Page 144 of Wanna Play A Game?
Chapter 72
Ryder
Istep out onto the front porch. The harsh wind whips around me, but it feels good compared to the hot house. Ever since Mom got sick, she has kept the heat turned way up. I sweat doing my work. Often, I bring it out here, even though the winter weather makes it hard.
Dad pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car in his work clothes, shivering as he runs up to the house.
“Dad.” I follow him inside, hit again with the oppressive heat. “Can I come with you guys?”
“No.” He doesn’t even look at me. “Evelyn, are you ready?”
“Please!” I run in front of him. “All my work is done. I want to go.”
“The hospital is no place for you.” Dad brushes me off.
My eyes fill with tears. He acts like I’m a kid. I’m twelve now.
“Please, I won’t make a sound.”
“Don’t ask me again.” Dad ignores me, shuffling my mom to the car. She’s thin now, just bones. She damn near looks like a ghost, huddled in her blanket against the car headlights. I foldher new clothes every day, but you wouldn’t know. She spends so much time in blankets.
I watch as they pull away, the cold chapping my cheeks, a sense of helplessness running through me. Every time my dad takes her to the hospital, I beg to go. Every time he says no. Mom says she doesn’t want me catching anything like she did.
I watch the road for hours until my toes and hands go stiff and numb. I recite my prayers over and over. As soon as I’m done with one, I start another.
Mom has stopped helping me with school. Stopped tucking me in since my bed was on the second floor. Stopped doing the dishes and cooking our food.
A lump forms in my throat. It feels scratchy. Fuck, am I getting sick too?
I watch for hours that night. My dad doesn’t return. I later discover that my mom died at the hospital.
And when I find out, I can’t react. I don’t. It feels like I’ll never feel again. I just go back to folding laundry over and over. I can’t seem to get it right. It’ll never be right.
Chapter 73
Cali
The hangover from whatever drugs Sawyer gave me hits like a truck. They must have moved me to Sawyer’s bed because when I wake up, I’m here, looking at his posters of half-naked women. My entire body hurts, and I groan.
“Cali?” Sawyer asks from somewhere behind me. He comes around the bed. “You’re awake.”
“Fuck off,” I groan. A wave of nausea rolls through me.
I feel a cold hand against my clammy forehead. I try to swat him away. This time, I can’t hold the nausea back, and I vomit off the side of the bed.
“Oh shit. Hang on, Cali.”
A trash can appears in front of me.
I wave Sawyer off. I don’t even want to look at him. I don’t want to talk to him, feel him, or listen to him breathe. “Go away.”
“You need to drink some water.”
My head pounds, and it’s everything I can do not to hurl again. His voice is making it worse. Everything is making it worse. The lights, the smell, everything. “Get out.”
“Cali…”
“Go!” I yell. “I don’t want to talk to you, okay? Fuck you, Sawyer. Fuck you. Just please, go.” My body trembles, and he glares at me.
