SATELLITE HEART [A BARLEY LIGHTFOOT x READER STORY]

chapter 13

Your hands were trembling as you left the room. Laurel closed it behind you, her arm already going around Ian, who was walking slowly towards Barley's hospital bed. And you hated it, you hated yourself for doing it, but you watched. You watched through that sliver of a glass window in the door and you saw Ian sit on the side of Barley's bed and you saw Barley's lips move and you could see when he mouthed the words. Ian shook his head and Barley nodded, reaching for his brother's hand. Your shoulders were shaking with sobs and Laurel gathered both of her boys in her arms, tears streaking down her face. And finally, as Ian's face smashed against Barley's chest and you caught a glimpse of his red, watering eyes, frozen wide and staring straight at the wall, you covered your face with your hands and your body crumpled.

Your back slid right against the white wall behind you and you blocked out the bright lights that were shining directly on you like a spotlight. Nurses passed by, watching you solemnly as you sobbed right by the door. You pressed a fist against your mouth to keep it silent, because you felt horrible for crying this hard when his mother and his brother were right behind the door with the same news hanging over their heads. 

Wrong, you were wrong. You barely new Barley. You have only been dating him for a month. 

Eventually you were tired of nurses watching you and you were tired of sitting on the floor. They were still holding one another in the room. You needed to leave.

You took Guinevere and bought Barley that milkshake he asked for. The same flavor he drank on your dates after work. You brought it to his room. By then, it was Ian and Laurel on the couch, her arm around him, and Barley was sitting alone.

"Hey, I bought that milkshake you wanted," you said.

"Ah, thank you," he said softly. You placed it on the table by his bed. "You're the greatest."

You held up the paper bag of burgers. "And dinner for you guys."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Laurel said. Ian crossed his arms and looked away.

"And I got them with extra ketchup for you, Ian," you said, remembering Barley telling you how much Ian loved ketchup on literally everything.

Ian didn't say anything. Laurel stared at him, shocked.

You were struggling to hold back tears again. You handed the food to Laurel and turned towards Barley. "I should go home."

"Really? You don't have to---" Barley started.

You walked up to him and shook your head. "I should. I'm... yeah. I'll take Guinevere today and bring her back tomorrow morning. I'll call off work to be here. Text me if you get your test results, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled, looking at Ian sadly. He grabbed your hand. "Wait, didn't you get something to eat too?"

"No," you said.

"___---"

"I'm not hungry," you said.

"___, please."

You just shook your head. Barley frowned and you kissed him, clutching his keys tight in your hand. "I'll text you," you said. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, guys."

"Drive safe, sweetie," Laurel said. 

"I will." You paused at the door, looking at Barley. He swallowed hard, watery green eyes right on you. "I'll text you. Okay?"

He nodded, situating his legs under the sheet. He slipped down the bed, pulling up the thin blanket until it touched his chin. You left the room and made it all the way to the van before you started to cry.

The drive was quiet. You couldn't let yourself play the mixtape Barley had made for you while you drove home. You couldn't handle it. But after you parked the van in your own driveway, you took the tape out of the dashboard and tucked it in your jacket pocket so you could listen to it in the quiet of your room.

You entered your house, where your siblings and parents were eating dinner at the kitchen table. Without you. They asked you where you'd been. You said you'd been with Barley's family. They asked if you wanted to eat. You said no. They didn't notice how red your eyes were. You walked to the sink to get a glass of water, and you paused when you saw the vase that the flowers from Barley had been in. The purple flowers from Barley were gone, replaced by red roses you surely didn't put in there. 

You looked at your sister. She gulped guiltily. "Why is this vase in here?" 

"Because it belongs in my kitchen," your mother said, sipping red wine. 

"Okay. Then where are my flowers?" She wasn't looking at you and she wasn't answering. You turned your head and there they were, stems up, stuffed in the garbage can. Your heart sank and you slammed your glass of water down on the counter as the anger settled in.

"They were starting to wilt, honey. I threw them out," she defended herself lamely, eyes still not on you. 

"Barley got me those," you said. 

No answer. 

You dropped the glass in the sink, letting the water spill out. Your family stopped eating but didn't look at you. You were fuming. Without thinking, you swiped your hand across the counter, knocking the red roses and the vase to the ground. The vase shattered and the roses scattered across the floor. You stomped over them and went to your room.

Your parents stood. "___!"

"How dare you act like that in my house?" your father started. He grabbed for you. "You cannot---"

You turned and looked at them, tears pouring down your face. "You know where I was? I was at the hospital. Barley's sick. He's really sick. I bet you guys are pretty happy about that one, aren't you?" You shook your head at them and went to your room.

You weren't sure they would actually be the kind of people that would be happy someone was sick. Obviously that would make them feel guilty. You hoped it would. They wanted so badly for you and Barley to break up, but they were aware that you wouldn't break up with him and he wouldn't with you. They needed something else to break you up, which is why your dad tried and Colt tried. And now there was this, threatening everything for you and Barley. They got what they wanted. In a way, they asked for this.

You collapsed on your bed and sobbed, burying your face under your pillow. You screamed and screamed against the plush of your mattress until your throat was scratchy and your voice was gone. You sat up and pulled your phone and the tape out of your jacket. You slammed the tape down into the little stereo in the corner of your room and turned the volume all the way up. You hit play, shed your work uniform, and slipped on a t-shirt and leggings. You crawled back in your bed and opened your phone to text Barley and tell him that you were home.