Page 10 of Pippin & Nacho

“Dude, are you okay?” Stix asked, showing up with Stone.

“He’s going to need stitches,” Stone said after pulling back my hoodie to look at the wound.

“No!” Sam suddenly went into panic mode, eyes going wild and trying to pull away. Dammit! This was the problem when no one understood Sam’s trauma and phobia. Now I needed to find a way to calm him down.

“Sam…”

He looked at me with pleading eyes, begging me not to tell anyone about his fears and to not let anyone take him to urgent care.

“Please,” he whimpered.

“Stix? Stone? Can you all leave us for a second?”

“Sure.”

Shit, if he needed stitches, this would cost us a lot of money, too, if I could even get Sam to see a doctor in the first place.

I didn’t know what to do.

Think, think, think.

As soon as Stix and Stone were out of earshot, I looked at Nate, begging him with my eyes. “Please. I can’t see a doctor.” Already the nausea and rapid heartbeat set in and my hands shook, masking the pain in my knee, which now just radiated heat and throbbed. “It will heal. I’ll be fine. Just pour some of Ajax’s whiskey on it, and I’ll be good as new.”

The look in Nate’s dark eyes told me it was bad, and more than just a scrape, though I hadn’t seen it yet. I didn’t want to look and see how bad it was.

“Sam, it’s huge. The bottom of your kneecap has been gouged open. There’s… skin no longer attached. It needs stitches.”

“No! Nononononono…”

“I am not equipped to handle this, Sam. Please.”

The tears welled, and I wanted to fucking throw up.

“What did you do when you were forced to go to the doctor before? Because foster care makes you get checkups.”

What did they do? A stinging shot, then sleepiness, unable to move, but I’m aware. Inside I cry but I can’t do anything. I’m not as scared, but when the meds wear off, I crawl under my blankets and hide. I want to hide forever and never come out. It makes me hate doctors even more. What if they drug me and do something to my brain again… or worse?

“Don’t make them drug me, Nate. Please.”

“They drugged you? Like give you something to help you relax or knock you out?”

I nodded.

Nate removed his hoodie again from my knee and looked at it. That was when I finally looked at the wound. It was still streaming blood and not easing up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Please, Nate…”

“Don’t hate me, but we have to call the paramedics. I can’t even take you to the doctor. No one has a car, and the bus stop is too far away.”

“No!”

“I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Nate stands with guilt all over his face, pulls out his phone from his back pocket, and makes a call. My entire body is shaking, and the acid rises to my throat. Nate knew I couldn’t see doctors. He knew my fears, yet he was forcing me to see one, anyway.

When he hung up, he kneeled down beside me. “Please don’t hate me. Please, Sam.”

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