One Eighty (Westover Prep Book 1)

by James, Marie

  “Twenty minutes, maybe?” I answer when the question is asked again.

  The medical staff is rushing around, taking her pulse, blood pressure, and listening to her chest with a stethoscope. One is starting an IV.

  “Do you know if she’s taken any drugs?”

  I see red. “She doesn’t fucking do drugs!”

  “You need to calm down,” someone tells me. “We just need all the information so we can make informed medical decisions.”

  “She’s been having bad headaches. We were in a car crash five weeks ago. She had a concussion and a sprained—”

  “Piper!”

  I swivel on my feet so fast at the approaching voice that I nearly fall over.

  Dr. Schofield, Piper’s dad, is rushing in our direction. Mrs. Schofield is right behind him with red splotchy eyes and tears streaming down her face.

  “What happened?” he asks. He’s not looking at me but down at his unconscious daughter. “Why is she naked?”

  “She passed out,” I somehow manage. “We were—”

  Before I can give him the dirty details, I’m certain no father wants to hear, Piper begins to shake on the table. Her body manages to jolt and stiffen at the same time.

  “Push four of Ativan,” the guy who seems to be in the lead says.

  My whole world narrows to the tip of the needle being inserted into Piper’s IV. Mrs. Schofield is sobbing beside me, and Dr. Schofield is standing stock still and looking as helpless as I feel.

  Piper stops shaking, but there’s still a flurry of activity around her body.

  “Possible subdural hematoma,” the doctor says as he steps back to let someone on the team lift the bedrails. “Let’s get her to CT.”

  They unlock the wheels on the bed and push her away. I’m frozen, watching all of them, including her parents, disappear through another set of double doors that reads MEDICAL PERSONNEL ONLY with the love of my life.

  I’m not allowed to stay in the patient part of the emergency room. Before long, a sweet old lady ushers me back out to the waiting room, and she only frowns when I ask her if I’ll get updates.

  “If you’re not family, dear, you’re not privileged to that information.”

  It’s midday, the sun blazing through the windows when Mrs. Schofield comes back out into the waiting room. I rush to stand as she approaches. Her movements are slow, like it’s taking everything in her power just to cross the room. Her face is unreadable, but her red-rimmed eyes make my chest heave. My knees weaken, threatening to make me crash to the floor.

  “Is sh-she okay?” My words come out on a sob.

  Mrs. Schofield reaches for me, placing a calming hand on my arm, but it feels like a brick, as if she’s transferring the weight of the world from her shoulders to mine.

  “She’s going to be fine.”

  She gives me a weak, reassuring smile, but the relief weighs as much as the horrible news I thought she was delivering. Knees first, I crash to the floor at her feet. With my head lowered into my hands, I sob like a child. Elation fills every cell in my body. I’m so happy she’s okay, but it’s the burden of the vow I made myself while sitting here for hours that’s going to kill me.

  “Can I see her?”

  She nods, turning without a word and walks toward the elevator bank.

  “Devin doesn’t want you here, but he went back to the office for a little bit. You’ll need to be gone before he returns.”

  I nod in understanding. If I were Dr. Schofield, I wouldn’t want my amazing daughter near a man like me either.

  “What was wrong with her?” I ask.

  “She had a subdural hematoma,” she says, but that just makes me stare at her harder in confusion. “She had a small brain bleed.”

  “From the accident?” Her lip twitches, and I can tell she’s mad at me, too.

  “Yes. They got it under control with medicine.”

  “I won’t be long,” I promise when she points me toward a door. “I only need to say goodbye.”

  My throat burns with tears, with hatred for myself, with pity I shouldn’t be allowed to feel when I step inside and see her small body in the hospital bed.

  My feet feel like stones, my legs infused with lead as I walk closer. I’ve lost my memories, a blessing and a tragedy all rolled into one, but it’s what I have to do now that is going to destroy me.

  This is the coward’s way out. Asking for forgiveness doesn’t even enter into my head because I don’t deserve it. I never did.

  Insisting such from her was just another thing I need to atone for.

  I clasp her hand between mine, the warmth of her skin assuring me that she’s going to be okay. I whisper that I love her, and it’s because of this love that I have to walk away.

  Chapter 36

  Piper

  “I said I’m fine.” I swipe at my mother’s hands as she once again straightens my covers.

  “You’re in the hospital for the second time this summer,” she huffs as she drops her hands to her sides. “I don’t think there’s anything fine about that.”

  “I don’t even have a headache,” I mumble. “When do I get to go home?”

  I do my best to ignore my silent phone, but even though it’s not ringing or sounding out alerts for texts, it has had all my focus since I woke up a couple of hours ago.

  This hospital visit is different from the last one. I’m not covered with aches and pains. I’m not worried that I killed someone. I’m only concerned with why Dalton hasn’t answered when I called and hasn’t once responded to one of my texts.

  “You want to go home to see that boy,” my dad snaps from the other side of the room, “and that’s not going to happen.”

  I narrow my eyes at my father. Days ago, he left the ball in my court, left the decision to date Dalton on me, but he’s changed his tune. He’s putting his foot down, which is ridiculous. The man is a pediatrician for Christ’s sake. He should know better than to forbid a teenager anything.

  “He’s—” I begin, but he interrupts.

  “He brought you to the emergency room naked,” Dad seethes.

  My skin heats with embarrassment, but if I’m going to be doing adult things with my boyfriend, then I need to approach this situation like an adult.

  I’m not ashamed of what Dalton and I have done so far, but speaking about it with my parents isn’t something I want to do.

  “We didn’t have sex,” I tell him honestly.

  “Only because you passed out before it got that far.”

  What did Dalton tell them? Surely, he wouldn’t go into explicit detail about the twenty minutes in his room before I was unconscious.

  “I’m seventeen,” I remind him. “Eighteen in a couple of weeks. I’m mature enough to make my own decisions about sex.”

  “Yet, you’re not intelligent enough to stay out of a car when the driver has been drinking?” He raises a challenging eyebrow at me. “You’re back here again because of him.”

  “This isn’t his fault,” I begin, but snap my lips closed.

  Dalton didn’t want me to tell anyone that I was driving. I’m not saying that I won’t confess eventually, but I also don’t want to break my promise to him without talking to him about it first.

  “The hell it isn’t,” Dad seethes.

  Mom places a hand on his back, and it seems to comfort him some, but I know it’s not enough to make him forget about the entire situation.

  I’m opening my mouth to argue further when the nurse walks into the room.

  “How are we feeling?” Her bright smile is a stark contrast to the atmosphere filling the room.

  “I’m fine.”

  Mom frowns at my snappy reply, but I ignore her.

  The nurse’s smile doesn’t falter as she checks something on the IV machine.

  “Who are you?”

  I roll my eyes but answer, “Piper Schofield.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Westover Regional Hospital.”

 
“What happened to you earlier today?”

  “I had a delayed brain bleed due to a car accident a few weeks ago. I got a headache at my boyfriend’s house right before we were going to have sex.” I look at my dad and emphasize my connection to Dalton. He doesn’t seem impressed. “I passed out and ended up here.”

  “And what—”

  I answer her next question, stating the time after looking down at my phone and the date.

  This is the third time they’ve been in my room to conduct neuro checks. They said I could go home after the fourth one, and I’m just biding my time. It’s late, the sun already giving up for the day and falling below the horizon, but after sleeping some, I feel rejuvenated and ready to go home.

  “Very good, Piper,” the nurse praises. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “See?” I glare at my dad when the nurse excuses herself. “I’m fine.”

  “You haven’t been fine for a long time,” Mom says.

  My skin begins to tingle, and the healed cuts on the inside of my thighs burn as if they’re reopening and coming back to life.

  “Wh-what?”

  “When I went back to the house to get your phone and some clothes for you…” Dad swallows, looking away from my eyes.

  “What did you do?”

  “We have every right as parents to go through your things.”

  My pulse pounds in my ears, but the headache I expect stays away this time. It’s only a simple relief because if he’s saying what I think he’s saying, there’s no hope for Dalton and me.

  “What did you do?”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t bother trying to wipe them away as they cascade down my cheeks in a torrent. I don’t care that my itchy hospital gown is getting soaked around my neck. It’s the pain on my parents’ faces that nearly guts me.

  I never wanted them to find any of this out, especially after Dalton has changed.

  They won’t care. They won’t bother to take the time to see him as anything other than the monster they’ve clearly read about.

  “He’s done horrible things to you,” Dad whispers.

  “I care about him,” I argue. “He’s not the same man as the one you read about.”

  “You didn’t tell us any of it,” Mom adds. “You’ve been suffering this whole time…”

  She drops her head into her hands and sobs. Dad wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in close to his chest. Sad eyes look up at me over her head.

  “You’ve scarred your body because of him.”

  “Not just him.” I say the words before I realize they don’t really help my case. Everything everyone did to me was because of Dalton, and depending on how much they read, they’d know that, too.

  “Exactly,” Dad says.

  I want to remind them of the times I came to them to tell them that Dalton was mean to me, and they just made excuses for the way little boys act around pretty girls, but this isn’t their fault any more than it is mine. All of this is on Dalton, and I just have to figure out a way to make them understand that forgiving him is my responsibility, not theirs.

  “This is the second time I’ve been in the hospital. Why didn’t you mention the scars on my legs before? Surely the doctors noticed them after the accident.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, needing to deflect as much of this spotlight off of Dalton and me and point it somewhere else.

  “The doctor mentioned them,” Dad admits, “but they were secondary to the head injury. You seemed happier shortly after you got home, so I didn’t mention them.”

  “I was happier because of Dalton.” Everything is completely different than it was the day Dalton sprayed me with the water hose the night of the party.

  “He’s tortured you for years,” Dad says like I need the reminder. “You cut yourself because of him.”

  I don’t have an argument for this because it’s true. The pain I’ve endured for as long as I can remember hasn’t faded. I don’t have on rose-colored glasses where Dalton is concerned, and I wouldn’t be arguing with my parents if I truly didn’t believe he’s changed.

  “I should’ve come to you about the way I was being treated at school, but I was handling it.”

  “By cutting?” Mom pulls her face from Dad’s shirt to look at me. “Oh, sweetheart, that isn’t the way to handle things like this. You should’ve come to us.”

  I bite my tongue until I taste blood. Even if I had come to my parents about what was going on, there’s a good chance they couldn’t have stopped it. Dalton and his band of idiots were relentless, and I’ve seen what happens when kids speak up. Things get worse for them, and worse for me would’ve been an early grave because I was always teetering on that edge anyway.

  “I care about him,” I repeat.

  “It’s Stockholm Syndrome,” my dad mumbles. “I never should’ve allowed you to tutor Peyton. It put you in his evil path.”

  I scoff. “It’s not Stockholm Syndrome.”

  “I’m a doctor,” he reminds me.

  “And I’m the person going through all of this. Things were fine after the accident. The Paynes came over and had dinner with us. Why the sudden change? Why now? Even if I wasn’t dating Dalton, I probably would’ve ended up here. This isn’t his fault. We both made mistakes that night.”

  “You could’ve died,” Mom sobs, her emotions taking over again.

  “I could die walking to the mailbox!” I yell. “I could die from a million things that have nothing to do with the accident. I’m not going to stop seeing him.”

  My father grinds his back teeth, but he doesn’t open his mouth to insist I never speak to Dalton again, and for that I’m grateful.

  When they head to the cafeteria for more coffee and something to eat, I drop Peyton a text to find out what’s going on with Dalton and why he won’t respond to me.

  It’s late, and she has the test tomorrow. That’s what I tell myself when she doesn’t text me back either.

  Chapter 37

  Dalton

  They tell me I used to love the color black.

  There are many things from my past that I hate.

  Myself and the dark color surrounding me are the two things leading the pack right now.

  People whimper and cry beside me, and I’m just numb, so broken that my pieces can’t combine enough to form wetness in my own eyes.

  I deserve this.

  I deserve watching the love of my life with her ashen face and hands crossed on her stomach in constant repose as the preacher talks about her devotion to life and helping others.

  I deserve the looks from her mother and father that speak of the million ungodly things they wish would happen to me.

  I deserve the blame my own parents planted at my feet for my involvement in the steps that led up to today.

  I deserve it all.

  The torture.

  The wreck.

  The getting my heart ripped from my chest because of an undiagnosed brain bleed that snuffed out the life of the most beautiful girl in the world.

  She was fine when I left the hospital that day. Even her mother assured me she would be okay.

  She didn’t deserve this, though.

  She didn’t deserve the monster that tormented her daily.

  She didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of an idiotic boy and the army of bastards willing to hurt her at his command.

  She deserved the world, and yet she gets a wooden box and six feet of dirt, all the while I’m left on earth without her.

  I can’t do that.

  That can’t happen.

  Our story doesn’t end this way.

  It should be me in that casket. Me leaving this world behind so she can shine in the bright light of the sun and live her life to all its glory.

  It should be me.

  It should be me.

  It should be me.

  My hand trembles as I reach into the inside pocket of my sports coat.

  I’m not scared or afraid of what com
es next.

  It’s the anticipation, the thrill of joining her that makes my blood sing, the unused energy making my fingers twitch.

  July sun glints off the barrel as I hold my salvation to my head and pull the trigger.

  I wake with a start, heart pounding in my ears like drums. Cold sweat covers my skin in a sheen so thick my clothes stick to every inch of my body. My hands are trembling so hard they thump against my forehead when I try to push my hair out of my face.

  I check my phone once again. Seeing that she had texted me twenty minutes ago, the pain from my dream ebbs a little.

  I made promises.

  I vowed to myself that I’d stay away.

  I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I didn’t expect it to be pure torture either.

  She’s called.

  She’s texted.

  She left a voicemail filled with sobs and tears, explaining that her dad read her journals and knows all of the horrific things I did to her.

  She begged me to come see her, but I can’t face the pain on her face.

  I can’t face the girl I love because of what I saw.

  Every time I close my eyes, the wounds on her thighs are front and center. Some were older, thinned and fading to a light silvery color, but there were others that were still pink and angry, proof of the pain I caused her. I hurt her so much that she hurt herself.

  What kind of monster does that make me?

  What kind of person pushes someone else so far that they take a razor and cut into their own skin?

  And yet I want her.

  I need her like I need air, and it’s killing me to keep my distance.

  Going to her would be selfish. It would calm my pain, but it does nothing to ease hers.

  There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do to make things better. I can’t erase the past, not like mine has been erased from my mind.

  I don’t deserve the reprieve. I shouldn’t be able to sit on my bed with her journals spread all around and merely read about the things I’ve done to her. I need to be wrapped in her torment, cocooned in her pain until I’m suffocated in retribution.

  A soft knock on my door doesn’t even make me lift my eyes.

  “Hey.” Peyton has stopped in to chat more than once since I took Piper to the emergency room three days ago, so I know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “Did you finally text her back?”