Page 16 of Wrecked
“No. I'm not that hungry right now.”
“Okay. Well, you just let me know, and I'll make it happen.” I fill his cup with water and then make sure it's close enough that he can reach it. “You've probably been told this already, but because of your concussion, they want to keep you here until at least tomorrow. If you need anything at all, you can just press this button, and I'll come.”I smile before turning around and starting to walk away.
Before I reach the door, his raspy voice sounds throughout the room. “Thank you.”
I peek at him over my shoulder. “Of course.”
Walking out of the room with a smile on my face and a sense of satisfaction in my belly, I can't help but hope in the back of my mind that he does end up pressing the button. And then I roll my eyes at myself. Maybe I'm more lonely than I realized.
CHAPTER 8
CAMPBELL
My head is fucking throbbing. Far worse than a hangover headache. It doesn't surprise me, seeing as it went through a window. I wasn'tdrunk,but I had been drinking enough that I was obviously impaired. So now I'm paying for it with aches and pains all over my body and a wrecked car. It serves me right. I'm a fucking idiot, and I'm lucky to be alive right now with only minor injuries.
When I first saw Jasmine–perfect name for her–walk through the door to my room, I was both surprised and happy. Then I was hit with this weird sense of guilt. Here she is helping people get better, caring about their comfort and well-being, while I was out there drinking before an illegal race and then putting people's lives –including my own– in danger. I guess I should be used to that feeling, though. We are friends, after all – guilt and me.
Shifting in my bed, I hiss out a breath. Everything fucking hurts.
The longer I lay here in this quiet, empty room, the more anxious and irritated I get. I feel antsy and trapped, and I need to get up and do something. I need toleave, but I'm not sure I'm in any shape to do that just yet.
I also know my parents were called. The doctor told me so after I had been conscious long enough to know what was happening. But they haven't shown up yet. They haven't even reached out to see if I was okay. Every noise out in the hall and every cluster of conversation that comes toward my door has me holding my breath, waiting to see if it's them, thinking that maybe they decided to come after all. Then when it's not them, I think what an idiot I am for thinking they'd actually turn up and end up reminding myself that I don't evenwantthem here anyway. I don'twantto see them.
This empty room is a reminder of my empty life, and I have zero distractions in here. So, the anxiousness, restlessness, and irritation continue to grow. I've even thought about pressing the button and making up some shit about needing something, so Jasmine comes in and talks to me. But I haven't.
My phone vibrates on my stomach, so I reach for it with my stiff arm.
Reese:Miguel told me he'll be able to fix it.
My car. Reese and another guy who dropped out of med-school brought me here after checking that I had no apparent life-threatening injuries. They told the doc that I fell down some stairs and then took off. In the meantime, they would have gotten Miguel with his truck to take my car to his shop.
I'm not stupid enough to think he did it out of the goodness of his heart. They don't want anything tied to the races, so it's all taken care of with no official record of anything. I can't imagine how much that shit is going to cost me to fix, but at least hecanfix it.
Me: Good to hear.
Reese: That's the last fucking time you turn up for a race drunk. Do it again, and I'll be the one making sure you don't walk away. You cost me money, Cam.
He's pissed like I knew he would be, and it won't matter what I say or what excuse I have. He won't want to hear it. It doesn't even matter that he knew I'd been drinking before the race and turned a blind eye.
Reese: You'll do the next two races for free to make up for that shit. And you better win.
I don't bother replying this time, but he knows I'll do it. There are a couple of other texts from some of the chicks from the races, asking if I need them to make me feel better, followed by winky faces, but I ignore them and put my phone back down on my stomach with a sigh.
Staring back out the window again, I wonder how much longer I'll be stuck in here. I know Jasmine said they wanted me to stay another night, but maybe if I ask, they'll let me leave sooner than that.
The door to my room swings open, drawing my attention, and in walks Jasmine like a fresh breeze, with a warm smile resting on her face. How long has it been since she was in here last? An hour? Two? It feels like fucking forever, either way. It's about time.
“Hello again,” she says cheerily. “I'm going to change your dressing now and ensure everything's looking okay. Are you doing alright?”
No.“Yeah.”
She starts gently unwrapping the bandage around my head, concentrating solely on what she's doing, probably trying not to hurt me. I watch her for a moment, breathing in the vanilla scent she brings with her. It briefly calms me, tamping down the restlessness. And then something on her arm catches my attention, and I look down, seeing some ink on both of her forearms. I never noticed it before.
“That's interesting,” I mumble mostly to myself.
“What?” she questions, taking off the final bandage and then squinting at my head as she inspects it.
“Didn't think you'd be the type to have any tattoos.”
