The Outcast - Chapter Thirteen

I'm at the hospital now, my hands cuffed in front of me with metal shackles that are hooked to the foot of the bed. Why am I handcuffed? Because I 'brutally attacked McAllen without reason'. I had a reason. A damn good reason, too. He hurt Jordan just because he was defending me. Sighing as I think of Jordan again, I close my eyes. The smell of medicine is strong in the enclosed room. The door stands off to the side, closed. Footsteps echo in the hall outside of it, but I can't hear them.

The only thing I can hear is the alternating uneven beeps of the heart monitor. It keeps me alert, and it frightens me and makes my heart race every time the beeps make a sudden, rapid change.

Opening my eyes, I look down at the handcuffs. I yank at them once, then shake my head. Honestly, I'm surprised they let me in here. I guess it was because I insisted so persistently that they just couldn't say no. I suppose it's a good thing: had I not been able to come into the room, I would have gone berserk, wondering, waiting, worrying...

Jordan's in the bed, covered by a single sheet. A breathing mask is on his face, and it mists up briefly when he rasps in a breath. The paramedics came quickly enough, I guess, but to me it seemed like an eternity.

I was in a state of shock, I know that now. I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to think. Everyone was over by McAllen, fussing over him, trying to get him to wake up. He was breathing okay, which was a shame, really.

I'm not normally so bloodthirsty, but in this case, I made an exception. He deserved it, damn it. Look what he did to Jordan!

...And because of me, too.

This is all my fault.

"I'm sorry...." I whisper into the silence of the room. "I'm so sorry....this is all my fault..." I bend forward in the chair and put my elbows on my knees, burying my head in my hands. Please get better, Jordan. Please. God, I don't want him to die. Not because of me. Not because he was defending me from McAllen. I can't help but think that if he hadn't been my friend, none of this would have happened.

I hope McAllen has a few broken ribs and is crippled for life.

I hope he suffers.

Because, surely, if Jordan lives--and I HATE to think that he won't, or even allow it to be an 'if'--he's going to have problems and terrible headaches.

The window on the far wall is open. The breeze filters in, but does nothing to help my mood. The door opens, and I lift my head to see who's coming in.

It's Sasha. Marina is nowhere in sight, so I assume she's outside the room in the hallway. Sasha offers a smile toward me, but I can't accept it. I sigh and look away with a small shake of my head.

Sasha comes to my side and bends down next to me. She reaches up and grips my chin, forcing me to look at her, though that's the last thing I want to do. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

I shake my head and avert my gaze to the tiled ground. The pattern is boring, and of course I've memorized it by now, for I've been here for about four hours or so. I'm not surprised that Sasha is just being called about it; of course the police don't want to call her, I'm the Outcast, I'm not supposed to have anyone that cares.

I mean, when people care, things happen to them.

Just look at what happened to Jordan!

"Honey," she says soothingly, "it's not your fault." it should surprise me that she knows what I'm thinking, but it doesn't. I mean, Jordan reads me like an open book, so why shouldn't see.

Ow. Thinking about Jordan is definitely a bad thing at the moment...

"It's not," she insists.

"...It is...." I murmur, my head hung low.

"It's not," she says again. "None of this is your fault, Kyal. I promise you, it's not your fault."

I try to smile at her reassuringly, so she'll leave me alone, but I'm sure it comes out more like a grimace.

She frowns. "Don't blame yourself."

I sigh and glare at the ground. She pulls a key from her pocket.

"You're clear," she says. "The police have the real story. You know, they kept thinking that you started the whole thing and hurt them both?"

I stare at her in disbelief. Me? Do that to Jordan? Okay, I did it to McAllen, but to Jordan? Never!

"But," she continues, "someone came forward and told them what happened. You're cleared for beating McAllen. Someone said you were probably in a state of shock and couldn't think straight." she unlocks the cuffs.

I rub my wrists thoughtfully and lean back in my chair. For a brief moment, I let my gaze wander to Jordan's face. I look away quickly, mentally shivering inside. He's so pale, it's just not like him, he's usually tan. He has bags under his eyes, his lips are blue--from what I can see through the breathing mask--and...and....

I REALLY hate to say it, but he looks dead already....

I sigh heavily. The sound lingers in the silence of the room.

"I'm sorry, honey," she says quietly.

I look at her.

"I spoke to the doctor."

I freeze. My heart skips a beat and leaps to my throat. "What..." I swallow thickly. "What did he say?"

She shakes her head. "It's not good news, Kyal."

I clench my eyes tightly closed. No...

Please, God, don't let him die.

Please, don't be that cruel. He was only hurt because of me, please don't let him die because of that.

"The doctor says he has a twenty-five percent chance of survival, and the odds aren't in his favor."

A low whimper escapes me, though I try to keep it back. Not my only friend, please...God, please.

"If he lives," she says slowly. I wince at the 'if'. "He'll probably be damaged for life. He'll never be the same."

I take in a shaky breath and let it rattle out slowly. "But...but he'll live, right?" I look at her hopefully.

She winces and looks away.

No...not good.

"I'm sorry," she says again.