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My jaw aches as I grit my teeth, and I narrow my eyes at him to make sure he sees the anger, the pain, all of it. I want him to know what it’s like to have your still beating heart ripped out of your chest. "I’m not alone. I have my..." A sob rips from my throat, and the pain of the words gouges me, a never-ending wound that refuses to stop bleeding. I clench my jaw tightly and stare up at the ceiling while blinking back tears. "I have my mom. Yeah, I might be poor, but I was never alone. I have the one thing that no amount of money could ever buy—love."
Silence surrounds me, and after a few seconds, I risk glancing at him, even as hot tears slip down my cheeks. There's a crinkle in his brow as he stares at the wall, and it hits me all over again.
My mother is gone.
Gone.
For good.
But I'm not the only one who lost her. Dammit. Shit. In a world full of filthy rich assholes, he’s the last person I should feel a sliver of sympathy for, but that’s not who I am. I might have lost my mother, but so did he. It doesn’t matter if he knew less about her than I did. He didn’t have to deal with infinite hospital visits and medications. He didn’t have bedtimes when she read to him and sang him lullabies.
He didn’t have any of those things, but he lost her all the same. At least I had those memories, but he didn’t even get that.
I rub my cheeks to wipe at my tears, causing the IV in my hand to pull tight and pinch. The pain helps bring me back to the present.
"If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get out of here. I doubt a hospital stay is suitable for the treatment of a concussion."
"It’s not, but I wasn’t sure what your mental state would be once you were awake, and with the concussion, if you happened to lose it, then medications to sedate you would’ve been my only other option. The doctor advised me that you should have someone with you for the next couple of days to monitor your condition and make sure you’re okay.”
Great. Yet another reminder that now, without Mom, I am truly and completely alone. I don't know anything about this man, my so-called brother. Only that he's a dick, and one of Drew's miserable friends, which makes me weary and anxious. I thought I could trust Drew, and look where that fucking got me.
I feel around the sheets for the button to call the nurse and press it hard. The effort makes me pant, and I slump against the soft mattress, my vision going hazy for a moment.
The nurse bustles in, her dark braids coiled on top of her head like a crown. "Oh, you're awake. Let me check your vitals quick, and then I'll get out of your hair."
I roll my head to the side to look at her. Lifting it is just too much effort. "Actually, would it be possible to get the discharge papers going? I’d like to leave.”
She gives me a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Sorry, sweetie… but I can’t let you leave until the doctor gives me the clear. Last I checked, he was waiting for your scan results.”
I clench my jaw hard enough that it makes the ache in my head worse, then I shift to face Sebastian again. "Okay. I guess since I’m stuck here, would it be possible to go see my mom?”
His forehead creases, concern etched into his features. Oh god, what now? He leans over to brace his elbows on his knees. "Bel, this isn’t a conversation that either of us really wants to have right now, but your mental state is very important. I need to make sure that you understand that on our way to the hospital, your mother… our mother passed away. Peacefully."
The pain of that statement, the confirmation that this is all real, hits me like a sledgehammer right in the sternum. It's an emotional pain, but I feel it physically along my nerve endings. The air in my lungs stills, and I try to hold the anguish inside. I don’t want to keep breaking down, but that’s all I can do. The sorrow climbs up my throat, clawing its way out of me. The pain slips past my lips and fills the air with an ear-shattering sob. It’s uncontrolled, and agony consumes me, rattling me to the marrow in my bones.
Something cold and wet slips from my eyes and down my cheeks. I can feel the nurse’s and Sebastian’s eyes on me, and I hate it. The vulnerable state this has left me in makes me feel weak and useless. I’m not used to feeling so helpless.
"Yes," I finally answer, my voice breathy. "I know. I remember everything that happened back at the party." I pin him with a hard expression. "Everything."
He glances across the bed to the nurse. "Can we get a wheelchair, please?”
The woman doesn't ask questions and simply nods once and leaves us alone all over again.
"Wow, so that’s what it's like to have money? People just rush off to do your bidding with only a look? No questions or opinions spoken."
The corner of his mouth tips up, and he spears his fingers into his messy curls and shoves them off his forehead. "No, she's a nurse, and to do her job, she would have to have compassion. She knows your mother died, and all she wants to do is help. Can’t blame her there. I guess I wonder does being poor mean you have to be an asshole to anyone who does have money? Because if so, I have bad news for you, Bel. You’re now one of those people who has money.”
I lean my head back against the pillow to try to alleviate the throbbing in my head. However, I doubt the throbbing is due to the head injury alone. This entire situation is a migraine in itself. "I don't want your money."
"It's not my money. It's yours. Yours, our grandfather’s, however you want to word it. He put money in a trust for you and our mother a long time ago. It's just been sitting there for you or her to claim it. Now, it all belongs to you.”
Somehow, that hurts worse. I'd rather have my mother here, living and smiling, way more than any amount of money.
"The money doesn’t matter. I don’t give a shit about any of it. I just want to see her, please." I don't even bother swiping at the tears that cascade down my cheeks. Crying is a permanent feature at this point.
Thankfully, the nurse returns to the room at that moment with the wheelchair. I fight back nausea and dizziness as I push myself up, trying to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’ve barely moved, and Sebastian is already at my side, his gaze hard and unreadable.
“Let me help you,” he orders gruffly. I want more than anything to push him away, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I need something, someone to hold me together and make sure I don’t crack straight down the middle. The nurse grabs a robe and hands it to Sebastian, who helps me put it on. Then he helps untangle the IV tubes and wires to the heart machine before walking me over to the chair.
