Cracked (9 page)

I take a second and keep my mouth shut. I want to see if she’ll keep talking, because somebody told Ellie a lie, and it wasn’t me.

“Your grandfather, he was . . .” She trailed off.

I help her out, “Drunk. My grandfather was drunk, right?”

“Well, yeah. But he was able to tell the police what happened after a cup of black coffee.”

I swallow hard. “The police?”

She nods. “Actually, William, there’s an officer waiting to talk with you.”

“Whatever.” The police? Shit. What the hell am I going to tell the police?

“You sure you’re up to talking? I think I could stall him a bit longer if you’d like to rest more.”

I pause and think that resting sounds a lot better than talking with the cop, but I have to get it over with. “Nah, but thanks. I’ll just talk to him.”

Two minutes later this supershort black guy pulls back the curtain. “William Mastrick?”

“Uh-huh,” I answer from bed. We’re practically eye to eye, that’s how short he is. Between his 1980s glasses and bad hair, I’m thinking he probably got picked on a crapload when he was a kid and became a cop to take revenge on everyone. Genius move on his part, actually.

“Officer Gill,” he says with an outstretched hand.

We shake. He smiles. I shit myself.

“Nothing to worry about, son, so just relax. Okay?”

I nod. Still shitting.

Officer Gill pulls out a small notepad and flips it open.
“Last night your grandfather said you guys were having a fight. Is that right?”

I nod my head in agreement.

“And you attempted suicide?”

My conversation with Ellie’s prepped me for this, so I nod my head in agreement again.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what happened?” Officer Gill says calmly.

My brain surprisingly kicks into overdrive, and I do some lightning-fast reasoning. If this dude thinks I tried to kill myself, then that had to be what Pop told him. Pop must’ve left out the part where I aimed the gun
at
him. My fists are balled up under the blankets. I have no idea if what I say will contradict what Pop’s already told him. I keep it short and general. I get through my whole story in, like, four sentences.

Officer Gill flips to a new page in his notebook and lifts his eyes to mine. “You never pointed the gun at your grandfather, is that correct?”

I nod.

“Did you try to hurt your grandfather, William?”

I shake my head no.

“I’m going to need a firm answer here, son.”

“No, I did not try to hurt my grandfather.” Oh my God, I just lied to a police officer.

He clicks his pen and slips it into the spiral spine of his notebook. “Get better.” We shake hands again. “You have your whole life ahead of you, kid. Don’t blow it.”

“Thanks.” I think I just got away with pointing a loaded gun at my grandfather. If I had the balls, I’d hug Officer Nerdy and cry on his shoulder.

Ellie breezes back in, all smiley and hot. Apparently I’m puffed up with my genius, because I add a fresh layer of bullshit to my story. I lift my head up as she fluffs my pillows, look her right in the eye, and tell her that my grandfather is a hero for saving my life in my darkest hour. I swear I said, “my darkest hour.”

She grabs my hand and squeezes. My stomach flips. She is the hottest girl I’ve ever talked to, ever. Woman—the hottest
woman
. She’s probably in her early twenties, and that makes her a woman.

Ellie says, “Your grandfather
is
a hero, William. Don’t you ever forget it. Every day we have is a gift.” She slips through the curtain, and I’m alone.

I know what my pop did. I get it. He knows the world of problems, starting with jail time, I’d face if he told anyone I tried to kill him. He made up the perfect story. And I’m sticking with it.

It’s the least he could do.

I WAKE UP IN THE HOSPITAL. I AM REALLY MAD I WOKE
up—like furiously, insanely mad. The curtain is closed, and I am alone. My parents are probably livid that I made them come home early from Europe, and I wonder where they are. I cringe at the thought of facing them, talking to them, and explaining my actions. I also cringe because my stomach and throat hurt badly. I swallow and wince.

Why couldn’t it have worked? Why
didn’t
it work? I took enough pills, I know I did. Why didn’t it work?

The curtain is pulled back, and in walks a young nurse holding a clear plastic shopping bag filled with something
gray. She introduces herself as Ellie, my nurse; drops the bag at the end of my bed; and reaches out to shake my hand. As I feel her warm hand around mine, I notice her eyes. They’re really blue. And her lips are spectacular.

“So, Victor Konig, do you know your last name means ‘king’ in German?”

I tried to kill myself and my mother’s out there telling people about our name. She is too much.

Ellie is still talking. “Yeah, my dad speaks German, and he used to call my older brother Konig all the time. So when I saw your name on your chart, I laughed because I always thought my dad made that up, you know, to make my brother feel important.” She pulls out gray sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt from the bag as she talks. “But I just looked it up online and it’s true. Your name really does mean ‘King.’ Did you know that, Victor?”

I open my mouth to answer her and my throat clamps shut. Cue a coughing fit. An agonizing coughing fit. My stomach and throat explode with raw pain.

Ellie immediately snaps into action. She sits me up and lifts my arms straight up. “Breathe through your nose, Victor.” I nod and do as she says and the coughing stops.

She says in a calm voice, “Good, now take a few more deep breaths through your nose. Okay?”

As I’m taking my deep breaths, she tells me my stomach and throat will be sore for a few days because I had my stomach pumped. She gently brings my arms down and squeezes my shoulders.

I whisper, “I’m good.” So that’s why I feel like crap.

“Can you get my parents?” I ask.

Ellie drops her eyes and picks up her clipboard.

I watch her fidget. “My parents aren’t here, are they?” I say.

Ellie exhales and says, “No, Victor Konig, your parents aren’t here. The doctor spoke with your mother just an hour ago. They landed safely in Paris, so you shouldn’t worry about them.”

“My parents aren’t coming home from their vacation, are they?” I reply flatly.

She purses her full lips, and then Ellie whispers, “No, they’re staying in Europe.”

“And they know what I’ve done? You told them what I’ve done?”

“I did.”

I drop my eyes and will myself not to bawl.

“I think you need to rest,” Ellie says. “Why don’t you get out of that hospital gown and put these on? I think you’ll be much more comfortable.” She pulls back the curtain to leave and then adds, “Your grandmother was here all day. She
brought you in. We sent her home to get some sleep. You should do the same, Victor Konig. I like your name, Victor Konig,” she says with a wink.

The curtain falls and I am alone.

I feel sick to my stomach that Nana found me, that I made her feel stress and panic. She didn’t deserve to find me. I didn’t deserve to be found. Period. I am overwhelmed with guilt—heavy, heavy guilt.

NURSE ELLIE, WITH THE PERFECT HEAD, EXPLAINS
that since I tried to kill myself, I have to spend some time in a psych ward upstairs, so they can monitor me and make sure I’m not a danger to myself anymore. I’ll be talking to some psychologists and junk, getting three meals a day, and sleeping in a bed—with sheets, blankets, and a pillow—and be waited on hand and foot for the next five days. Sign me up.

Some dude wheels my bed through the ER and tells me his whole life story as we wait for the elevator. Wife’s sick, baby girl’s sick, both have the flu, he hasn’t slept in two days, and now he feels sick too. And then he sneezes right on me.
He apologizes over and over in the elevator, and then he sneezes again. There are more apologies before he stops talking altogether. I don’t even care. He can sneeze on me all day. I’m headed up to a floor with a warm bed and a scorching hot nurse. Sneeze away, sad man.

I’m rolled into room 714, near the window. Someone else is already in here with their curtain closed. Good. I am in no mood to talk to anyone. Especially some crazy suicidal idiot. I just have to play my cards right, keep my mouth shut, and milk my time here. Then I am out. Off to the shore to find my dad. That’s my plan.

My jeans. My $376.54 and my postcard are in my jeans pocket. And have a mini heart attack. I shout to the orderly, “Yo, dude, where are my clothes? The ones I had on when I got here?”

“Oh, yeah. I was supposed to tell you about that. Sorry. When you come to this floor, they hold on to your clothes. You know, for your own safety. Normally they give you gray sweats to wear, but since you just had surgery and all, you’ll wear that standard-issue hospital gown you got on. And then they’ll give you a robe and slippers up here. Don’t worry though; you’ll get everything back when you’re checked out. Be well, brother.”

Whoever is sharing my room with me says, “HA!”

I ignore him, because like I said, I am not in the mood to talk to a suicidal freak right now. I stare at the ceiling. That money better all be there when I get my shit back. No way am I going home after I get out of here. I’m done.

SINCE THE REST OF MY BODY IS PARALYZED BY FEAR,
I’m impressed that my hand reaches for the nurse call so fast. There is no way! No way in hell am I sharing a room with that cretin. Nurse Ellie is by my side pretty fast.

“What’s up, Victor Konig? What can I do for ya?” she says with a big, heart-stopping smile.

I whisper, “I want my room changed, please. I can’t stay here.”

“Whoa, easy there, big guy. You don’t really have a choice. When you take a bottle of pills, you sorta lose some say in stuff. Besides, your parents already faxed their signatures from
Europe. This lovely room is your home for the next five days.” More dazzling smiles.

Then she adds, in a loud whisper, “Why were you whispering?”

I motion Ellie to come closer. She leans over, and I breathe her in before I talk. I’m literally dizzy with how perfect she smells. Like citrus and fresh flowers.

I continue to whisper, but into her ear this time. “I know the kid in that bed. And, well, let’s just say we’re not friends. I can’t stay in this room with him.”

Ellie turns her head and proceeds to whisper in
my
ear, “Sorry, Victor Konig, but this floor is small. We only have four double rooms up here, and they’re all full. You’re going to have to work it out with William.”

I sit up as relief washes over me, and keep talking low. “William? Not a kid named Bull?”

“William,” she says, “not Bull.”

“Oh. I could’ve sworn . . . whatever, I’m good.” I shake my head and laugh quietly.

Ellie breezes out, and I smile at my good fortune.

From behind his curtain, William growls, “It
is
Bull, Victoria.”

My smile evaporates, and I start breathing really heavy through my nose. My jaw is clenched. I can’t do this. Not
with him here. Why didn’t those pills just do what they were supposed to do?

I punch the bed and get up. I sit back down on the edge of the bed. I have nowhere to go. I can’t leave this stupid hospital. I can’t do this. I punch the bed again, and that’s when the tears break through. The piece of fabric separating me and Bull is no sound barrier, and I refuse to cry in front of him.

I go into the bathroom and shut the door. Where’s the lock? Great, no lock. Then I remember where I am and what I’m here for. Of course there’d be no lock. Bull had better not try to come in here; I swear to God I’d kill him.

I turn the shower on, strip out of my prison sweats, and jump in. I just stand there and let the hot water run down my body. My skin looks ashen in the fluorescent lighting. I hold my arms out in front of me, and they’re shaking so badly that I drop them back to my sides. Maybe I could steal more pills from somewhere in the hospital, I could suffocate myself, I could . . .

Oh my God. This is insane. This cannot be real. I can’t do this.

I slide down the tile wall until I’m in knees-to-chest on the shower floor, and let it all out—again. I cry as hard as I did when I found Jazzer dead. But this time I cry into my bent elbow, so Bull can’t hear me. Of all the people on this whole
rotten planet, how could
he
end up being in the bed next to me? It has to be God’s way of laughing at me. Or punishing me for trying to kill myself.

I have to get out of here. My nana could get me out; my parents probably gave her permission to act as my legal guardian or some crap like that. I could talk her into anything. I have to get out of here.

Immediately.

THAT ASSHOLE IS MY ROOMMATE? ISN’T THAT GREAT?
I hate that douche.

I bet he was trying to get Ellie to get him out of here. He’s probably crying in the bathroom right now, the freak. Well, they can move me, I don’t care. I don’t really belong here anyway.

“William, good day, sir. Have you met Victor yet? It sounds like he’s in the shower. Tomorrow you’ll be in group together, so you can get to know each other then.”

I am like a drooling idiot. She’s talking, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. I’m staring openmouthed at her eyes. She
probably thinks there’s something wrong with me, because her eyebrows are arched and she’s smirking.

“William, hey, William . . . are you in there?”

I feel my whole head get hot, so I’m probably red, which is embarrassing. “Sorry. What’s cool?” I try to not seem like a real mental patient. “You said something was cool.”

She smiles. “I knew you weren’t listening to me. You had on the same face that my fiancé makes when I’m telling him what I need help with around the house. I asked if you had met your roommate yet. Victor?”

I blurt out, “You can move me, I don’t care. He can have this room all to himself. I’ll move.” Then I’ll look like the hero, and I won’t have to be near preppy-asshole boy.