Poison Me Sweetly (32 page)

Monday morning, I am seething with anger. No one
bothered to tell me that I'd be going home with my parents until two hours
before I'm supposed to be released. I'd just assumed that I'd be staying with
Caleb or vice versa. The doctor is insisting I have help twenty-four/seven for
the next week while my incision from surgery heals. That, and I can't use the
crutches yet, because my shoulder injury is too painful. That leaves me pretty
much bedridden for a week at least. I'd been looking forward to lounging in
Caleb's bed at his place, not my old bed at my
parents.

I glare at Caleb accusingly.

He clears his throat and looks at my parents. “Can I
have a moment alone with Zoey?”

“Yes, of course,” my dad says as he sends Caleb a look
of sympathy before he escorts my mom out of the room.

My eyes narrow on Caleb. It hadn't escaped my notice
the past few days that my parents seem to adore him, and Caleb seems to
genuinely like them. The traitor.

Caleb squarely meets my gaze, ignoring the expression
on my face. “It's only for one week.”

“You are my boyfriend, Caleb. I don't need to go home
with mommy and daddy. I'm a full grown adult. There is absolutely no reason why
I can't stay with you.” I give him a death glare. “Or do you not want me
around? Is that it?”

He gives me a look. “You know I want you around. It's
going to kill me being away from you for a full week.”

“Tell them I'm staying with you then.”

Caleb looks at me with that steely look of his that
I'm learning to dread, and he shakes his head. “I can't. Your parents asked for
this time with you, and I won't stand in the way of that.”

“What about what I want?” I snap.

“You can't avoid them forever. I think a week with
them might be exactly what you need.”

“Are you serious?” I ask incredulously. “I'm going to
be confined to my bed. I won't be able to walk away when they hover too much.
It'll be like my own personal version of Hell. You
know
this!”

“They weren't there for you when you needed them three
years ago. Let them have the chance to be here for you now,” he says steadily
as he gazes at me unflinchingly.

“I don't need them!”

“You need them more than ever,” he corrects.

I growl at him from where I sit on the hospital bed.
“Caleb...”

“It's one week, Zoey. Give them at least that.”

“Whatever, I'll just stay with Ace and Jeremy. They
can help with my sponge baths. They've seen it all before anyway,” I taunt.

He crosses his arms, his lips tightening slightly.
“Low blow. And it's not happening.”

“Give me the phone.”

“I already spoke with them, and they are with me on
this one. You're staying with your parents.”

My teeth grind. “You are so paying for this, Caleb
Preston.”

“I figured as much,” he says with a visible wince.

I continue to glare at him, and an hour later I'm
still pissed off at him as a nurse pushes me in a wheelchair out the front
doors of the hospital. My dad climbs out of the driver's seat of the SUV that
is parked in the circular drive. I stare moodily at the vehicle as the nurse
gives my mom last minute instructions.

Caleb squats down in front of my wheel chair, his blue
eyes searching mine. “Don't be like this, Zoey.”

I shoot him one of my best glares. If he thinks I'm
letting him off the hook, he's in for an unpleasant surprise. I can't fucking
take a bath or shower. I'm going be suffering through sponge baths at my mom's
hand. I'm going to need help just getting to and from the damn bathroom. To
have to accept help from
them
of all people... How can he not understand
how upsetting this is for me?

Caleb sighs and pulls a cell phone out of his pocket.
He sets it on my lap. “I got you a new phone since your other one was destroyed
in the accident. I stored all your old contacts in it already. You can text me
day or night,” he tells me.

“Caleb, would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”
my mom asks kindly.

He rises to his feet and smiles warmly at her.
“Thanks, Mrs.
Monohan
, but I work at the crisis
center tonight. Maybe another time.”

That lying mother fucker. I know his usual schedule,
and he has the night off. I don't out him, though. Instead, my attention is
diverted. I find myself embarrassed as my dad helps me into the back seat of
the car. It fades when the pain distracts me, and I clench my teeth together as
my incision throbs and my shoulder aches. Surprisingly enough, my cast doesn't
bother me too much, it just seems to get in the way more than anything.

“Okay?” my dad asks gruffly as he adjusts the seatbelt
around me.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

He carefully shuts the door, and I glance out the
window to see Caleb standing next to the nurse with the now empty wheelchair.
He has a pained expression on his face, and I know this isn't easy on him.
Caleb's a good guy, he's respecting my parents and trying to help make things
right. It's kind of hard to be mad at a man that's just looking out for my best
interests, even if I stubbornly refuse to admit it.

I lift my hand, tentatively waving to him as my
parents climb in the front seats and my dad starts the car. He lifts a hand and
waves back, his expression softening.

A few minutes later we're leaving the hospital behind,
and I go back to feeling moody.

My mom turns in her seat to look back at me. “We're
setting you up in the guest room on the first floor. It has an attached
bathroom, and your father also installed a TV on the wall for you so that you
don't get too bored.”

“Caleb also brought by your laptop,” my dad adds.

“Okay. Thanks,” I say politely.

Silence falls over the interior of the SUV, and I
glance at the phone in my lap. I pick it up and scroll down to Caleb's number.
I can't resist sending him a quick little text message
. Get reacquainted
with your hand, it's the only action you'll be getting for a while.

His response is immediate
. I figured as much.

I bite my lip, trying not to smile as I set the phone
aside and gaze out the window.

“Zoey?”

My head lifts and I look around blearily. I must have
fallen asleep during the drive, because I see we're parked in the driveway at
the house, and my dad has my car door open. I fight back a yawn, and my eyes
water. I'd been warned by the doctor that I would likely sleep a lot in the coming
weeks as my body heals. Between the pain meds and the anti-depressant my body
is still adjusting to, I feel like I'm constantly struggling to stay awake. The
tiredness seems to be the only annoying side effect I'm dealing with when it
comes to the anti-depressant. Hopefully, my body will adjust soon and it'll go
away.

“Ready?” my dad asks lightly.

“No,” I grumble.

My mom peers around my dad's shoulder. “We can always
go buy you a wheelchair,” she offers helpfully.

“No point. I'll only be here a week.” Her face falls
slightly, and I look away and grab the phone beside me.

The next few minutes are painful as my dad helps me
inside the house and to the guest room. By the time I gingerly collapse on the
bed, I'm pale and sweat has broken out across my forehead. The area around my
incision throbs, and my shoulder is screaming bloody murder.

My mom hovers as my dad sets the TV remote near my
hip. “Order whatever you want off of pay-per-view,” he tells me.

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you something,” my mom
offers.

“No, I just want to sleep,” I say tiredly.

“Okay. Well, if you need anything, just holler,” she
insists.

The next morning, I wake up and realize my bladder is
about to explode. I glance at the bathroom, which is about ten feet away. Not
that far to the average person, but to a physically challenged person like
myself, it looks a mile. My eyes shift back to the open door of the guest room,
and I find myself grimacing. My parents insisted on leaving it open so that
they could hear me if I call out to them.

I have yet to willingly ask for help. They are usually
hovering, constantly asking if I'm hungry, or if I have to use the bathroom. I
only used it once last night, and it had been a miserable experience. I really
don't want to have to repeat it, but if I don't do something, I'm going to pee
my pants. Now I know how Caleb felt cuffed to my bed with a full bladder. No
living breathing adult will willingly piss themselves.

I chew my lower lip.

Maybe today will be better than yesterday. I could probably
hobble to the bathroom. There are crutches leaning against the far wall, but I
won't be able to use them until I can manage to use my injured shoulder.

Hobble it is.

I carefully sit up, trying hard not to move my left
shoulder. Sleeping last night had been uncomfortable. No matter what I did,
some part of my body hurt. The sudden sound of my stomach growling has me
realizing I'm absolutely starved. I think I skipped supper last night, because
I don't remember eating. I'd probably slept through the entire evening.

Okay, time to take care of business. I carefully ease
my bare legs to the floor. My right leg has a cast on it starting below the
knee, while my left one is full of bruises and one ugly looking abrasion where some
of the skin has been scraped off. It looks nasty. Caleb had packed a bag full
of comfy clothing from my apartment, and he’d given it to my parents before the
hospital had released me. I'm currently wearing a tank top and boxer shorts. At
least I can move around easily, and they don't hinder my movement.

Very gingerly, I ease myself onto my good foot. My
body feels weak, and as I rest my cast on the floor, I wince. Damn this hurts.
If it weren't for my shoulder, I'd be able to use crutches, and I wouldn't be
in this predicament.

“Zoey!” my mom scolds.

I look up to see her entering the room. I shoot her a
stubborn look. “I can do it myself.”

“No, you cannot,” she says in a tone that warns me arguing
will get me nowhere. She comes over and gently slips herself beneath my right
arm, and I have no choice but to accept her help as I slowly hobble towards the
bathroom. By the time I shut myself inside for privacy, I feel like puking.

God, I feel like shit.

I quickly do my business. By the time I'm done, I lean
against the wall, and my forehead is damp. My energy has deserted me, and I'm
left feeling shaky.

“Zoey?”

“Yeah, Mom. I'm ready,” I say tiredly, and she
immediately opens the door. Getting back to bed utterly wipes me out, and I'm
relieved once I am flat on my back amongst the pillows.

“Are you ready for some breakfast?” my mom asks as she
pulls a sheet up over me.

“I'm starved.”

“I bet. You were pretty out of it last night. I'll be
right back with some pancakes.”

“Okay,” I say as I watch her hustle from the room. I
feel my eyelids growing heavy, and I begin to mentally curse. Damn it all to
hell, I'm hungry!

When I wake up again, I can tell that at least a few
hours has passed, thanks to the shift in sunlight that shines through the guest
room window. I'm just as hungry as before, if not more. My stomach is going to
start eating my lining here pretty soon.

I scan the room, and my eyes roam over all the flowers
and balloons that my parents had brought back from the hospital the other day.
My eyes rest on the dozen roses in a glass vase on the dresser. A fluffy white
teddy bear sits next to it, holding a 'Get Well' balloon. My lips curve. I miss
Caleb so much.

“Well, look who's finally awake!” I look up to see my
mom grinning from the doorway. “I'll go grab you your lunch before
it's
lights out again,” she jokes before she disappears.

“I need some caffeine!” I yell after her. I'm sick of
sleeping.

A few minutes later she's back with a tray. She sets
it down on the bed and helps me adjust my pillows, so I'm sitting up
comfortably. When I see the big bowl of soup and the sub sandwich, my mouth
waters. A can of soda sits on the tray next to the plate.

“Caleb called last night to check up on you.”

“He did? I didn't hear my phone,” I say as I pick up
the spoon and dig into my soup with barely contained relish.

“That's because he called the land-line. He didn't
want to disturb you if you were sleeping. He seems like such a wonderful young
man,” she says.

I glance at her. “He is.”

“Are you two serious? He seems to care about you very
much.”

I don't say anything as I study my soup. In a way, it
feels like nothing has changed, and everything is the way it had been. Before
Micah died, this is how she was whenever I was sick. Always hovering and trying
to make conversation. My lips tighten as I remember days of crying in my room
with no one to turn to.

“Nothing has changed, Mom. The only reason I'm here is
because the guys wouldn't let me stay with them.” As soon as the words are out
of my mouth, there's a part of me that wants to take them back. Gone are the
days when I enjoy hurting people with angry words. I feel no enjoyment hurting
my mom. Just emptiness.

She draws in a sharp breath. “I realize that, Zoey.
I...” she sighs and evidently changes her mind about whatever she was going to
say. “Let me know if you need anything,” she says lightly before she leaves.

I eat my meal in moody silence. When I'm finished, I
carefully nudge the tray off my lap and reach for my phone off the nightstand.
I see that one of my parents had shut off my phone last night. I turn it on and
see that I have a few missed text messages. I read Ace's first and roll my
eyes.
Have your parents kicked you out yet?
I don't bother replying back.
I find a message from both AJ and Jeremy, letting me know that they are
thinking of me and to let them know if I need anything. There are a few get
well wishes from other friends, and then I see Caleb's message. It was sent two
hours ago.

Morning, Sparky. Spoke with Micaela, and she was
asking about you. I didn't think it was wise to tell her about the car
accident, so I said you fell down the stairs. I hope that's okay. She plans on
calling you later after school, so I thought I'd better give you a heads-up.

I quickly type out a message to him.
Which stairs
did I fall down?

Two minutes later he sends back a message.
Apartment
stairs. How are you feeling today?

Sore and tired
,
I send back.

I miss you,
is the next message from him.

I miss you, too.

How are things with your parents?

I grimace and type out:
They are driving me nuts.
You suck for making me stay here.

I'll make it up to you. I promise.

You better.

I'm in class. Text me later if you're not sleeping?

Maybe.
I set
the phone aside and look around the guest room. I'm bored already. This is
going to be a long and miserable week.