Chapter 36: I Like Your Face

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Aaron's point of view:

Kyle Buchanan is a dick.

And he's not a big dick, no, he's a small, tiny little shriveled, unsatisfactory dick.

He's a penis with an STD.

What the fuck type of man cheats on their girlfriend and then breaks said girlfriend's leg—which was already in the process of healing—while harassing her after they're not together anymore?

That's right, no man would do that, and whatever male does is not a man.

They are a fucking child. A man-baby. A shriveled dick.

And who the fuck would ever willingly hurt Cassie?

She's Cassie.

I am so angry right now, all I want to do is go down to the police station and make sure that fucker gets charged.

But I need to make sure Cassie is okay first.

I'm stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital, and I'm so close to her.

The need to see Cassie is overwhelming, and I have to stop myself from weaving in and out of traffic. Besides, if I get pulled over, the longer it's going to take to see her.

The cars in front of me finally start to move, and I eagerly press on the accelerator, turning on my blinker to signal I'm getting off at an exit.

The rest of the drive to the hospital goes pretty quickly, and when I pull into the parking lot, the car is off and locked in less than five seconds.

I jog towards the entrance and move towards the front desk when I'm inside, the trademark hospital smell heading up my nose, people sitting in chairs in the lobby, looking desolate.

"How may I help you?" asks the lady sitting behind the desk, a desktop computer in front of her.

"I'm looking for Cassandra Parker," I tell her, trying to keep the desperation and worry out of my words. "She would've been admitted recently with a broken leg."

The lady clicks around on the computer before smiling up at me. "She's in room 104."

I take off, shooting a "Thank you," over my shoulder.

The room numbers go by, and soon I'm standing outside of her door.

I push it open, closing it behind me, and I see Cassie laying on the bed looking up at the ceiling, a spaced out look on her face.

"Cassie," i say hesitantly. "You okay?"

"Look at all the pretty colors," she whispers, still looking up at the ceiling.

I walk closer, sitting down in the chair by her bed, and glance up at the part of the ceiling she's staring at.

The ceiling is white.

"How much drugs do they have you on?"

That causes her to look away from the ceiling and finally look at me, her face falling. "I like your face," she tells me, sounding like an upset child. "Why is your face so pretty?"

I chuckle, amusement rising up inside of me. "I don't know, Cassie. Why do you think it's so pretty?"

She pouts. "I don't know. Your face is stupid but it's so pretty." She sits up and grabs my face in between her hands, yanking it closer to her, looking into my eyes. "Your eyes are pretty, too," she says, bringing my face closer to hers until our foreheads are pressed together and our noses are brushing. "I love your eyes."

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