I'm Not Fine At All 》Michael Clifford

Chapter Twelve

Riley's POV:

I sat in the small room, staring at the white hospital walls while holding my hand out for the doctor to stitch. He had numbed it, so it didn't hurt, but I did feel a slight tugging every time he would go to tie a stitch, and it was almost sickening.

He finally tied the last one, then cleaned my hand off and wrapped it up. He stood and looked me in the eye. "How do you feel, Miss Braxton?"

"Can I go see Michael now?" He sighed. It had been an hour since the police rushed us to the hospital, and I had been asking for Michael non stop.

"Yes, you may go see him now." He replied, and I jumped up immediately.

"Which room?" I asked, and he told me room 203. I ran down the halls until I came to his room, and quietly opened the door. He was lying on the bed, paler than ever, asleep. There was the annoying beeping of the heart monitor, and his breathing was slow and steady. I walked silently over to him, taking in all of the little details.

His hair was bright against the white hospital sheets. His left arm lay above the sheets, palm up. The doctors had removed his bracelets and wristbands, so the scars were painfully clear. The one from my dad, all stitched up, reaching from his wrist, nearly down to his elbow, curling from the left side of the arm and wrapping around to the right. The ones he'd put there himself... I almost cried right there just looking at them. How could he feel so alone? How could he do that to himself?

I sat down on the corner of the bed, and took his right hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. He stirred a little, then his breathtaking green eyes were on mine. There was a small smile on his lips, and he looked down at our hands, then back at me. Other than the slight drowsiness in his eyes and in the way he moved, he seemed perfectly fine.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." I mumbled to him.

"So you're saying I'm beautiful?" He asked playfully. Yup, he was fine.

"Maayybee..." I dragged out the word, then quickly looked away from him, sure that I was blushing. "So how are you doing?" I tried to change the subject.

"Well, that depends." He said. "How are you doing?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"A little sore, the pain meds are wearing off, but I'm fine." I replied.

"Then I'm great." He confirmed. I smiled at his sweetness.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he struggled to move around.

"I wanna sit uuup!" He whined like a child. I just laughed and helped him sit up straight, then at down on the bed right next to him. The moment I sat down all the way, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and pulled me against him, which, I do admit, was very comfortable.

"Michael," I whispered.

"Yes?" He whispered back.

"What happened to my dad?" He took a deep breath and tightened his grip around me.

"Your dad... he um... they took him to prison for abuse and a few other things, I think." He told me. Tears welled up in my eyes. Sure, he was a crappy father, and sure, he hurt me repeatedly, but he was still my father, and as much as he hated me, I still cared for him. I felt the tears trickling slowly down my cheek, and Michael quietly wiped them away with his thumb.

I hated crying in front of people, and even though he's seen it before, the realization hit that I was in fact crying, I sniffled and quickly wiped my face. Michael saw this, and immediately looked at me with concern.

"Riley, it's okay to cry. He's the only family you had," He said, but I shook my head.

"I'm fine."