Dude, what the fuck are you doing?
I check my behavior and go back to the chair in the corner instead.
“Ms. Riley?” Dr. Turner says when he enters the room.
Southside offers a faint smile and sits up a little. “Hi.”
“You gave us quite a scare,” he adds with a smile. “Any idea what you ate that did this to you?”
I glance toward Southside and she’s clearly confused. “No. I’m usually pretty careful, but … I must not have been tonight.”
When she goes quiet, Dr. Turner nods. “Well, we got some epinephrine into your system as soon as this kind, young gentlemen rushed you into ER. His quick action likely saved your life tonight.”
Southside turns toward me, offering a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. My guess is it’s weird hearing someone use any of those words to describe me. I’d have to agree with her on that.
“No EpiPen?” the doctor asks.
“I keep one in my purse, but I left it in a friend’s car. Guess I thought I knew what foods to avoid,” she explains.
“Sometimes these things can sneak up on you, which is why you never want to assume, understood?” he asks in a stern, and yet caring, voice.
Southside nods. “Understood.”
Dr. Turner flips through his chart again. “I’d like to get your parents’ contact information, so I can give them a call and let them know what’s going on with you.”
He clicks his pen expectantly, but Southside doesn’t say a word. There are a good five seconds that pass until she finally speaks.
“They’re … unavailable.”
Dr. Turner’s brow tenses. “Unavailable?”
Southside nods. “Well, my dad’s home, but he’s pretty sick. And my mom’s out of town. On business,” she rushes to add.
If by home ‘sick’ she means drunk off his ass, then that statement about her dad is completely true. And based on what Sterling said about the call he overheard from her mom, I gather ‘unavailable’ is the best word to describe things.
Dr. Turner closes his chart and keeps his eyes trained on Southside.
“Well, you’re eighteen,” he says flatly, breathing a heavy sigh. “I’m not obligated to reach out to a guardian, but I’d like to keep an eye on you tonight. Might want to at least give your loved ones a call so they aren’t worried.”
With those words, he leaves us.
We’re plunged into awkward silence and I’m reminded again that this is out of our element. We haven’t called each other cruel names or tried to ruin each other’s lives in a few hours, so things definitely feel like they’re shifting.
“I thought you might need me to see you home,” I say, regretting my choice of words right away. It sounds like something a guy would say to a girl who belongs to him. Southside isn’t mine.
Clearing my throat, I start again. “If they’re keeping you, I can go,” I offer.
For all I know, she’d prefer to be alone versus having me hang around. Besides, it isn’t like I don’t have other things I can be doing.
“No, stay.” She responds a little too quickly for it to seem casual. When her gaze slips from mine, I imagine she realizes this, too. “It’s just that hospitals have always given me the creeps.”
She moves her braid behind her shoulder, and I smile thinking about her costume, topped off with a black wig now balled in a bag with the rest of the getup. Most girls live for this time of year, to get dolled up and show off their goods, but Southside could’ve shown up in a potato sack and would’ve been the hottest girl at the party tonight. I mean, I’m not complaining about the minidress or anything, but she doesn’t need all that. Jeans and a t-shirt, no makeup. I’ll take her as is.
‘You’ll take her as—’
What the fuck, man?
Cut that shit out!
You’re doing it again. You know what she’s about. You know what she did. Even if she claims there was only ever that Ricky guy. Even if you see her life’s shitty and understand why she could have possibly attached herself to someone like Vin—a predator. Nothing’s changed.
She settles against her pillow, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Do you um … do you know where my phone is? I need to check in on Scar. She’s spending the night with Jules, but I was supposed to call an hour ago.”
Searching the bag hooked to the side of her bed, I find her cell. It lights up the second I grab it. A text that reads: ‘Yo, you good?’ from someone she saved as The Mistake. My guess is it’s Ricky.
“I’ll step out,” I say after handing it over.
“It’s fine.”
When I glance back in her direction, I see something in her eyes I’m not sure I thought I’d ever see. Something I’m not sure she should give a guy like me.
Trust.
I lower back into my seat. Something else I’ve noticed about her is the weird bond between her and Scarlett. It isn’t anything like mine with Dane and Sterling. I love those dickheads, sure, but I don’t look after them. Not like she does with her sister. Not like a parent.
She taps her phone screen a few times, first returning the text, I assume, and then holds it to her ear to talk.
“Hey,” she says, relief heavy in her voice. “You doing okay?”
I can’t hear the response she gets, but whatever is said brings a smile to her face.
“Good. And you ate, right?” There’s a pause. “And you thanked Jules for cooking?”
I was right. These are questions I would never ask my brothers. Ever.
“Ok, good. I’ll walk over and get you in the morning.” Another pause. “K, be good. Love you.”
The call ends and I lower my gaze, pretending not to be fascinated by their interaction.
“Thank you,” she says, placing her cell on the adjustable table beside the bed.
“You didn’t tell her what happened,” I point
