nights; h.s.

37

TRIGGER-WARNING THIS CHAPTER TALKS ABOUT DEATH

if you feel uncomfortable at anytime during this chapter please feel free to stop reading.

thirty-seven

brooklyn

I rushed into the hospital, my heart beating in my throat. I had a feeling this had something to do with either Nick or Chase but I didn't want to admit it to myself. I didn't want this to be my fault. I managed to tell Harry what was going on and he offered to drive me to the hospital which luckily was only 15 minutes away. But that was 15 minutes of profuse sweating, swearing, and suffocation.

I ran straight to the front desk, lunging forward grabbing the older woman's attention. "My brother!" I yelled, my breath catching up to me, swallowing my words and gulping them down. Every sound felt like a knife plunging into my chest and I couldn't identify this feeling.

"Miss? Are you okay?"

"No, my brother! He's here! I need.. to.. see.." I panted, leaning over the table. A wave a nausea washed over me next, my ears rung and my vision went blurry and stiff. My stomach gurgled beneath me and I felt like if I opened my mouth again— I was going to puke all over this elderly lady. But if I didn't, I was gonna suffocate.

"TJ Nights, he's 13, about 5"6, black, buzzcut," I heard Harry's muffled voice announce to the the lady. "Tyrone-James Nights? he arrived about half an hour ago-"

"What's wrong with him? What happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't know s-sir. All it says here is 'severe injury to his ribs and a mild head injury.' He's unconscious right now and probably concussed. The doctors are running tests and taking x-rays right now, but you can take a seat and I'll update you as often as I can." The lady said, speaking quick and trying her best to calm us down. "Miss, are you alright?" She asked, directed towards me. I shook my head, unable to speak. I lifted my head, all my vision breaking up with it. All I could see was a big blue trash can about 5 feet from me and i lunged at it. With two big steps, vomit threatened to come out but I held it until I got to the trash can. I leaned over it, opening my mouth and projectile vomiting straight into the darkness. My eyes screwed shut as I gagged, hearing the liquid hit the bag covered metal. I felt Harry's hand on my back, rubbing it in comforting circles but it didn't sooth the pain. My throat burned in the trail of my bile but soon enough it was over. I gagged, the sound echoing back to me. I took the sleeve of my hoodie and wiped my mouth, collapsing on the floor against the wall.

"Are you okay? Can we get a doctor-" The older lady screamed, rushing towards me. I shook my head, only making me more dizzy.

"I'm fine!"

"Miss, you just-"

"I'm fine! I have to," I coughed, "I have to wait for my mom. I'm fine!" I shouted, the lady stepped back, shocked at my outburst. I glanced upwards to see the whole waiting room watching me.

Harry reached for my hand- which I gave him. He pulled me up and wrapped my limp arm around his broad shoulder, not saying a word at all. We walked together as slow as he could manage until we reached a row of three chairs next to a vending machine. Harry sat me down in the soft cushioned chair and walked towards the big machine.

I bit my lip, trying hard to keep my thoughts off my mind. This situation was all too familiar, this feeling was all too familiar.

Harry returned, sitting beside me, with a icy bottle of water and two packets of saltine crackers.

"These will help with the nausea." He said, opening one packet. "I don't wanna eat." I said almost inaudibly. Somehow, he heard me. "Baby, just-"

"Excuse me, miss? Are you here for Tyrone? Tyrone-James Nights—"

FLASHBACK

The cold air-conditioning breathed on my bare back in the hospital seat. I sat there, alone, my head in my hands balling my eyes out. Speckles of his blood still stained my pink tank top. I was crying so hard that my thighs were practically dripping but I didn't make a sound. My legs were still cut up and bleeding from the fall I took, trying to run. Trying to get help. But I failed. I could still hear the screams, still hear his voice ringing in my ears. I could still see him; the sparkle in his eyes when I told him I loved him, the way he danced when he was drunk, the way his smile lit up when he saw me come home, the blood rushing out of his chest, his cold eyes looking up at me. I could still feel his grip on my hand letting go. Could still hear his fragile voice telling me to run, telling me to-

"-Excuse me, miss? Are you here for Tyrone? Tyrone-James Nights?" The nurse asked. My head burst upwards, my eyes probably puffy and bloodshot. Coloured dots danced in the air from all the rubbing.

"Yes! Yes, I am! I'm his daughter, where is he! How is he? How's my dad!" I shouted loudly, standing up fast to face the sweet-faced nurse. I saw her lips purse, and her brown-eyes fall to the floor.

"You can see him. Follow me." She said, and I did so. I grabbed my phone from the seat next to me. I had already called my mom, for the first time in months, 6 times. She didn't pick up. I called my grandma, my aunt, my uncle. Nothing.

My flip-flops smacked against the tile floor, until the very very last door. The nurse, slowly opened it only to reveal my father laying there on the hospital bed. I could see the imprint of his legs, they were sprawled out the way they were when he came back from work. He was so tired that the next morning, when I needed a ride to school, I had to wake him up because he would never listen to his alarm clock. Sometimes, I would sing 'The Good Morning Song.' Him and Mom sung it to me every morning before the divorce. Soon enough, it was just his voice waking me up.

I slowly approached his body and I slipped my hand into his. The calluses from his construction work were still there- the soft skin he had from my childhood was gone. And so was his usual warmth. His hand was cold and his skin was dry, pale, and another adjective I didn't want to say out loud.

I squeezed his hand but he didn't squeeze back.

I put my hand on his chest but it didn't rise back.

I kissed him but he didn't smile.

Lastly, I opened my mouth. My voice was shaky and squeaky, my mouth was dry and my throat was raw but I sang to him. I sung the good morning song.

In my mind, he looked up. He smiled at me. He squeezed my hand back, his eyes fluttered open, he called me his baby girl and he said he that he loved me. But when I looked down at him his chapped lips were sealed shut. His eyes were fluttered closed. I looked to the nurse, who stared back at me, a single tear dripping down her cheek.

"Is he gone?" I squeaked. She nodded, I ran up to her. Feeling no shame, engulfing this complete stranger in a hug. She hugged me back, and in the moment it felt like a mother's hug. But I didn't even know her name.

"He was all I had left." I mumbled aimlessly into her chest, tears falling from my eyes once more.

"He was all I had."