Chapter 16

14.4K 494 201
                                    

I would have broken out into tears if I hadn't been in class. "What?" I whispered, hoping that it was a joke.

"I'm moving back to England," he said sadly, every bit of truth in his voice.

"But why??"

My teacher turned around, annoyance on his face. Then, he looked right at me with a big 'you're in trouble' smile, he called out to me. "Young miss in the back! Would you like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?"

I turned my head to him. Sudden surprise filled my body. I hoped my oncoming tears weren't noticeable. I quickly shook my head.

"Uh-huh. Don't let it happen again," then he turned back towards the chalkboard and continued blabbering.

I looked back at Thomas. I mouthed the word, "Why?"

Next thing I knew, the bell rang. I was growing more anxious by the minute. Thomas and I walked out into the hall to talk.

"Why are you moving back?" I said at normal volume, my voice laced with tears and sadness.

Thomas's voice was shaky. "Something happened back at home, and my parents want me there immediately. Plus.. they said that this exchange program to America was a 'bloody mistake'," he said, his eyes starting to tear up again. He put his hand on my cheek and continued, "I really don't want to leave you. But I have to go back. I'm so sorry love."

I stared at the ground, and that's when I started to really cry. I didn't want him to go, but I couldn't act selfish. He had his own issues, and as a good girlfriend, I had to let him go. "When do you leave?" I said, lifting my head up to look at him.

As soon as his eyes met mine, he started crying also. "Next week."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug. I cried softly into his shoulder. He rubbed the back of my head, stifling sobs as he did.

Eventually the day school day ended, and Thomas and I walked home together, holding hands. We were going to cherish every moment of us together. Who knows when I was going to see Thomas again once he moved back to London. The thought of us being so far apart stabbed at my heart.

We spent the rest of the day together, and he eventually had to leave. I waved to him as he left.

It was late at night when my dad finally came home. He stammered into the doorway. He was definitely drunk.

I walked over to him and placed my hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him balanced. "Did you drive home like this? You're lucky you didn't get hurt or caught!"

I helped him over to the couch and he plopped down. "Get me my 12 pack out in the car," he slurred.

"No dad, you've had enough just relax!" I said, desperately wishing I wasn't in this situation.

His face grew red and he struggled to get up from the couch. He succeeded, and he stammered over to me. "I told you to get it!" he yelled.

I tried my best to stay defiant. "No!" I yelled back to him.

He growled and swung his arm towards my face, causing an explosion of pain in my jaw. I crumpled to the ground, holding my bruise. He then started kicking me in the gut. The pain was excruciating. I curled myself up so my legs were huddled against my stomach. I used my arms to protect my head as soon as his foot landed there, sending even more bursts of pain. I screamed repeatedly and finally said at the top of my lungs, "Stop!"

Just then, my brother stormed into the room. "Hey, hey!" he yelled, pushing my father away. My father was always an alcoholic, but his drunken states were never this violent.

After my father was forced onto the couch, my brother helped me up. "My god," he said, staring at me as if I were a foreign creature. I knew that wasn't good. "We need to get you to the hospital," he said, helping me up.

I helplessly cried on the way to the hospital. I was terrified of the events that had just occurred. How would I tell Thomas? What if he won't recognize me because of the injuries? I shook off my second thought. It was only one kick and punch to the cheek. The rest of the impacts occurred in my abdomen. Which still isn't good.

We arrived at the hospital and other people around stared at me with pity. My brother told women at the front desk what happened. They collected information on me and my father, then I was sent to a room and I had to change into a hospital gown. This visit was probably going to cause me to miss a couple days of school.

An elderly doctor walked in my room after a little while of waiting. His name tag read Dr. Ernest.

"Hello there," he said, looking between my brother and I.

He sat in a swivel chair and slid his way over to my bedside. He examined the bruises and scar on my face, which I could feel just above my nose.

"Well, hone, I'm sorry to say it, but it looks like you're going to need stitches."

A female nurse standing to the side of the room had a tray in her hand with various tools. She placed it on a table next to the doctor. The doctor grabbed a cotton ball and poured a tiny bit of, what I'm assuming, alcohol onto it. "This will clear the cut of any infections," he said.

He tended my cut, and then it was time for stitching. He angled my head so it was under the light, and began the needle at the top ridge of my nose. He criss-crossed the needle and thread over my deep cut. It stung a little at first, but I ignored it after a while. I've felt worse pain.

Finally the doctor finished and he told me not to touch it for a little bit. My stomach hurt bad, and I knew why. I desperately hoped that no organs were damaged. He placed ointment cream on my bruises and gave me an icepack, a home remedy.

He told me that I would have to stay overnight for further investigation to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. He left and so did my brother. I eventually fell asleep, exhausted from the day.

Maybe (A Thomas Brodie-Sangster fanfiction)Where stories live. Discover now