c h a p t e r 8

He sounds like the Danny I know.

The guy I rejected, and straight-up humiliated sounds like the Danny I talked to over the phone.

Should I be angry?

Should I feel dumb?

Should I feel hurt?

He's not talking anymore. He's now just looking at me.

It's the middle of the fucking night. He stands next to my bed, looking at me, talking. His eyes are closed, and he keeps telling me how sorry he is. Why is he sorry? I should be sorry. I was the one who said all those things to him, and I look like the biggest fool.

He's in a hospital gown.

Why is he in a hospital gown?

I sit up in the bed, and take a good look at him.

"What the hell?" I murmur, my eyebrows are furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't say anything. He turns around, and starts walking towards the door to make an exit, when I grab his arm. "Wait, stay," I say hesitantly. "Sorry, if I sounded bitchy."

He sighs, looks at me, and then looks at the door. Yeah, he hates me. He doesn't want anything to fucking do with me anymore, I get it.

"Wait, before you go," I say quietly. "I just want to let you know how sorry I am. I shouldn't have rejected you like that."

He doesn't look at me when he says, "You don't have to feel sorry for me, I wouldn't want to go out with myself either."

See, he just wants to sound sorry about himself. I roll my eyes out of exasperation, and look at him. "Dude, you're making your own self sound pathetic. C'mon, just say it. You hate my guts."

"I don't hate your guts," he says with a sureness, I can well enough hear. "You kinda should sorta hate my guts."

"What?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I'm the one who'd been calling you...as Danny...every night."

I smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"How long have you known?"

"Awhile now, because Danny doesn't sound as smart, funny, and genuine as you."

"Sorry about acting like a prick asshole that one time I had to help you in chem."

"I understand. Really. I actually forgot about that."

"Still, I am sorry. I feel like you being in here is because of my lame-ass actions..."

"No, really, it's...not your fault. Why are you in here?"

"Oh, um, I just wanted to see if you were okay."

I laugh a little, and take his hand. "No, I mean, why are you in the hospital just like me?"

"Because I was attempting to off myself."

"Same."

He and I both let out brief giggles, and after awhile there's silence. It's a comfortable silence; a silence I'm okay with.

"What's your name?" I asks him. "I feel as though I may already know it, but I'm not sure."

"It's Collin."

"Collin, I'm Abi."

He doesn't say "I know," instead he says, "It's nice to meet you Abi."

I scoot over in the bed, and pat the spot next to me. "Collin, can you stay with me? Please?"

He's hesitant again. Really, he acts as though I just told him I have a contagious disease, although we are in a hospital...

"Seriously, I'm not contagious," I joke, with a small giggle. "Besides, I'm quite sure you have what I have."

This time Collin laughs, and he slides into bed next to me. But I must note, he's still stiff, and is still sitting up.

I rest my head on his chest, and look up at the ceiling. This time, I'm not thinking about how damaged I may appear. I'm not thinking about what people are saying about me at school. I'm not thinking.

Yet, I go back to thinking again when the feeling of guilt starts to overcome me again.

"Collin, I'm sorry, and I'm not saying sorry because I think you will forgive me easily. But I'm saying sorry because I want to reassure myself that I have apologized. Because you don't know what the kind of anxiety I'm faced with, and my anxiety doesn't turn me into the best person." I sit up, and look Collin in the eye. He smiles at me reassuringly, indicating to me that I have the floor. "No, I'm sure you understand to some extent what the anxiety I feel is like. That wasn't fair to say..."

Collin shakes his head. "No need to explain yourself. I know what you're trying to say."

I then start to hum "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy.

"You really like that song, don't you?" He says smiling.

"Yeah, you know that," I say, chuckling. "I sang it to you over the phone that one night, remember."

"Yes, of course I remember."

Again, there is silence between he and I, and I'm okay with that. But something startles me. You know what that is? I can hear Collin's heart beating fast. I legit can. And you know, the weird thing is, my heart is beating fast too.

—

Meanwhile...

Danny Sanderson lays in bed, thinking. Thinking of that desperate girl who blames him for her suicide attempt.

He finds the letter pathetic, and yet, maybe even a little flattering to know that some girls die knowing he's already taken and not single. Seriously, his ego has just gone up times ten.

So, Abi's letter doesn't necessarily bring Daniel Dean Sanderson any woe, or does her letter bring up an epiphany in his mind.

His ego just got bigger, and he can care less about some girl being in the hospital because of some suicide attempt.

Danny laughs, and sits up in his bed. Convincing himself, right there in his mind, that he's somehow God's gift to all the ladies at his school.

Out of habit, Danny gets out of bed, and takes out a pack of cigarettes from his sports bag. He takes a cigarette from the pack, and walks over to his bedroom window, and slides it up—open.

He thinks of the façade he'll have up, when he goes through a day of school, and fucking soccer practice. Soccer—fucking—this. Soccer—fucking—that.

His father will got on his ass tomorrow if he is told by the coach that there was a couple lame kicks coming from him, or any "half-assing".

The golden boy hates his life.

—

Author's Note: Do any of you guys have any sympathy for the golden boy?