Page 41 of Actions and Reactions
“Of course,” the female doctor tells me. I can’t remember her name now. “It’s better if we do that when the anesthesia has worn off completely.”
They leave and I stare at the wall in front of my bed.
What I told Vinny was true; I’m tired and I barely feel my body.
Those aren’t stellar conditions to be in to debate with two doctors about my mental health and my need for a fucking evaluation.
And Vinny should fuckingknowI’m in no condition tohave important conversations either. He shouldn’t have brought any of it up... Not that he did, now that I think about it.
I really am fine. Yes, I punched a wall and that was stupid, but I was just really, really mad. How else was I supposed to react when confronted with the cruel reality?
Vinny gave up a few minutes of practice to talk to his cousin, and I’d commit several crimes for a few minutes on an NHL team.
How is that fair?
It isn’t, and life isn’t. I know this. But it was a slap in the face, and he should know better.
He’ll come around, though, and understand why I reacted that way. He has to.
I’m notsure what time—or day for that matter—it is when I open my eyes again, but seeing Mom and Dad sitting next to me has my eyes filling up disturbingly fast.
“He shouldn’t have called you,” I whisper.
Mom shakes her head as she holds my good hand with both of hers.
“Of course he should’ve, and it’s a good thing he did, honey.” Her fingers brushing my hair back from my forehead is one of those things that makes me feel like I’m protected. Like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
Dad shatters that.
“What happened, son?”
“I fought a wall, and the wall won,” I tell him with a small smile.
“This isn’t a joke, Silas. You seriously injured yourself.” He definitely doesn’t see the funny side of this.
“Were you drinking, honey?”
“Mom,” I groan and look away from her eyes. They’re brimming with tears already, and I seriously cannot stand the sound of her voice when she’s crying. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me, it’s justwrong, and I’ve already experienced it—and caused it—enough for a lifetime. “No, I wasn’t drinking.”
“Then what were you think?—”
A couple of sharp knocks interrupt Dad’s rant, thankfully.
“Come in,” I shout, just a bit too eagerly, and it’s the doctor from before.
“You look more awake,” she tells me, smiling.
“I do feel better,” I tell her honestly.
“I thought we could do the evaluation now?”
“Yes, sure,” I agree way too easily, because surely that means...
“Great.” She turns to my parents and keeps her smile intact. “I’m afraid I need to ask you to leave.”
“Yes, of course, Dr. Denise. Thank you for making the time to talk to Silas,” Mom says sweetly.
Wait, they already talked to her?
