island ☆ g.d.

21. pressure

Grayson POV:
"So you're telling me that they didn't bring my suitcase of candy with me?"

"Sadly, no," I reply.

"I was saving the gummy bears for later though," Y/n pouts.

"Why don't I go to the grocery store and get you some candy? You can get whatever you want," I say, making a face at Y/n.

Laughing, she gestures me to come closer to her. I walk over and make a different face at her, and then she gently slaps me in the face, pretending to hurt me.

"Ahh! Ohh, it hurts," I say bending down and putting my hand on the side of the bed, "Why would you do this to me?"

"Are you lying to me about getting candy, or do you just want to leave me?" Y/n says, pretending to interrogate me.

"I am just trying to get the candy, ma'am," I reply, smirking.

"Okay! Caramel, Gummy bears, Watermelon Sour Patch Kids. Thank you!" Y/n smiles.

"Alright, I'll be back in 20 minutes," I turn and walk out of the room.

"Wait!" Y/n exclaims. I turn back around.

"Am I being taken home today?"

"Yes."

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Talking to the nurses on the way out, I make my way to my car and jump inside. The soft, tan interior of the car is lovely.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn it on, looking at the hilarious picture of Ethan that I have as a screensaver. Typing in the name of it, I find the closest grocery store to me. I turn my GPS on and start to drive, following the route given.

Singing songs as I'm driving, I finally pull into the huge grocery store. Making my way to the doors, my happiness rises. I can't wait to make Y/n happy. I can't wait to see that smile.

With a song still in my heart, I dance to the candy aisle. I get the biggest bags that I can find of the candy that Y/n requested, and I grab a bag of gummy worms for me.

As I'm driving back, I pass by a pet store. On the window there's a large, yellow sign.
"Puppies for sale."

This is going to be good.

I quickly park my car and jog into the store. I see puppies everywhere, and I start to pet them.

A black poodle. Not something she would like.

A pit bull. Eh, I don't think so.

Oh my God.

I look over to see the cutest dog that I have ever seen. With its golden brown fur and chocolate brown eyes, I knew this was the dog that Y/n wanted.

The tiny dog waddles over to me and places it's head in my hands. I pick it up, noticing how small it is.

This thing is literally the size of a basketball.

I walk over to a worker and ask if this dog is up for adoption. She smiles and says yes. I can't believe my luck as I walk over to pay for the dog.

Y/n is going to be so happy.

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I drop the dog off at my house before going to the hospital. I didn't know if hospitals allowed dogs, and Y/n is going back to my house tonight when she gets let out.

Excitedly, I make my way over to the hospital. As I walk through the doors, I watch Sydney strut into Y/n's room. I stand outside of the door and listen.

"Okay, Wicked Snitch of the West. What was that?" Sydney hisses.

Oh, the cringe.

"What was what?" Y/n questions.

"A few days ago, your boy toy told me to stop being "fake" to his brother. What did you say to him?"

"He saw you on the FaceTime, Sydney. You were mean to me one minute and then completely nice the next."

"Did you say anything else?"

"I told him that you're annoying and egotistical. Oh, also, I told him about what you did to get me out of Philly."

"Just know not to do these things to me anymore," Sydney says, her voice dripping with venom, "or else I could just do this."

A squeal of pain from Y/n is all it took to get me into the room. Once she hears my footsteps, Sydney immediately jumps up.

"Hi Grayso-"

"Get out," I point to the door. Sydney scoffs and leaves.

"Y/n, are you okay?" I ask, voice laced with concern.

"No," she responds, before I start to see blood coming from under the sheets. I pull them back, and see that Y/n's leg is bloody.

"She pushes down as hard as she could on my leg," Y/n explained before passing out.

"I need a doctor in here!"

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"I'll never walk again?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Y/l/n, but the pressure applied to your leg was too much for it to handle. You'll have to use a wheelchair," the doctor explains.

"Please. There's not anything else that we can do?" I ask.

"If there is anything, we can call you. But the chances of even thinking of something that could work are slim," he answers.

Y/n collapses into my arms, crying.

"I can't use a wheelchair for the rest of my life, Gray," she sobs.

Thanks, Sydney.

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