The Perfect Storm 3

Chapter 232

The large clock in the waiting room greets me at the hospital I've been in too many times. Miles sits beside me but I don't hear a word from him, I know that deep down our love is something that will never burn out but on the surface, there's too much preventing us from accessing what's deep down—too deep.

"I'll get us water," Miles says and I nod as I watch him stand up, leaving his phone behind on the table next to his seat. 

He doesn't seem to be too involved in the text messages he seems to be receiving almost every hour and I Can't help but feel glad even though it's selfish.

I hear a buzz coming from his phone and I can't help but glance over even though Miles is right in front of me, his back facing toward me. He could turn around any second and see just how desperate I am, just what a mess, how selfish and jealous and not myself I am without him. I take a quick glance and my heart falls—an email from NYU. 

And just then, Miles spots me. he's calm as he approaches. He hands me the water and smiles.

"Are you still thinking of NYU?" I ask calmly.

"Yeah, I uh, I still want to keep my options open." He says as he sits down and before I can ask him more, the doctors distract both of us.

Miles's POV

Fuck. God damnit. Endless throughs stream through my head, I shouldn't have left my phone with her, I shouldn't have even . . . fuck.

I rub the bruises on my knuckles, watching how I've not only hurt myself but her. I've hurt her. 

I wait patiently for her to get back, I don't give a fuck about anything, not what the bill will cost, I'll pay it, I'll do anything, If I'll have to take care of her, I'll do it, if she wants me, she can have me forever, if she doesn't I'll leave. 

I grab the key she gave me back out of my pocket and watch as I roll it between my fingers, watching how the silver metal shines at me. Everything before her was dead; dark, pitch-black but with her, I want nothing but light, I want to feel her light, her love, the elevation I feel with her as if I could fly into the clouds and never come back. 

I watch the gold and black ring resting on my pinky finger with bruises all around it, covering my knuckles. As I stare at my fingers, thinking of the light Madison fills me with, I realize something, something I can't turn back from.

Madison's POV

I slowly approach Miles who takes a few seconds before he realizes I'm standing in front of him. As soon as he spots me, he stands up, he's quick to get up on his feet, his eyes meeting mine.

"Are you—" He asks and I know he's going to ask if I'm okay, instead of answering him, I nod and a smile starts to grow from my lips. 

He smiles back and then drops his head down before looking back up at me.

"I'll take care of it." He tells me and I part my lips, not knowing how to thank him, and not knowing how to stop him. He's quick to the woman at the front desk. I see the way she looks at us. She's much older but the look of disapproval might as well be from someone my age who hates everything about Miles and me together.

Miles is too quick to wipe his black card before I can do anything about it.

"I don't want you to pay everything for me, I don't need your help . . . not when it's this much." I start and he parts his lips as we slowly make our way out the sliding door but I don't let him start. "And especially the last visit you paid for when you disappeared before I could—"

"What last visit?" He asks confused.

"I . . . when the bill was—"

"I didn't pay that bill." He all of a sudden says and I realize we're both talking about the exact same thing. It's as if the air n the room has been refreshed, changed out somehow; I can breathe for the first time in a long time and I know he can too, our eyes meeting like this is too much so I quickly look down at his fingers, but then after realizing I don't want him to have to explain himself, I look back at him.

"I left but when I . . . when I came back, it was paid for, it wasn't by me." He says and my head starts to spin. How could that be?

"They said it was paid by a family member." He says, his lips in a tight line, but not the angry or annoying kind, but the worried and unsure kind. He plays with his lips and then runs his fingers through his hair.

"But I—" I stop, realizing that it can't be, it can't be him. My mother couldn't have paid it, and neither did I. It must be, it has to be him. It has to be my father.