chapter twenty-six

I jolt upwards as soon as Pat pulls into the hospital's parking lot.

"Did I...pass out?" I ask groggily, rubbing my eyes. As I stretch out my neck, which has wholly contorted, I feel the headache return in full force.

"I think so," Pat tells me. The car powers down. "Let's go." He opens the door and steps out, shutting it way too loudly. He leaves me and heads towards the massive building lit up with white lights and topped off with a large, illuminated H at the very top. St. Hughes Memorial.

I don't want to remember why we came here because then the dread will seep back into my bones just like it had before. I ignore it. For now.

Someone knocks on my window and panic pinches my chest. Cade's bent down to my level in the darkness. I close my eyes, sighing. I had imagined a serial killer or zombie. I'm falling off the rails.

I blow out a breath and slap my cheeks in an attempt to bring myself back to life. Get it together, I think.

As I step out, Cade holds my arm, so I don't trip over my feet, which I almost manage to do the whole way to the hospital entrance. I use him as a railing. He's steady and confident and the only thing keeping me up right now. I feel like I've been battered over the head with a crowbar.

"Chapman?" Cade ventures. I just shake my head and clutch his arm tighter. I'll be fine after I see Greyson and make sure he's okay. I'll be fine. He'll be fine.

The three of us enter the automatic sliding doors and I'm assaulted by the extreme fluorescent light emanating from every corner of the lobby. It's surprisingly empty, just housing a few nurses hovering around a gigantic circular desk and an empty waiting area with unoccupied chairs.

Pat heads to the desk, talking with a petite woman with copper-coloured hair in a blunt bob cut. I can't make anything out, but I assume he's asking about Greyson. We're not family, so I bite my lip at the chances we're allowed passed the doors near the desk.

Cade and I sit in the waiting area. When we arrive, I reluctantly let go of his arm and sink into the padded fabric, the weight of the night's events settling on my shoulders. My eyes fall onto my mother's blue sundress. It's held up well.

Glancing over at Cade, and then Pat, I realize what a sight we must be. All three of us are in formal wear: Cade in his white dress shirt and neon-coloured tie, me in a long blue dress, and Pat in his checkered dress shirt and slacks.

Cade glances sideways at me. "I kind of maybe left our caps at school." He opens his hands towards the ceiling, leaning forwards in his chair. "I have no idea where they went."

"Whatever," I sigh. "That tassel was bothering me anyway. What time is it?"

Cade checks his watch, letting me know it's already half-past ten.

I graduated from Bridgewood High School a few hours ago, and somehow, that feels so insignificant right now.

My uncle appears in front of us. "Let's go," he says quietly. I stand up and peer at him in confusion. Before I can open my mouth, he waves me off. "Tonight, we're his family." He throws me a pointed look telling me not to question it. "Now come on." He turns around and I hop up after him, Cade trailing us.

Pat leads us down many hallways and up a few floors. These are the tiles he's walked nightly for years. He knows this place.

Eventually, we all stop in front of a simple room with a closed door, in a hallway that's empty, and almost too quiet.

"This is it," Pat breathes out. He raises a hand and knocks twice.

Mr. Scott is the one to answer it after a few tries. He meets us with a large red hoodie stretched across his swollen stomach and grey basketball shorts covering his boney legs. His bald head is red, the skin oily and thin.

"Patrick," Steven exhales, eyes wide. "How'd you—how'd you know?"

"It was Serena," Pat supplies. "She was at Commencement."

"Right." Steven nods. "I forgot Greyson asked her to go to that," he adds, almost to himself, then throws a cryptic look my way.

"Where's Greyson?" I demand, peering past Steven into the dimly lit room.

"He's fine, Ember," Steven assures me, running a hand down his face, but it doesn't quell my nervous stomach.

"Can I see him?" I ask. "Let me see him. Please."

"He's asleep. Can you wait until—"

I shove past him into the hospital room.

It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust in the dim light, but I can just make out Greyson's sleeping form lying in a hospital bed, angled upwards, his head lolled to the side.

He actually looks okay. I mean, not okay, but he's here and he's alive. There's a solid white cast on his right arm and a few IVs threaded into the skin of his hand. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls.

Steven yanks me backwards, out of the room. "Ember!" he snaps at me, "I told you to wait!" I'm forced back into the bright hallway as he carefully shuts the door behind him.

Pat takes a step forward, his fists balled. I glance at him and shake my head slightly. I'm fine, I say with my eyes. He doesn't look particularly happy, but he stays where he is.

Cade's brows are together, confusion written all over his face.

"What happened to him?" I ask Steven.

He pales. "I was in the kitchen making tea." He rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head as if the recall is too much. "All of a sudden I heard a loud thud from outside. And a scream."

I close my eyes, readying myself for what's coming next.

"It was—it was his scream," Steven continues slowly. "I called for him and he didn't answer me even though he usually does, so then I went to head outside and I—I found him—I found him right under the ladder for the treehouse I built. He was screaming. And groaning. And he—he wouldn't stop..." Steven trails off. He backs up against the door and slides down until he thuds on the ground, thin legs flat against the white tiled floor. "I actually can't believe this," he mumbles, dragging a hand down his red face. "This is my fault. I wasn't watching him."

I shuffle to the wall beside him and sink to the floor, pulling my dress up so as not to tear it.

Grey is okay. That's the only thing I care about.

"It's not your fault," I say to Steven. "It's not."

"Yes, Ember. It is. You don't understand." He sighs, shaking his head. "I'm his father. I wasn't watching him. I didn't even know he was sleeping up there. Alone. There were blankets and pillows and lamps...How didn't I know?"

I glance over to him on the floor, taking in his once-handsome face, now painted a grisly shade of white accompanied by dark purple circles under his murky blue eyes.

"How didn't I know?" he repeats, voice breaking. "I needed to protect him." I wonder if he's referring to tonight, or three years ago. Maybe both.

I swallow nothing, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "It's not your fault," I offer again, feeling guilt pin me down instead.

"That treehouse isn't safe anymore," he whispers, eyes far away, trained on the white wall in front of us. "We left it too long."

"How hurt is he?" Cade inquires, standing over with my uncle. His lanky form is stiff, eyes flitting around like he doesn't belong here.

"Broken arm," a tired voice says from our right.

We all turn to see Serena walking towards us with two cups of coffee in her hands. She's particularly haggard. Her salt-and-peppered hair is loose from the tight bun it was in earlier, flowing on either side of her head in loose waves. She walks past me, handing one cup down to her husband, and keeping the other clutched in her grasp.

After taking a long drink, she sighs and plops down on the other side of Steven. "Broken arm and bruised ribs," she continues, tucking her feet under her. "They're keeping him overnight. To monitor his breathing. And for the pain."

My god.

Why didn't Greyson wait for me? Maybe I would have fallen instead, and he'd be alright.

"Dr. Smith said he's extremely fortunate," Serena says from her place on the floor to my left. "She said it could have been so much worse." She reaches over to hold her husband's hand. "Maybe there's something looking out for him, Steven."

I glance away. I can't take it anymore. Serena's damn voice is optimistic and all-knowing.

I shoot up, telling everyone I'm going to grab coffee. Pat gives me a few five-dollar bills and asks for decaf. I beckon Cade to come with and he straightens up, running a hand through his dark hair. He shuffles to join me, thankful for the escape.

That makes two of us.

We start on a path leading down to the cafeteria. On the way, we stop to use the restroom. I'm left staring at my reflection, and my god, why didn't anyone tell me how bad I look?

My mascara is smudged under both my grey and my brown eyes, turning my skin a grisly shade of grey. The red lip I had been sporting is almost completely gone, leaving the trace of it by the corners of my full, downturned lips.

I snatch a piece of brown, rough paper towel and run it under the porcelain sink, trying to soak up some cold water.My face screams in protest as I scrub every inch of my skin raw until I'm redder and redder, and less and less makeup can be seen. Then I take the tie that was pinning back some of my hair and let it go. My long red-brown locks fall in clean waves over my exposed shoulders, soft on my skin.

In the end, I look sad. Sad and plain, just like Joe so eloquently put it. And in my heart, in its dark red depths, I'm scared that's all I'll ever truly be.

There's a knock on the outermost door to the women's washroom. "Chapman? You alright?"

I ball the paper towel in my hand and toss it in a black trash can under the sink. I tuck my hair behind my ears, splash some cold water on my red face, and then inhale mom's scent once more before finding my way back into the harsh lights of these lonely hospital halls.

A/N

"Sad and plain."-Joe, 2021

Oooooh let's see what happens next! Are you excited!? You better be!

Thanks for hanging out :)

-Laurel