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Fuck, I have no words.
Especially knowing the who and the how behind it.
His dad.
His motherfucking piece of shit sperm donor.
And to think…
This is only after Waylon’s been treated and cleaned up.
Izzy found him. Saved his fucking life, according to the EMTs.
Five minutes.
That’s how long he probably had left by the time they got to him.
If Izzy didn’t show up when she did, and call 911, and sit with him and beg for him to hold on until help arrived…
Waylon well and truly would have drowned in his own blood.
We’d be burying our best friend, instead of sitting with him in a hospital room, his bruised and broken body strung up to a bunch of tubes and machines.
Dipping my head, I peer up at Izzy through the corner of my eye, taking in the faraway, haunted gleam in her reddened eyes. She’s looking right at Waylon, but she’s miles away, likely replaying everything she witnessed last night…
What she walked into.
The panic as she sat there with him, waiting for help to arrive, unable to do anything but watch him choke on his own blood.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and bring my free hand up to my face, pinching my brows.
“My dad?” Waylon chokes.
Jaw working, I lower my hand and shake my head. “He’s been arrested.”
I feel Izzy watching me, waiting to see if I’ll elaborate. We promised our parents and his uncle we’d let them break the news about what else happened last night.
Waylon’s face creases, and he nods.
Digging his head back in the pillow, he stares hard up at the ceiling, his eye shining with unshed tears. He mumbles something, and it takes me a second to register what it is.
And when I do, my chest breaks open all over again.
“I’m free.”
When I step out of the room to give Izzy and Waylon a moment alone, I find Jeremy pacing in front of a bulletin board where the hallway T’s off.
“Are you comin’ in?”
“Doctor said two at a time.”
“So?”
“It’s okay, Mase, he’s probably going to be confused, hurting… Makes more sense for you guys. You’re everything to him.”
It’s what Eva said too. Reggie, Waylon’s uncle who got here a few hours ago, agreed as well that it should be us.
Throat thick, I turn my head to find Izzy hovering just inside the threshold of Waylon’s hospital room. She waves me over, face pale and pinched. I still half expect to find blood when my gaze lowers to her shirt, but she changed and washed up hours ago.
