Page 56 of Seth (Life in the Brohouse 5)

I force a smile for her, hoping I look charming. I feel like absolute shit. It’s hard to look dashing when I’m lying in bed, in a dress that exposes my back. “I am,” I say while reaching for her.

Rachel runs to me, throwing her arms around me. She holds me so tight it’s difficult to breathe, but I don’t care. I love being surrounded by her warmth. She smells of vanilla and cinnamon and I can’t stop breathing her in.

“You are such an asshole,” she sobs, her face burying into my neck. “I was so scared.”

“I know,” I whisper while stroking her back. “I’m so sorry.

I kiss her cheek, my hands moving to her hair. She pulls away from me, her face flushed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she scowls at me. “Can you please stop putting yourself in the hospital? I don’t think I can take any more of this.”

I nod. “I know. I’ll be more careful.”

“Will you?” Lucas mutters bitterly, crossing his arms while looking away.

I grimace. Honestly, I don’t know if I can stop. I thought I could after the whole Paris debacle, yet it found me again. And, right now, I don’t know to beat it—beat this obsession. My gaze moves to Alex, finding him leaning against the wall, frowning at me with his arms crossed.

“We were really worried,” he says.

My jaw tightens as I give him a nod. I know he cares, so why do I hate him so much? Why do I have this urge to yell at him? Why am I so jealous of him? He’s a good person. He’s a good friend. Why can’t I be the same toward him?

“Alright,” says a bright cheerful voice as the door swings open. A woman dressed in green scrubs enters, looking at her table, a stack of pamphlets under her arm. “Mr. Garcia, right?” she says while approaching me. “Let’s get you dressed and on your way home.” She takes the pamphlets under her arm and hands them to me. “I have these for you, and here’s a card,” she adds while placing a business card on top of my stack.

I frown at the pile in my lap, staring down at the words glaring right back at me: Anorexia: Identifying the Problem. Rachel reaches for the brochure and I quickly bat her hands away, pressing the stack into my chest to keep my friends and girlfriend from reading.

“Why don’t you guys wait outside?” I say brightly, despite feeling like I’m going to vomit at any time. “I’m sure this will only take a minute or two.”

I watch everyone nod, their bodies moving sluggishly toward the door. My hands tighten on the pile of pamphlets, wishing I could chuck them into the bin on my way out. The nurse is careful as she takes out my IV, yet I can feel her stare, can feel her judging me like the doctor before her. I feel like I’m on display, and not in a good way; like they're waiting for me to do or say something crazy, so they can keep me locked up in here.

“You okay there, honey?” the nurse asks while placing a small basket of my clothes on the bed. “Would you like—”

“I’m fine,” I rush out, throwing the blankets off my body and tugging the medical gown from my arms. My arms are no longer shaking, my muscles still feel weak, but at least I’m not twitching and shaking like I was before. Makes me wonder what they had in that IV. “Just ready to be home.”

As soon as I’m dressed, I’m wheeled out of my room through the hallways. I stifle the need to roll my eyes, as I lean to one side, not understanding the stupid hospital rules about being wheeled out. Like, I’m not dying. My feet work. Why can’t you let me use them? My frustrations on the matter peak when I see Hunter, Alex, Lucas, and Rachel waiting for me by the desk. Rachel looks even more upset than she did before with her swollen eyes and her pink cheeks. Alex has an arm draped over her shoulders.

Fucking bastard.

“Alright,” I say, hopping out of the wheelchair before the nurse has a chance to stop. “Is everything set? I’m ready to go.”

I grab Rachel’s hand and tug her to my side, striding briskly past the bros and to Hunter’s car parked outside.

“Hey,” Alex begins as I throw open the car door and slide inside. “Maybe we should talk about all this. Grab some pizza? Maybe some—”

“No,” I say angrily, turning away from everyone and looking out the window. “I just want my bed.”

No one says anything, which I’m thankful for. We drive home in silence, but I know this isn’t the last of it.

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