Portrait of a Bad Boy ✓

Chapter 8: Hospital

It was late at night when Blake got the call. Groaning, he reached for his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Blake."

At the sobbing voice, he sat up. "Lyla?"

"Blake, I don't know what to do. I didn't know who to call. I-I-"

"Hey, calm down." His voice softened. "Calm down, ok." Throwing his cover off, his bare feet touched the carpet floor. "What's going on?"

"I was-I was waiting for my mom to get home, when I got a call from the hospital." His eyes widened. "They said she was admitted and I have no idea how to get there. I don't have a car, Blake and..."

"Hey, calm down. I'm on my way right now, ok."

"Ok," she sobbed. "Hurry."

Feeling his heart ached, Blake threw his clothes on in record time. Grabbing his keys, he sent a message to his parents before he hopped in and sped down the road. Reaching her home, he barely slowed to stop before his passenger door opened.

She climbed in, eyes red and hair in a bonnet as she sat in sweatpants and t-shirt. "The hospital is in Northfield."

That's a two hour drive. His hands clenched the steering wheel before he pressed on the gas. As they reached a red light, a sob made him reach across and grab her hand. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she whispered. "She's all I have left."

Blake squeezed her hand. "She's going to be ok."

"They said she wasn't breathing. That they had to...had to..." Blake squeezed her hand, before he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. "It's going to be alright."

He didn't know what he would do if it wasn't.

An hour into the drive, Blake noticed she was starting to nod off. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

Her wide eyes snapped to her. "I can't. If we-"

"I'll wake you up when we get there, ok."

Lyla hesitated for a second, before she reluctantly nodded her head. "Alright, but as soon as we get there. Wake me up." Blake nodded before he gave her hand one last squeeze.

An hour later they reached Northfield. Pulling into the nearest gas station, he bought a city map and followed it to the hospital. Reaching across, he shook Lyla awake before the two headed inside.

"Natalie Smith," Lyla hurried to the desk behind the counter. "My mother?"

The nurse typed something on the computer. "Alright, she's in room 34. Only family members can see her though," she stated as Lyla reached for Blake's hand. Lyla froze as fear bloomed across her face.

"Hey," He gave her hand a squeeze. "It's alright. I'll be waiting right here if you need me ok?"

Lyla nodded. "Ok."

With one last squeeze, Blake took a seat in the lobby. Leaning back, he stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes.

All he could do right now was wait.

************

Pushing the door open, Blake released a sigh before he pulled out his pack. With a single inspection, he lit up and watched the glow for a few seconds before he inhaled.

"Blake!" He glanced over at the storming figure. His eyes scanned her halter top and denim jean figure before she was right in his face. "What is your problem?" She snapped.

"My problem?"

"Fighting Neil, getting him expelled. Seriously, what type of game are you playing?"

"I'm not playing any games." He shrugged his shoulders. "Your boyfriend was the one that wouldn't move from my locker. Also, he was the one who punched me first so..." He blew out a stream of smoke into the air. "You can just leave now."

Lyla's eyes narrowed before she folded her arms. A thing she did when she was about to brace for an argument. No. Blake pushed himself up. "Don't." He pointed at her. "Your boyfriend came over to me and he punched me."

"Only because he was defending your messy leftovers," she barked back. At the hurt in her eyes, guilt sparked in his chest. She turned her gaze away. "I should have known that's all you saw me while you're stuffing your tongue down Molly's throat."

"Don't go there." Blake stepped toward her. "That's not true and you know it. Besides, clearly you're one to talk when you're having dinner dates with Neil! My best friend when it hasn't even been a month!"

Something flashed across Lyla's gaze before she turned away. "It's not the same."

"How is it not the same?" Blake snapped. At Lyla's silence, his eyes narrowed. "How is it not the same, Lyla?" But she had tightened her arms around herself, letting him know he wasn't going to get his answer any time soon.

He scoffed at her before he went to throw the cigarette away. Pathetic. Heading to his car, he threw his stuff inside and stared home. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove home as fast as the law allowed.

"Don't bother me!" He yelled, slamming the door behind him. Yanking the ladder down, he climbed up to his attic and slammed it shut. Closing his eyes, he tried to take deep breaths and pushed the bubble anger down.

It's not the same.

"How is it not the same?" He yelled into the void. Getting no answer back, Blake's gaze snapped to the painting. Without warning, he had the canva snapped in half. Dropping it to the ground, he stared down at the woman whose eyes haunted him.

Why? His chest shuddered. Why wasn't I good enough?

"Blake?" Mirna's gaze snapped from the canva to him. "Are you alright?"

Was he alright?

No. Not even in the slightest. Yet the words refused to come. His breathing hitched as he swallowed the bile of hatred back down. Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Why are you here?"

Mirna ignored the jab. "Portuguese lessons. Your nanny made us Pastéis de Nata." Blake tried to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. Minra eased herself into the room, before she glanced at the broken canvas. Without a word, she pulled into her pocket and pulled out an mp3. "Here hold this."

Blake grabbed the mp3 as she pulled out a tanglement of headphones. "Gah, I should have known they would do this!" She hissed. He watched as she struggled to untangle the headphones, insert the jack, and then hand him one bud.

Blake hesitated, before he popped it into his ears. As the first note of a song played, they laid against the floor, looking up at the dusty ceiling as the music started to play.