Shifting away from the vomiting child beside me, I looked around the bleak emergency room. The walls were painted a dull blue and had an array of faded sea creatures wherever you looked. It was pretty empty today. A mother and her baby sat on the other side of the room, the baby an alarming shade of red. Sammy sat in the decrepit grey chair to my right, reading something on his phone as we waited for our turn.
To my chagrin, he had insisted on taking me to the hospital to check my hand, which was a swollen, black and blue lump of throbbing pain. I hated hospitals, always have, always will. The stench of disinfectantand the broken sobs of families that have just lost a loved one were all too familiar to me.
"Emma Parker?"A nurse in annoyingly bright pink scrubs called out, surveying the room. I bumped Sammy with my shoulder, cradling my injury as the two of us followed the red-haired woman to the back into a room closed off from the rest by a curtain.
"So, what brings you in today?"
"My overprotective brother thinks I broke my wrist." I said, glaring at said brother.
"Let me take a look at it."
She twisted it ever so slightly and I let out a small whimper as a boltof intense pain shot up my arm. The woman looked up at me, gently moving my hand back to rest on the plastic mattress I was sitting on.
"I won't be able to tell for sure until we take an x-ray, but I think your overprotective brother might be right." Flipping through the papers on the table to her left, she pulled one out and handed it to Sammy. "I'll get the x-ray technician in here and he'll prep you, but I need you to sign off on the procedure first. Do you have insurance?"
He shook his head, his mess of curls falling in front of his eyes as he let out a breath. I didn't have to look at the numbers to know it would hurt.
"Dr.Mason will be in soon."
.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Turns out, my overprotective brother was right. Sort of. I didn't break my wrist, but I had broken two of my fingers on that stupid boy's face. Apparently, I was not as strong as I would've liked to think.
After taking an x-ray, the nurse had come back in and wrapped white plaster around my hand, rambling on and on about the safety precautions I had to take in order for my fingers to heal properly. Don't try to move them, don't try to take off the cast, wrap plastic around the cast when showering, on and on.
"How long did she say I had to keep this on?" I asked as we walked through the parking lot.
"You have an appointment in about four weeks to check in on it."
I groaned, running my good hand through my hair and sliding into the passenger seat of the car.
"Don't be so dramatic. I think you'll make it." Sammy said, starting the car and pulling out onto the main road.
"Yeah, but I have to go to work tomorrow. How am I supposed to run the cash register with one hand?"
"I don't know. See if you do inventory or something. Or just take some time off. You are suspended, you know."
"Yeah, but we need the money for groceries this week now that you have to pay an arm and a leg for this." I held up my arm.
"Speaking of groceries, I need to run by the store. We're out of shampoo and I'm having a craving for spaghetti tonight. Are you okay withthat?"
"Looks like I'm going to have to be." I grumbled as he pulled into the parking lot of a dimly lit corner store.
Aftera few minutes of attempting to pull the sleeve of my jacket over the bulky plaster to no avail, I finally opted to leave it, a decision I immediately regretted. A cold November breeze whipped my hair around my face, sending violent shivers down through my spine. Inside the store wasn't much warmer, either. It was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, almost completely empty save for a few customers wandering around picking up last minute groceries and employees that looked more or less like zombies.
I let out a gasp as something hit me in the face, almost falling inshock.
"Relax, Em. It's a sweater, not a grenade." Sammy chuckled, grabbing a cart and heading down an aisle.
"Why do we need a cart? I thought we were just getting shampoo and stuff for dinner." I mumbled, pulling the black sweatshirt over head. "And your sweatshirt's too big."
"It's not my fault. You're just short."
Rolling my eyes, I followed him through the store, watching as he put a box of cheap pasta in the cart and moving across the store.
"What do you need from here? I thought we were having spaghetti."
"We are, but we can't have spaghetti without garlic bread."
I let out a frustrated sigh as he opened the freezer and started searching for the bread. A twitch ran up my spine as I suddenly felt like I was being watched. I turned, meeting eyes with the god-like boy who had witnessed my melt down in the art room. His stupid green-haired friend was there with him as well, but I didn't want to look at him. I already felt guilty enough without having to see the damage I might have done to his face.
Look what you've done. You attacked him. You're a monster and they hate you, just like everyone else.
I finally tore my gaze away from them, turning to my brother and tapping on his shoulder.
"Sammy, we need to go somewhere else."
"Hold up, I'm trying to figure out which one of these is cheaper but won't taste like cardboard."
"Sammy, now."
He sighed, turning and glancing over to where I was pointing. I must have looked pretty pathetic, because he just nodded and pushed the cart down the aisle, away from the two boys.
Everyone hates you. Even your own brother thinks you're a nuisance.
"Are you okay?"
I shook my head, wiping at my eyes with the overly-long sleeves of the sweatshirt.
You'd be
better off dead.
