36
Racing down the hospital corridor, the smell of bleach plagues my nose, and my gut twists with dread.
I reach The Intensive Care Unit and one of Mum’s nurse-friends ushers me to his room.
“He’s asleep,” she whispers, “but you can sit with him if you like.”
“Thanks,” I reply, gaping at the tube coming out of his arm, leading to a drip stand, his blackened eyes, the white plaster across his swollen nose, the wide bandage wrapped around his chest and ribs.
Seeing him lying here, so hurt, so fragile, makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe I should go. Leave him sleep.
Leave him entirely.
Nothing good will ever come being with me. Trouble follows me around like a shadow. I should have never kissed him on the couch that day. Or let him come to the park to look for Ben.
And I should’ve nev
