Page 18 of Baby Girl
Will:Also, I’m adding your student email to our group notes doc.
I shoot back a thumbs-up emoji, because the headache is starting to creep back in.
I’m just not sure if it’s from the screen or the actual conversation.
Chapter 10
Emery
“Really?” I ask, unimpressed by the sunny smile on the nurse who has made it her mission to hang out with me every time Oakley hasn’t been here. It also took me until last night to realize the reason she seemed so familiar is because she is the woman from the front desk at Obsession Friday night.
“Yep, really,” replies Marie, her long hair tied up in a high ponytail, swishes as she nods and gestures at the wheelchair. “Hospital rules.”
I make a noise of frustration before pushing up to standing from my spot on the bed. “I’m not going to miss you.”
She laughs as she comes around to hold my arm and assist me in sitting. “Yes, you are.”
Not that I’ll admit it to her—because I want the hell out of here—but I’m thankful for the wheelchair. Walking on my own to the bathroom attached to my room this morning zapped my energy.
Who knew that getting a knock to the head would be so exhausting?
Once I’m in my seat, she grabs the duffel bag Oakley loaned me, since mine is still at the sex apartment, and places it on my lap before starting our journey toward the exit. Even thinking about my stuff there all by itself makes my heart pang pathetically in my chest. Because thinking about my stuff reminds me that I will actually have to talk to them at least one more time to get it back.
Maybe even see them.
I have to intentionally think about releasing my clenched jaw.
See them.
Literally, gross.
Hard ignore.
When I had that startling thought last night, I quickly compiled a list of the items I’d taken with me, and even though talking to them is ten-thousand percent something I do not want to do, I know I will.
My laptop. Phone charger. All the clothes. My new sketchbook and graphite set. And not to mention my teddy bears.
While I want all my things back, I don’t wantthemback.
Nope. Absolutely not.
“Do you have someone picking you up?” Marie asks as she presses the down button at the elevator.
“Yeah, a friend is coming,” I reply, pulling out my phone and making sure that Will hasn’t messaged me again since he said he was on his way.
No new messages.
There are no messages fromthem, either. Not a peep. Not in our private chats or our group chat, which is kind of weird. While the last three weeks haven’t been full of messages, it is super odd not to have any contact with them.
But it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m good. Great, even.
“Great! And you have all the paperwork the doctor gave you, right?”
I squish the side of the bag and hear the cardboard flex inside the bag. “Yeah.”
“And what are the signs you should come back to the hospital?”
“My vision gets blurry or sparkly. Headache gets worse. I vomit. Any form of bleeding from the face. Slurred speech. I pass out,” I rattle off. I’m probably missing a few, but whatever. “Basically, if I feel worse in any way, I need to come back.”
