Stay With Me (Come Back to Me #2)

Chapter 33

Justin

Ten minutes after Addie leaves, the IV is out of my hand and I'm leaning against the bed. It took a lot of convincing, but the nurse finally gave in and met my requirements. I said I'd stay in the ICU until Mom arrived and do whatever tests they wanted so long as they would remove the IV and allow me to stand.

Though my legs are still feeling noodle-like, standing helps me think better. I don't know why, but the longer I stand here, staring at a chip in the linoleum flooring, the more I dissect what happened with Addie.

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is all my fault. I regret everything I said. I regret not telling her.

But what I don't regret is telling her that she could never understand. No one ever does. The seizures are consistent and though I've become used to them, they still manage to knock me off my feet. Each time I have one, I feel like I become a little more detached with myself, almost as if I'm losing who I am. Each time, there's the painful realization that I could be useless for the rest of my life. I'm not that teenager that can drive his little brother to soccer games or run to the grocery store for my mom when she's baking cookies and doesn't have any chocolate chips. My confidence has diminished into smoke.

I'm also living in constant fear of the unknown. Fear that any time, any moment, I could hurt myself or someone else. My stomach is constantly in knots because I'm so anxious. The fact that something takes over my body for a few minutes, doing whatever it wants with it, and then I have no recollection of what happened during that period of time scares me. All I can do is hope that I come out alive or not hurt. It's like the brain is a computer and epilepsy is the virus, and you're stuck waiting while the doctor works on an antivirus.

How could she ever understand that?

My thoughts are broken when I hear my mom's voice.

"Oh my God, Justin," she says, rushing up to me and cupping my face. She begins to look me over like I'm some fragile glass figurine. "Are you okay?"

I gently push her away. "I'm fine." Even though I know I'm not. My suit is wrinkled, my eyes are red-rimmed from the crying, I'm tired, and I feel like absolute shit for losing the one girl that's actually cared about me.

Mom sees right through me, though. "No, you're not."

I shut my eyes again, fighting the tears that want to spill. Damn it. I thought I had already emptied my tear ducts. "She saw," I whisper. "She's the one who called the ambulance."

"Oh, Justin," Mom says, pulling me into a hug.

I don't know why, but Mom's hug breaks something in me. I fiercely hug her back, the tears breaking free once again. "I just wanted someone to stay with me longer than usual," I sob. "You and Chris have always been there for me, b-but sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes I need someone who is my age, y'know? I only meant to be friends with her, Mom." I hiccup, and it reminds me of Addie. How I made her cry. "But she's more – so much more. And now I've fucked it up. I hate this. I fucking hate this. They always say something's gotta give. But why is nothing giving for me? I don't deserve this."

Mom pats me on the back. "I know, honey," she whispers. "I know."

"She hates me now," I choke. "She hates me so much."

Pulling away, Mom looks me directly in the eye, tears streaming down her own cheeks. "Why would Addie hate you?"

The fact that she can decipher who I'm talking about without me even saying her name makes my chest ache. It only proves how close everyone knew Addie and I were.

Through the pain, I tell Mom everything that happened after school. "I even took my meds when we stopped by to pick up my clothes," I say, shaking my head. "So I don't understand. I don't fucking understand why I had one. I don't understand why they're getting worse."

"Neither do I," Mom says, looking utterly defeated. "I wish I did, but I don't."

Both of us sit on the edge of the bed, immune to the beeping and strange noises of machines, the antiseptic smell, the whole atmosphere. I shake my head. Hospitals are a second home to me. Good thing I'm not scared of them or the past years would have been ten times more difficult than they already were.

"Can we go home now?" I ask. In the familiarity of my bedroom, I need to figure out how I'm going to apologize to Addie.

She came to the hospital to make sure I was okay, to be with me, and I reacted before thinking. I wish I could have bit my tongue and listened to her. She did what she thought was best. I can't blame her for that, especially when she had no idea. In my opinion, she handled it well compared to others that have experienced it. 

"No," Mom says. "The doctors are going to want to make sure you're okay; do a couple tests and things like that."

I suppress a groan. I may not be scared of hospitals, but that doesn't mean I like them. "Fine. But straight home after?" As soon as I ask that question, a thought occurs to me. "How did you know?"

Mom looks at me, giving me a half-smile. "Addie called me."

My eyebrows form an upside-down V. Addie called my mom even after I said what I did.

An ache fills my heart and I look at my iPhone that's resting on the small excuse for a nightstand beside the hospital bed. I should call her right now. I really should.

But that choice is taken from me for two reasons: first, this isn't a conversation I can have with her over the phone, and, second, a nurse and a doctor come walking over as soon as they see my mom.

Though I don't want to let this problem between us to fester any longer than it should, it needs to be pushed to the side for now.

But that doesn't mean, even as the nurse checks my blood pressure, that I stop thinking about Addie. 

I made a mistake. 

This is my mistake and I am, somehow, some way, going to fix it.