FULL DRAMA NOVELS Twisted Collide: Chapter 67
I try to blink my eyes open, but my lids stick together, not wanting to budge.
What the hell is wrong with them?
I lift my hand, rubbing furiously, but as I do, a sharp pain radiates through my body. An audible groan escapes my mouth, and wow, I sound like I’ve died.
What the hell is wrong with my voice, body, and eyes?
“Don’t move. You have a head injury.” I feel like someone told me that before, and I didn’t remember. I also feel like my brain is floating like a balloon over my body, but that’s another story.
“You have a concussion.”
The voice sounds familiar, but it hurts to think.
I feel disoriented, and my head throbs. A concussion makes sense—my head does feel like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer.
I blink again, and this time, my vision comes into focus.
Instantly, the fluorescent lights sting my eyes, and I cringe, wanting to recoil and hide under a pillow.
“The light.”
My father is in the room, and the moment I speak, he switches off the overhead light.
Much better. While the room is still a sterile hospital room with white walls and no bells and whistles, at least I can see a bit.
The only light in the room is from the hallway, but it’s enough to see his face.
He looks tired. Dark circles paint the underside of his eyes.
It’s obvious I’m in a hospital, but why?
I try to think, and when I do, my brain hurts even more.
“What happened?” I ask. Maybe some guidance will help with the memories.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
“The game.”
No, wait, that’s not right. I remember the game. I remember watching Dane getting in it with a few players from the other team, and after the game was over—what? What did I do?
My dad asked me to give him his key.
“Are you okay?” My dad’s voice has me looking in his direction.
“Yeah, I was just trying to remember.”
“Take it easy. The brain is a complicated thing. After a concussion, simple tasks like even thinking too hard can cause confusion.”
“Great.”
“It will be okay, Josie.”
“How did I get here?”
“You were in the parking lot. I guess you and Dane got into a fight, and you fell. He called an ambulance.”
Mind racing. Pieces come together like a puzzle.
We didn’t fight. He would have had to talk to me to fight. But that must have been the story he told my father.
What else did he tell him?
Did he tell him I wanted to make him smile? But he was too stubborn, too set in his own self-loathing to let me in.
That he said no.
He most likely told a lie, one where it was his fault I fell.
It wasn’t.
I knew it was dangerous, and it was my fault for believing he would be there to catch me.
That’s not on him; it’s on me.
He said no.
And now I know where I stand.
My heart feels heavy, and I tremble with unshed tears. I want to cry. I can feel my heart wanting to break. I just don’t want to break in front of my dad.
I want to be strong.
The tears win out and splash against my cheek.
My father rushes to my side, taking my hand in his. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay,” he says. “The doctors said you’re going to be fine. You can go home tomorrow, and from there you just need to rest. A little R and R.”
I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.
My father pulls up a chair and sits next to me. There’s so much I want to tell him.
But can I?
As I move to open my mouth and unburden myself, a sound rings through the air.
A phone. Not mine.
My father rummages through his pocket and pulls his cell out, lifting it to his ear. “Hi, Vivian.”
My mother.
Why is she calling him?
Me.
She’s calling about me.
He doesn’t have to say it, but I know it’s true.
“Yes. She’s right here. Yes, of course.” He pulls his phone from his ear.
Before he even asks, I’m already nodding, a hand outstretched. The moment I place the phone to my ear, I’m greeted by her soft cries.
“Mom.”
It comes out before I can stop it.
I wanted to be tough—to stand up for myself and demand an apology for how much she’s hurt me. But I can’t help it. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Josie. Oh my God. Your father told me. I’m getting in my car right now—”
You’re better than this, Josie. Do not let anyone walk all over you. Not even your mom. Especially not your mom.
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to harden. “Mom. Stop.”
“You’re not okay. You have a—” A sob breaks from her throat, so I finish the sentence for her.
“A concussion. Oh, I know. People get concussions every day. It’s really nothing for you to worry about.”
“But you’re in the hospital.”
“And I’m being released tomorrow.”
“I’m getting in my car now—”
“It’s the middle of the night. You aren’t driving here right now.”
“But you need me.”
That’s rich, coming from her. I needed her when she kicked me out. I needed her to tell me who my father was, and she didn’t do that either.
“Actually . . . I don’t. I needed you months ago. Hell, I needed you years ago. But I don’t need you now. Bye, Mom.”
I hang up the phone before she can say anything else.
More tears threaten to spill. If I let them flow, I fear they’ll never stop. So, I take in a deep breath and stare out the window.
Be strong, Josie.
Just because someone gave you life doesn’t mean they need to be in yours.