enough and left Ron alone? Even if he dreaded this scenario, a part of him needed this break from the sterile environment and the armchair he'd turned into his bed. His entire body ached, but it was nothing compared to his head.

The pain in his temples only increased and he was aware that he was sinking into a full-on migraine. The drink in his hand was probably not helping.

His fingers curled around the red solo cup. He didn't even know what was in there. It smelled like alcohol. Would it make the pain worse or better?

Someone clasped him on the shoulder and he almost poured the drink on himself.

"And then, like in one of those movies..." Will took his hand off him and mimed taking a free throw. "Swish! A three-pointer from almost mid-field."