“You hungry?”
I shook my head, but my stomach betrayed me with a mighty growl.
“Medium Coke, large fry, and a chicken wrap?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
I didn’t even bother moving to get my wallet. I knew Michael would insist he pay, so I didn’t fight him. I didn't have the energy to, anyway. Part of me wanted to turn this car around and storm back into that hospital. Part of me wanted to spew everything I’d witnessed regarding Clint’s father until that man was in fucking handcuffs.
The only thing that stopped me was Clint.
Because I wasn’t sure if that was something he’d want me to do.
Michael paid for the food and handed me my bag. I sat up enough to reach for my drink before mindlessly sipping on it. The food stayed by my feet as he pulled into a parking space in the empty parking lot, pulling out his burger to devour.
Then I heaved a heavy sigh.
“None of this shit is fair.”
Michael swallowed hard. “You just have to be patient. There’s a reason why hospitals have rules like this. It’s to protect the patient.”
I scoffed. “And if the patient’s father is an abusive dickweed?”
He shrugged. “Maybe the comment you made and how riled up his father got will prompt them to look into it. But, for right now, all you can do is hang tight and wait until Clint gets out of the hospital.”
“Maybe his stepmom will reach out to me.”
“By the sounds of it, she won’t even be here in a couple of days.”
“I mean, who’s going to sign for Clint’s discharge, then? Isn’t that how that works?”
Michael shook his head. “At eighteen, a kid can sign for their own discharge. He’s eighteen, right?”
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I nodded. “He is, yeah.”
“Then he’ll check himself out. I guess.”
“Such bullshit.”
“I know. But you can’t get so upset and frustrated over things you can’t change. It is what it is, and even though it isn’t good, it’s also not in your control.”
“And what was that thing about the doctor saying something about me talking to the police?”
“Oh, you were pretty out of it when we walked out of the E.R. When the police need your statement, they’ll find you.”
I sighed. “Great.”
I didn’t have the stomach to eat. Michael, however, inhaled his food. I wasn’t even sure he tasted it. And as he backed out of the parking space, I clutched the food between my feet. My mom hadn’t called me once. Not a single time to figure out where in the world I’d gotten off to. Which meant I was most certainly heading back to a house with D.J. in it. Michael made his way back to the school. And with each turn he made, I felt myself growing sicker and sicker in my stomach. Sipping on the Coke didn’t help. Smelling the greasy food on the floorboard of his car didn’t help, either.
“Stop the car.”
Michael slammed on the brakes. “What? What’s wrong?”
And as worry took hold, I threw open his SUV door. I leaned out, heaving in the middle of the road as we sat there in front of the high school.
Letting my body finally careen itself out of control as my stomach leapt into my throat.