Crash Into Me

Chapter Four

— Z —

The waiting room at Huntington Beach General never changed.

It was always painted the same shade of off-white, always housed the same blue plastic chairs, and the television in the corner still flickered with static every five seconds, interrupting the morning infomercial with snow that was more interesting than the product they were selling. I’d been here a few times before—once as a kid when I’d cut my head at my father’s workplace, and more recently after getting into fights at school—and I found its familiar atmosphere almost comforting now, even if I had fast grown sick of staring at it. If I never had to see this place again, it would be too soon.

But for now, it was a welcome sight.

‘Maria Baker?’

What wasn’t welcome was the waiting time that the damn waiting room brought with it. I didn’t care how much the nurse was smiling, or how much she looked like Marilyn Monroe—nothing was going to make up for the fact that we’d just been forced to wait a whole extra hour to see a doctor after arriving at the hospital. It was ridiculous, especially since there had only been one other person in the waiting room on our arrival. Why call it Emergency if they weren’t going to treat you like one? I’d been on the brink of complaining when the nurse had finally called Mom’s name.

‘That’s me.’ Mom’s voice shook as she spoke, evidence of the pain she was pretending she couldn’t feel. She scooped up her purse with her uninjured hand as she added, ‘Come on, boys.’

Her arm had only gotten worse overnight, swelling to almost double its usual size and taking on the shade of a tomato, and it didn’t take a genius to know that spelled trouble. Help couldn’t come soon enough for her. It had taken me half the morning and a kick to the gut to convince my father that she really did need to go for an x-ray and only now could I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that she was just a few moments away from getting the help that she needed.

And a part of me dared to hope that this would spell the end for my father, too.

He’d shepherded us into our ugly ‘92 Dodge Caravan and driven us to the hospital after I’d demanded it, but he hadn’t bothered to come in with us. Even now I could see him across the car park, sitting in the driver’s seat of the brown van with the seat tilted back and the radio probably shouting sports at him. Nobody walking by would know he was here with an injured wife; he looked more like a janitor killing time before a shift.

Fucking asshole.

Mattie trailed after Mom and the nurse without a word, his eyes never leaving the Game Boy Pocket he’d scored for his last birthday, and I tried not to let my scowl show as I followed them into the examination area.

Seeing as her arm was very obviously injured, I had thought we might be led straight into x-ray. Instead we’d been taken into a room full of little cubicles divided by curtains, where two other patients were being treated by doctors. One was an old man who looked like he’d just come off an asthma attack; the other was a little girl who wouldn’t stop wailing that her tummy was hurting.

I needed a fucking cigarette.

Everywhere I looked there were posters about personal hygiene, how to perform CPR, and recognising the signs and symptoms of somebody having a stroke. They were the only splashes of colour in the otherwise lacklustre room, stuck up between sinks and shelves and crisp white beds. I raised an eyebrow at the bright depiction of a pair of soapy hands under a running faucet, proudly declaring that people should Keep It Clean!, and shook my head in disgust. What a joke. It looked like it belonged with the screaming girl—in a preschool.

Marilyn Monroe led us into the second to last cubicle, where a woman with greying hair was pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves. The badge attached to her coat read Dr Montgomery, and I immediately recognised her from one of my earlier visits. She’d looked me over maybe a year before, after Patterson had kicked the living shit out of me, but it didn’t look like she remembered me at all. Her eyes barely skipped over me and Mattie before landing on Mom, the obvious patient. That was fine by me.

Dr Montgomery gave us all a thin, tired smile as we moved into her space, making the crow’s feet around her eyes more prominent. The overwhelming scent of antiseptic poured off her in waves.

‘Mrs Baker.’ She gestured for Mom to take a seat at the end of the bed. ‘I’m Dr Montgomery. How are we today?’

Was she being serious? I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her like a ragdoll. Couldn’t she see the state of Mom’s arm? Couldn’t she see how pale Mom had grown from trying to conceal her pain? She was supposed to be a doctor, for crying out loud. How could she be so blind?

Mom gave her a smile, like the one she might reserve for running into an old friend down at the supermarket, but her eyes still shone with pain. ‘Not bad. Just experiencing a little aching in my arm is all.’ She chuckled a little as she added, ‘It’s probably nothing, but my son insisted I get it checked out, just to be safe.’

‘It’s always better to be safe than sorry,’ Dr Montgomery agreed, giving me a look that was probably supposed to be friendly. She gestured to Mom’s arm. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

The woman was gentle while still being thorough. I’d hated that about her when we’d first met, when she’d poked and prodded at the bruising on my chest to make sure that none of my ribs were broken, but I found I had a new appreciation for it now that she was examining my mother. I hated seeing Mom wince every time the doctor moved her injured arm in a different direction, but I loved that every inch of the swelling was being examined. Tired or not, Montgomery wasn’t going to let anything go unnoticed. My mother was in good hands.

And then came the loaded question: ‘How did this happen?’

I didn’t expect Mom to tell the truth. If she wouldn’t tell me, there was no way she was going to spill all to a stranger—even if that stranger was a medical professional with the ability to help her in more ways than one. So I was entirely unsurprised when she said, ‘Oh, I had a fall,’ and just left it at that. She didn’t even blink; she’d told the lie so many times now that it sounded perfectly natural on her tongue.

But I was surprised when Montgomery immediately responded with, ‘All right. Let’s take you up for an x-ray.’

My heart sank; the tiny spark of hope I’d been holding onto died in an instant.

No more questions. Not look of suspicion. Nothing.

Just like that, the lie had been accepted and we were moving on.

Me and Mattie were forced to stay in another waiting area while Mom went into radiology for her x-ray. Mattie still had his nose glued to his little blue gaming device, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to slap it out of his hands and scream, ‘Take a look at the real world!’ But maybe it was better that he didn’t. The poor kid was too young to have to deal with the bullshit that was our lives. There he was, fighting martians on a two-inch screen, but the real world wasn’t a much better place. Maybe it was better he stuck to his little fantasy world. He could have his martians, and I could have my music.

My fingers itched for my guitar.

The x-rays didn’t take nearly as long as I had expected they would. Mom and Dr Montgomery were walking back out before I knew it, the former gesturing for us to follow as they headed a little way down the hall and into another room. And there, at last, was what I had been expecting to see all morning: draws with little labels on them declaring that they held all the necessary supplies to make a cast.

‘Your arm’s broken,’ I said bitterly, ‘isn’t it?’

Mattie actually glanced up at that, but Mom was shaking her head as Dr Montgomery set about gathering the things that she needed.

‘Not broken,’ she assured us. ‘It’s just a little fracture near the wrist. Nothing that a little bit of time and rest can’t fix.’

I wasn’t sure that was true, but I didn’t push the matter—just got out of the way so that Dr Montgomery could do her work.

It only took her ten minutes to wrap Mom’s arm up in a cast and fit her with a sling, and then another two to write out a quick prescription for some pain medication—‘Just in case it gets to be too much.’ Mom thanked her profusely, promising to come back if she felt like her arm was getting any worse, and agreed to return in four weeks’ time for a check-up.

I only absorbed half of these details, my mind already back on what was waiting for us downstairs.

My father had ventured into the waiting room by the time we finally made it out. His arms were crossed over his chest firmly, his back to the wall just beside the door, and a foot was tapping impatiently on the linoleum. He’d been pissed at having to come to the hospital in the first place, and having to wait for over an hour in the car had obviously not improved his mood. There was a scowl on his face that could rival that of our old school librarian, and his eyes narrowed dangerously the moment he saw me.

That could only mean one thing.

Mom and Mattie hurried out the door ahead of us, as if they knew what was coming and wanted to get out of the line of fire before it started. Mattie had even stuffed his game into his back pocket and taken Mom’s free hand as they walked. My father followed them out the door without a word, and I had no choice but to go after him. I wouldn’t have put it past him to hurt Mom again even with her arm in a cast, and I needed to make sure she was okay before I ran off to be with my friends.

We’d made it all the way to the van before it started—an all new record for us.

‘Let’s get one thing straight, you little shit.’ My father sneered as he turned to face me. Now that he’d had the time to make sure the car park was devoid of life, he didn’t have to play nice anymore. ‘You got your way this morning, but don’t think it’s going to be a regular thing. If you ever try to tell me what to do again, so help me God, I’ll kill you!’

I’d planned on just following Mom and Mattie into the car and ignoring him, but something in his tone made me snap. ‘She was in pain! You couldn’t just leave her to suffer!’

She was suffering now, peering out at me from the front windscreen of the van, and guilt consumed me. Even when I was trying to stand up for her I managed to be a disappointment. That was just the kind of son I was, obviously.

That had to stop.

I let out a deep breath and stepped around my father, heading for the car. We could get Mom home before we worked things out. At least then she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed of her family in public.

I’d just put my hand on the door handle when my father grabbed me by the back of my shirt, spun me around, and punched me straight in the stomach.

It wasn’t the worst he’d ever given me and most days I would have been able to take it, but this time I was still suffering the effects of the beating he’d given me the night before. His blow landed right where a particularly nasty bruise had already developed, and the combination of the impact and the exploding pain sent the breath rushing out of me and knocked me on my ass.

As I fought to catch my breath, he knelt down beside me and put a firm hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. He moved closer and closer until his dark hair and dark eyes became all that I could see.

‘Keep up this attitude,’ he hissed, ‘and my fists will be paying your friends a visit.’

Then without another word he got up and climbed into the car.

I winced, wrapping an arm around my stomach as his words sunk in. I pushed myself upright. My heart pounded in my chest. He knew—he knew—that of everything he could have said to me, this was by far the worst. I could defend Mom and Mattie easily enough—we lived in the same house, and I would hear any trouble that he started. But my friends?

I couldn’t watch Matt, Brian and Jimmy at all hours of the day and night. And there was no telling which one of them he might go after, or when. It was almost enough to make me consider warning them.

But that would lead to questions. It would lead to police involvement. And if Mom didn’t back me up—and at this point, I wasn’t sure that she would—it might even lead to me being removed from my family. I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t risk having Mom become my father’s punching bag again. Or worse, Mattie…

I lifted my head.

And froze when I realised somebody’s eyes were on me.

She was several rows over, her back to one of those BMWs that seemed to have gotten real popular, real quick, and the stunned look on her face made it perfectly clear that she’d seen everything. She didn’t look like anybody that I went to school with, but then she wasn’t the sort of girl that I would easily remember, either: light-brown hair pulled up in a boring old ponytail, no curves to write home about…

For a moment I wondered if she might raise the alarm.

But then I realised that if she’d been going to do that, she would have done it already.

Instead, she was just standing there staring—simply watching as I got my ass handed to me, just like every other useless kid in Huntington Beach did.

I wanted to shout something like ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer!’, but all I could manage was a glare as I shoved myself to my feet. My chest hurt almost too much to breathe, so yelling at some random girl was out of the question, and she probably wasn’t worth the time anyway. I didn’t bother looking back as I loaded myself into the car, still half doubled over, but I glanced back once as my father raced out of the car park, tyres squealing. The girl still hadn’t moved—further proof that she was another observer, unwilling to put an end to my personal hell. Just like Zena; just like Mom.

I really needed a fucking cigarette.
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A/N: I've been having a love/hate relationship with this story again—mainly because chapters six and seven are giving me hell, and that makes me hate what I'm writing. So apologies for the delays in updating. I'm going to try to keep going, but more often than not I'm finding my attention drawn to other stories. For a while there I was going to abandon this completely.

I do sometimes find myself thinking that maybe I should just abandon the fan fiction aspect of it. I'm posting this on Wattpad as an original fiction, so maybe I should just do that for Mibba, too. I don't know. How many people would still be reading if this wasn't a fan fiction? Would it change the way that I think about the story myself?

I don't know. We'll see how we go.

In the meantime, as always, thank you so much to those of you still reading, commenting, recommending and subscribing. I hope you're enjoying watching me try to find my feet again.

And speaking of finding my feet again—did any of you see that I got my first short story published?