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I couldn’t believe this shit!
“The antibiotics are working,” Father replied. “Aside from that, nothing’s changed.”
“And the surgery?” Rhett wondered.
My hands shook as I typed out my condolences, knowing it wouldn’t do a goddamn thing to ease my friend’s heartache. I hit SEND on the message at the same time Father sighed miserably and shook his head.
“Vet can’t operate until the infection is fully cured, which could be any day now.”
“So, in other words,” I finally spoke, “he’s basically comatose until we decide to pull the plug, right?”
The color in Father’s face flushed faster than a log of shit getting sucked down a toilet bowl. Rhett just gawked wildly at me with his lips pressed tightly into a thin line. He wanted to punch me. Both of them did.
“He’s not brain dead, you heartless dickhead.” Rhett angrily flailed an arm over to the machines lined up neatly behind Griffin’s makeshift hospital bed.
Or by the looks of it to me, his death bed.
I did the math. Took the information Sharkey had given us and counted the overall days Griffin’s been stowed away here, excluding the days he’d been kidnapped and tortured by Damien. That was still a mystery.
Nine days.
He’d been here over a week before Sharkey reached out to us, and Griffin looked just as awful if not worse than the last time we’d seen him. Obviously, Rhett wasn’t thinking logically enough to understand what was staring him right in the face. Sure, the antibiotics might’ve been working, but even I didn’t have to be a doctor to seeandknow that Griffin’s injuries were more fatal than Father had been letting on. The man had a brilliant talent when it came to stretching the truth. After everything that’s happened, Rhett should’ve known that by now.
Griffin was still family though, and I knew Rhett was hurting. I couldn’t really hold that against him and so, I wasn’t going to.
“He may not be brain dead,” I started, trying not to lose my shit but horribly failing, “but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s been put into a coma and that there’s a tube down his throat helping him breathe. Evenifthe infection clears and Griffin makes it through surgery, there’s no guarantee he’ll wake up at all. I mean, fucking look at him!”
My body began to shake as I slung a stiff, hostile hand towards Griffin’s body.
“He’s been bludgeoned so badly; you can barely recognize him. His eyes are blacker than the night and are fused shut, and he has a massive fucking hole in the back of his head, plus two more in his feet.”
My chest heaved harder the longer I glared between them.
“How do his lungs look,Father?”
He visibly swallowed, his throat bobbing.
“Not good,” he answered honestly.
“Which is exactly why there’s a tube down his throat, yes?” I questioned.
“That is correct.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rhett snapped at me, his eyes narrowed, cheeks puffed out and turning red.
“A lot,” I sneered back at him. “AndFatherhere can tell you all about it.”
I walked away before I really lost my fucking shit, expelling the greedy breath caged in my chest when I made it outside and paused by Rhett’s car.
This shit was eating me up so much inside, I could hardly bear it.
“Phantom!”
My back stiffened, muscles constricting tighter as I slowly spun around and found Father standing behind me, his lips and fake as fuck face irately pinched. I expected Rhett to follow me out but not him.
“What the fuck do you want, Niccolò?”
He winced, and then quickly glanced back to the doorway, exhaling a relieved breath when he saw Rhett wasn’t there. He was still inside with Griffin which meantNiccolòmore than likely told him to stay put so he could talk to me.
