Defying Fate With My Ultimate Black Card

Chapter 2

Christian opens his eyes to a white ceiling and the smell of rubbing alcohol.

His face feels swollen. His ribs ache with every breath. He tries to sit up, but a sharp pain across his chest pushes him back down. The sheets are thin and rough. The pillow is flat. He is in a hospital bed.

A nurse walks in without knocking. She is a thin woman with a pinched face and hair pulled so tight it lifts her eyebrows. She does not look at him. She checks the machine beside his bed, writes something on a clipboard, and starts to leave.

"Where am I?" Christian asks. His voice comes out cracked.

The nurse stops but does not turn around. "General Hospital. A passerby heard glass breaking and called 911. You were found on your bedroom floor with pieces of mirror in your scalp." Then she walks out.

Another nurse comes in ten minutes later. This one is younger, with a bored expression and a phone in her pocket. She takes his blood pressure, his pulse, his temperature. She writes everything down without speaking. Christian asks how long he has been here. She says overnight. Then she leaves.

The doctor comes an hour after that. He is a heavy man with a gray beard and no wedding ring. He stands at the foot of the bed and reads a chart. He tells Christian he has a concussion, two cracked ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and fifteen stitches in his head. No internal bleeding. No surgery needed. He will be fine.

Then he hands Christian a piece of paper. The number at the bottom is fifteen thousand dollars.

Christian stares at it. He has twelve dollars in his bank account. He borrowed forty from Jessica yesterday to buy the flowers and the Chinese food. He was going to pay her back with his next paycheck, but his next paycheck is not coming because he lost his job two weeks ago. He did not tell her that.

The doctor says the hospital requires a five hundred dollar deposit before discharge. Cash or card.

Christian says he does not have five hundred dollars.

The doctor shrugs. He says that is not his problem. He walks out.

Christian picks up his phone. He calls his mother. The phone rings twice, then goes to voicemail. He calls again. Voicemail. He calls his father. The line disconnects before it even rings. He sends a text: Mom, I am in the hospital. William beat me up. Please help. The message does not deliver. They have blocked his number. They did the same thing last month when he asked if he could borrow money for rent. His mother told him then that he was a failure of a son and she was done watching him ruin his life.

He puts the phone down.

He stares at the ceiling for a long time. A nurse comes in to check his IV. She sees his eyes are wet, and she sighs like he is wasting her time. She adjusts the bag, writes something on her clipboard, and says, "Your vitals are stable and your blood pressure is low," she exclaimed, like she was announcing a score he lost. Then she left.

Christian waits. The sun moves across the floor. He hears other patients laughing, families visiting, doors opening and closing. No one comes for him.

He calls Isaiah.

Isaiah has been his best friend since they were eight years old. They grew up on the same street, rode the same bus to school, joined the same baseball team. Isaiah was the best man at the wedding that never happened. Isaiah let Christian borrow eight hundred dollars six months ago when Christian fell behind on his car payment. Christian has paid back three hundred. He owes Isaiah five hundred.

The phone rings three times. Isaiah picks up.

"What?" Isaiah says.

"Isaiah, it's me. I need help."

A pause. "What kind of help?"

"I am in the hospital. William jumped me last night. I have a concussion and cracked ribs, and they will not let me leave unless I pay five hundred dollars right now. I know I owe you money. I know. But if you can lend me five hundred more, I swear I will pay you back everything. Everything I owe you plus this. I will get a job tomorrow. I will pay you back in two weeks."

Isaiah is quiet for a few seconds. Then he laughs. It is a short, mean laugh.

"Are you serious right now?" Isaiah says. "You still owe me five hundred dollars from last time. You have owed me that for six months. And now you want to borrow more? You are a grown man, Christian. You cannot even pay your own hospital bill. You cannot hold down a job. You cannot keep a woman. You are a failure, and I am done lending money to a failure."

"Isaiah, please. We have been friends since we were eight."

"Friends do not use each other for money. You have been using me for years. I am done." Isaiah hangs up.

Christian lowers the phone. He stares at the screen. The call log shows Isaiah's name, then his mother's name, then his father's name. Three people who should have been there. Three people who walked away.

He calls no one else.

Another hour passes. The doctor returns. He says they cannot keep Christian in the bed forever. He says Christian can sign a form for a payment plan, but the five hundred dollars is still due today. Christian signs the form. He still has no money. The doctor says the bill will go to collections. Then he leaves.

A nurse comes with a wheelchair. She is the same one from before, the one with the pinched face. She tells Christian to get up. He tries to stand, but his ribs scream, and he has to hold onto the bed rail to keep from falling. She does not help him. She just stands there with her arms crossed. He lowers himself into the wheelchair. She pushes him down the hall, through the double doors, and onto the sidewalk. She leaves him there. The doors close behind him.

Christian stands on the sidewalk. The sun is low, just starting to set. He has no money for a bus. He has no money for food. He has no one to call. He starts walking.

He walks past the apartment he shared with Jessica. The lights are off. He walks past the bar where he and Isaiah used to drink. The sign is on, but he keeps walking. He walks past the park where he proposed to Jessica, the one with the oak tree and the bench. He keeps walking.

He ends up at the bridge.

The bridge arches over the river. The railing is rusted green. The water below is dark and slow. Christian walks to the middle and stops. He puts his hands on the railing. The metal is cold. The wind off the water is cold. He looks down.

He thinks about William's fists. He thinks about Jessica on the table in her underwear. He thinks about the ring in his blood. He thinks about his mother's voice calling him a failure. He thinks about Isaiah's laugh. He thinks about the fifteen thousand dollars. The apartment he will lose. The life he built that fell apart.

He climbs onto the bottom rail. The river is far below. He grips the top rail with both hands and closes his eyes

Then his phone buzzes.

He almost ignores it. He almost lets go. But his hand moves on its own, pulling the phone from his pocket.

It was a message from an unknown number.

“Go home and check your Mail now!”

He stares at the screen.

The phone buzzes again. Same number. Same message.

“Go home and check your Mail now!”

Christian looks at the water. He looks at the phone. He does not move.