Holding Onto Forever

“Now, Miss Peyton, are you trying to get me into trouble?”

“I am,” I tell him, laughing. This isn’t the first time we’ve done this. In fact, anytime I have to leave my room, I request Bob take me. We bonded over our love of apple pie and eating nachos on Sunday while we watch the games.

Bob does what I ask and takes us down to the cafeteria. I’ve become a regular here, using this as an excuse to get out of my room as much as possible. The day Dr. Colby gave me the okay to move around, I’ve been bugging my family to get me out of my room. My mom all but freaked out though, afraid I’d catch an infection or something, but my chest is healed, if not still sore. I’m not sure the pain I feel there will ever subside.

“Hey Peyton, I see you conned Bob into bringing you down for lunch.”

“It doesn’t take much when I promise him some pie,” I tell Susie, who hands me a tray. I set it on my lap and point to the things I want, making sure I have two of each item. Bob never picks up food he wants to eat. I think it goes against some hospital code or something, so I make sure to double up. I have no idea what he actually likes to eat, aside from nachos. Unless of course he’s only eating those to appease me, which could very well be the case.

I tell the cashier to put everything on my tab, aka, my hospital bill, which I have no doubt has exceeded seven digits by now. I know my parents are looking forward to discharge day. No more taking turns sleeping in my room and living out of a hotel.

“So who do you think will win the Super Bowl?” I ask Bob, in between bites of chicken and some pasta dish we picked up.

“Patriots. The goat is just too good.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right. You know he’s one of the lowest paid QB’s in the league.”

“That’s because he cares about this team and keeps restructuring his contract so the Pats can spend money elsewhere,” Bob says. Our first Sunday of football watching, he told me he was injured his senior year and couldn’t recover in time for the Scouting Combine. His degree is in communications, but it’s rather difficult to get a job as a broadcaster when he has nothing to show for himself where his career is concerned.

“I’m getting sprung any day now. Are you going to miss me?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Since meeting you I’ve gained fifteen pounds.” For a minute I think he’s serious until he starts laughing so hard, people around us are staring. “I’m only kidding. Yeah, I’m going to miss you. You’re fun to hang out with. When are you getting discharged?”

“I don’t know. I imagine any day now that my casts have been changed. I feel like I’m living here permanently.”

“Back to L.A.?”

“My parents don’t actually live in L.A. but on the outskirts, and I’ve never called it my home. We have a house on the beach, it’s pretty cool, but it takes forever to get anywhere, so I normally hang out at home.”

“Except you’ll be going to rehab with the best therapist in the country.”

When Bob met Xander, his eyes bugged out. Bob went on and on about how amazing and sought after my uncle is. “Only because he’s my uncle.”

“Your dad would’ve paid for him.”

“Probably.”

Bob and I finish up and he takes me back to my room. He helps me get settled and promises to come by before his shift ends. This is when the depression settles in. It’s when I’m alone my thoughts run rampant about what Noah’s doing right now. Part of me is happy we haven’t spoken, but the emotional part is hurt and pissed off. He owes me an explanation, yet I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I think if he were to tell me he chose Dessie, I’d lose it. He’s right to be with her if she’s having his baby.

But, feeling this way doesn’t help the darkness stay away, and this is the only time I can let my emotions out. The tears come easily, hot streams down my face. I don’t bother to wipe them away until I’ve had a good cry. This is a daily occurrence for me. I hate it, but I can’t stop it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I move in with my parents and can’t hide from them.

“Knock, knock.”

“Just a sec.” I scramble to wipe my face, knowing it’ll be no use. I turn over, onto my back, surprised to see Ben standing in my doorway. “Ben! Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Well, I’m the lucky one who gets to deliver you some news.” Ben chooses to sit on the edge of my bed as opposed to the chair. Not that I blame him. I’ve heard enough about that stupid hard plastic chair to last me a lifetime.