Dares with the Boy Who Doesn't Care

Chapter Eighteen(Jamie POV)

A sleepover inside of a hospital. It's like this was made up from my worst memories. The events surrounding Robin's death.

Even though I don't want to, I remember the last time I was in a hospital, not as a visitor but as a patient.

**3 Years Ago**

I don't know how many days have passed by but everything is white, and gray. The nurse said in addition to having a concussion I need to stay on an IV drip.

"Why isn't my brother alive?" I ask her.

She looks up from her clipboard with a shocked expression.

"Why am I still alive?" I ask eyeing the needle in my arm. With one swift movement I rip it out. The pain is like adrenaline and it sends me over to the hospital window. We must be on like the fourth floor.

So many people grab me and I want to bring them down with me for trying to stop me. Another needle is inserted into me and I loose all of my adrenaline as everything goes black.

•••

"How much do you want?"

"Mr.Wellsworth, I'm sorry but I really suggest that your son see a psychiatrist. He's having suicidal tendencies and his depression is-"

The sound of papers rattling sends the doctor into silence, that along with my fathers next sentence. "I'm allotting you two options. Either take this today, or send in your letter of resignation tomorrow."

More paper followed by approaching footsteps follow. I suddenly feel a rough hand pull me up by it's entanglement in my hair. My eyes shoot open as everything comes into focus.

"Cut the shit. You're getting out of here today unless you want to miss your brother's funeral, which I'm not letting happen over my own dead body." My father says in a voice low enough for no one else to hear but loud enough to still be menacing.

"Robin's not having a funeral, he's still alive." I don't want this to be a lie but it is.

He lets go of my hair and I fall back onto the fluffy pillow behind me."You can go see for yourself the wreck that's blocked off the highway. Or better yet, you could turn on the TV-"

"STOP!" I scream reaching a hand out to him. The tube in my arm shakes with every movement.

"I'll send George to escort you there personally. With all of the reporters and paparazzi not much has been cleaned up." He walks further away from me, towards the wall where I remember there use to be a window. I guess they changed my room because of my "suicidal tendencies".

"It's already enough of a scene out there so don't go and make another one. Get your act together and keep it together. Before, you had your brother to save your ass from all of the backlash from the ignorances and failures you tend to make ever so often. But now it's just you. Everyone will be watching you so never forget to keep your image spotless and perfect. The company will be yours one day and nothing is standing in the way to lift some of the weight off of your shoulders. You will inherit everything."

His words drift around in my skull replaying in different orders but they still don't make sense. "What are you talking about?" I ask before being interjected by another rage-filled pull. This time it's my shirt, and my body jerks forward limply in response.

"Your stylist will be here in five minutes. I don't know what kind of drugs he's going to have to give you but hopefully they will be able to knock a little bit of sense into you. This funeral is only three hours away and it needs to happen as soon as possible so that we can proceed with other meetings and get past this issue."