You're to Blame(16)
His excuse is complete bullshit, but I can take a hint when I hear one.
“Sure thing, boss.” I salute him and storm out of the room.
The fridge has been fixed for weeks. This is Derks way of giving me an out, a way of making a decision for me. He’s smart enough to know my limits, even when I’m not.
The cool air hits my face when I step out in front of the house, much needed after what transpired inside. Ari has a way of sticking his finger in a festering wound.
To Ari, Jacob and I are a package deal, even when I don’t agree with the shit Jacob pulls. Those two have butted heads a time or two. Like a true addict, the only time Jacob’s gambling is a problem is when he loses. I guarantee Charlotte has no idea about it or who Ari is. Jacob’s a pro at keeping secrets, especially from her.
Instead of heading home, I turn in the direction of the hospital. This is twice today, and even the nurses seem shocked to see me walking through the hallways this late at night.
“Visiting hours were over at ten.” The baby-faced nurse behind the station stands from her chair. Her scrubs have small hearts adorning the fabric, and her hair is in pigtails. Her words don’t stop me. “Sir, I said visiting hours are over.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” I say. “He’s my brother.” Okay, so that’s sort of a lie.
“I’ll give you a few minutes, but don’t take too long, all right?” She smiles.
The room is quiet and dim. Earlier today, I inspected my surroundings. These machines are all keeping him alive and monitoring his vitals. I’m no doctor, but what I do know is it is a miracle he’s here, all while not being here.
“Hey, man.” I scoot the chair closer to his hospital bed. I rest my forearms on my thighs. A black notebook sticks out from beneath a copy of the Greystone Gazette. I pull it out and scrutinize the cover before flipping through the mostly blank pages.
I read out loud from the middle of the notebook.
I wish things were simpler.
You’re not to blame.
Can you love someone, but not be in love with them?
All these random sentences are spread erratically over the paper. The writing is frantic, but even through the messy print, I can tell it’s a girl’s handwriting. A sense of shame blankets me for reading them.
Especially the one at the bottom.
The words are faint, as if they’ve been erased.
Who am I?
Chapter Five
Charlotte
The alarm clock screams for me to get out of bed and do something. The red lights illuminate the time, mocking me. How many damn times did I click snooze?
“I’m going to be late.” I rush around the room, throwing on the first pair of jeans I find. “Shit.” In a panic, I grab my purse off the floor and slip on a pair of flats. My toe collides with the wooden leg of the couch as I gather my scattered books. “Fuck,” I shout, bouncing on one foot. The pages of my notebooks crinkle on their way into my bag.
“You okay out there?” Rachel pops her head out from around the corner.
“I’m late. Like really late, and I’m already in hot water with my internship. I just don’t have time for this. My head is all over the place,” I ramble, scattering to collect the rest of my supplies.
“Want me to write you a note explaining why you’re late?” Rachel smirks before disappearing back into the kitchen. The sound of eggs being beaten and vegetables being chopped ring through the apartment. She never cooks. I don’t have time to investigate what she’s up to when my own shit is in disarray.
“I’ll catch you later tonight, okay?” I holler, spotting a heather grey hoodie on the back of the couch. Its familiarity piques my interest, but I don’t have time to waste. I slam the front door behind me without asking any questions.
When I pull into traffic, I take a deep breath for the first time this morning. This is not how I like to start my day. The drive through campus is quick and quiet for a Monday. Most days the sidewalks are packed with students bustling from class to class, grabbing coffee, and hanging out in the many courtyards. Our campus is like a small community. It’s one of the many reasons why I chose Greystone.
“How’s Jacob doing?” a guy asks as we pass each other on the steps leading to the building. I know his smile but can’t put a finger on from where.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not prepared to rehash every detail of his recovery. “No real change. Thank you for asking though.” I send a prayer up, a selfish one, that the guy will be gone, but when I blink, there he stands, his crooked grin wider than before.
“I’m Greg, by the way. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m the Sigma Nu President. I came up after the accident.” He offers his hand and I reluctantly take it.
“I’m already late, Greg. I’m so sorry.” I glance back at the door.
“Oh, don’t let me keep you. Give Jacob’s family our best.” He nods and skips down the steps.
The office is quiet. The only sound is the copy machine, which is currently working overtime. I toss my purse onto my desk and slump down in the chair. My cubicle is tucked in the back corner, and I half hope I’ve snuck in without being seen.
“Why are you late, Charlotte?” Mr. Johnson hollers from the entry to his office.