Chapter Forty Three-1

"She tried. In our own way. She told me and I rejected her. I didn't mean to... I just didn't feel the same way," she mumbles tiredly. "And now I hate her. I hate her for the things she's done to me. And I hate that she thinks I hate her for how she feels. That's not it. It's the way she handles things. The horrible things she says. The fact that she goes out of her way to hurt me. And you." "I... I don't even know what to say," I shake my head. "I can't believe I didn't know any of this. She was my best friend. Why didn't she tell me?" "It's harder than you think, Isobel," she says to me with a heavy sigh. "It's harder than you think." ------------------- When I wake the next morning, I rub my eyes, feeling like I haven't slept at all. I roll my head to the side, to see Kiarra open-mouthed and snoring beside me. I stretch, feeling a few bones in my back crack. The brightness of my phone screen makes me grimace. I hastily turn it down as I squint, seeing that it is 7:30am. I pull myself from bed, making a beeline for the shower. The house is silent as I walk through ten minutes later, dressed in a denim skirt and a long-sleeve shirt. My hair is still wet, hanging limply down my shoulders. I wait until I'm out the front door, before sliding my vans onto my feet. The wind is unforgiving and harsh as I walk towards my car. I tug the sleeves down my hands and grimace, wishing I'd chosen to wear jeans instead. I stop into Brumby's Bakery on my way to the hospital, ordering two coffees and two cream pastry puffs. My stomach rumbles as the smell fills my car. By the time I walk through the front doors, it's one minute passed the time visitors are allowed to enter. The nurse on reception raises her eyebrows. "You're here early," she smiles. "And I come bearing the goods," I reply weakly, waving the bakery bag beside me. "I'm here to see Miles Carter." Her fingers tap against the keyboard for a few moments. "He's on the next floor. Take the elevator at the end of the corridor. He's in room 193." "Thank you," I say quietly, my stomach twisting into knots with each step I take. My grip tightens around the coffees in my hands as I get closer. I reach his room. With an encouraging breath, I push open the door. I choke on a gasp. He's lying there, bruises littering his body. He appears an off-colour and red welt marks are dug into his skin. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling. Despite his harsh looking injuries, his face looks quite peaceful as he sleeps. I gently place down our breakfast onto the table beside him. I crawl into the bed, barely having enough room to fit my body. I curl into his side, being careful not to put my weight on him. I bury my face into his shoulder. Once my skin is on his, I physically relax. The tension, the stress, it all ebbs away. Despite it being early, I suddenly feel tired. I let my eyes drift closed as I lay beside him. Finally, I'm with him. I wake an hour or so later, to the sound the paper rumpling and the T.V on low. My eyes take a few moments to adjust to my surroundings. I look up, to see Miles smirking down at me as he pops a piece of pastry puff into his mouth. "Yum. Thanks," he grins. "Oh my God!" I blurt, wrapping my arms around him. He winces immediately, half-choking on his food. "Ouch!" "Sorry, sorry," I quickly apologise and let go. "I'm so glad you're okay." "I'm sorry, Is. Our night was ruined." "My main concern is you," I assure him, tangling my fingers through his. He smiles at me. A large clap of thunder makes me flinch and I peer up at the ceiling. "It's storming?" I question in surprise. It was overcast on the way here, but I thought it would clear. It explains why the wind was so abrupt when I left the house this morning. "Yeah, the nurse came in before and told me it's meant to be a bad one. Is your car undercover?" "Yeah," I nod. "Are they expecting hail?" "Apparently." I peel myself from the small bed and pad to the window. I pull the blind back, to see a dreary grey sky and thick droplets of rain, sliding down the glass. "It's heavy," I tell him as I see the trees swaying from the harsh wind. "Shame, you'll have to stay here all day and keep me company," he grins. I smile at him. I pull my phone out and create a group chat of Kiarra, Finn and mum. I tell them I'm at the hospital and suggest they stay at home, out of the bad weather. "So, how are feeling?" I ask him and gently sit down at the end of the bed, resting my hand on his knee. "Sore. Very, very sore," he sighs. "I feel really drained, too." "As to be expected," I reply softly. "Well, yeah," he agrees. "You know how you said not today, last time I asked?" He sighs through his nose, closing his eyes. "Today is the day." "My mum, she was involved in some bad stuff." He begins, and gingerly places his now-empty food packet beside him. "When I lived with her, there was no way to escape it. Men came and went as they pleased, using her, selling her drugs, doing drugs with her. It was never ending. When I was at school, it was easy to pretend I didn't know what was going on." he lets out a deep breathy, tenderly rubbing his hands across his swollen face. "I had a feeling mum was dealing. She didn't work but seemed to have money. She would be out all night, it just made sense. One night though, she had a delivery but instead, took too much of whatever drug it was and ended up passing out. I knew what would happen if the delivery didn't make it in time. So, I took it. I thought it would be a once-off that would go unnoticed. I was so naive." He shudders, looking paler than he did a few seconds ago. "When they realised they could use me, things went from bad to worse." I feel breathless as I stare at him. I squeeze his knee, feeling helpless. "I didn't want any part of it. Mum and I got into a huge fight. I told her I was leaving. She started crying, saying I was the only reason she wasn't dead yet, all these things that didn't make sense to me. I told her I was done with her and all of the bullshit. Then, she was dead. A drug overdose." His words hang heavily around the room, as if taking the oxygen with them. A tear slides down his cheek and his eyes are beginning to turn bloodshot. "Could have been just too much for her to handle, or she could have committed suicide. I don't know. But the last thing I said to her, was that I was done with her."