This is a spin-off of several works I have completed or are currently underway.
This series of short stories will follow a few of my characters through the rehabilitation process until they have their moment of clarity.
Some issues dealt with in thi...
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"They still haven't decided what to do with me yet," I said.
My brother didn't respond, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood next to my hospital bed.
"What are they saying?" I asked.
No response.
"Are you just going to stand there and act as though I don't exist?"
He cast me an annoyed glare. "It'd be much easier if you didn't keep talking," Emmett said.
Ouch.
Silence passed between us and Emmett pulled out his phone, leaning against the wall.
I knew Emmett well enough to know that he wasn't really mad.
"What's wrong?" I asked Emmett.
"I think it's my job to ask you that."
My gaze fell to my hands and I began to twist them in my lap. It'd become a habit over my three-day hospital stay.
"Mom and dad are talking with the doctor," Emmett quietly said. "They're talking rehab."
"Rehab?" I asked, my eyes glancing up to meet his. "I don't have a drug addiction."
"Just a starving yourself one."
All I could do was stare at Emmett's angry face, tears building up in my eyes.
"Jesus, Emily. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Emmett trailed off, biting his lip. "I'm just sorry."
And then he began to cry.
The tears that had been building up in my eyes began to slip down my cheeks as I watched my twin brother break down into sobs.
"Emmett-" I started, but he walked out of the room before I could continue.
He didn't understand. Not yet anyways.
It felt like days before the door opened again, this time revealing my parents, followed by my in-hospital doctor.
"How're you feeling today, Emily?" she asked, taking a seat in the rolling chair.
I just shrugged in response.
She took a moment to click through my file on her computer before pushing off in her chair toward me. "Okay, well I've been discussing some things with your parents and I'd like to discuss them with you too, if that's alright."
I glanced toward my mom, and she just offered me a small smile. "It's alright, honey. We're here."
That didn't comfort me. But I nodded anyways.
All that I'd seemed to be doing the last couple of days to was to please those around me. I'd spoken to numerous doctors, had a psychiatric evaluation, and been stuck with a needle numerous times for blood work and IV's.
