Glass [ENG]

8. The glass

I've rarely had such a bad night's sleep. And I was working night shifts at the club, after all.

Sitting stiffly on the hospital bed, with my legs hanging on one side of it, fully clothed, and with my hands, this time professionally bandaged, resting loose on my thighs, I recalled the whole course of events up to the present time.

As if through a fog, I remembered the arrival at the hospital, the scraps of stitching, the illogical sequence of events, procedures and the pain fully striking my limbs. Even at that moment, the dull throbbing was an eternal reminder of the moment when I got carried away. When I broke. When I didn't listen to reason and got myself into a state I ended up in.

And unfortunately, I remembered all the events from the car. This time, the nervous tic was momentarily nipped in the bud, sending me hectoliters of pain before I even flexed my fingers. It was the only thing that could possibly work in my favor.

The doctor told me what had a significant effect on such uncontrolled bleeding from a fairly innocent place. And putting it all together, it made sense. It wasn't even weird.

I also received all instructions, referrals and orders, and then finally I was allowed to leave the building. A small facility with its own, visible years. That's why I sat there for about ten minutes more before I left at check-out time.

I felt an unwanted weakness in my body. Earlier, in the bathroom, I saw my reflection. It wasn't any better. I was grateful to the nurse who fixed my hair for me. I usually shied away from help, but in this case, it was quite comforting. Deep down, I liked when the small fingers of a woman carefully combed individual strands, merging them into a whole ponytail. My pride could have been put aside.

But not for long, because when I went outside and the sun hit my face, my ears got blasted by a loud car horn nearby. And as my eyes adjusted to the brightness around me, I thought the near-bleeding-out experience affected what I was seeing.

Because I couldn't see it.

A girl in a short, buff, black jacket, the same color of loose, baggy-military trousers and sharp shaped sunglasses, was leaning against the blue, bit smaller than average car. She just moved away from the open driver's side window, where she honked the car horn instead of someone actually sitting behind the wheel. Ostentatiously chewing gum, fixing her wavy hair strands falling out of a low, loose bun.

Yeah, in front of the local hospital was none other than Stoned Latina.

Behind the wheel, however, was seated the Perfect Hairstyle girl. I know Kendrick called her by her first name yesterday, but I wasn't in the best shape to remember random names back then. Seeing me, the girl smiled uncertainly, a little bit scared, even? It was a completely opposite smile to the one that, for example, Britt had.

Valentia didn't do much more, because I think she thought that knocking people out with a horn was a good greeting on its own. And when I approached them, still skeptical, the Latina tilted her head to the side, and behind the glasses I could see the outline of a careful but neutral look.

"You look terrible." She went around the car, opening the backseat door. "Get in before we change our minds." And she took the backseat herself.

I sighed, pondering the circumstances of their arrival. Because I didn't think they got there out of the goodness of their hearts. At least one of them.

I got into the front passenger seat, having already seen through the windows that Valentia had taken the middle of the back, sitting comfortably. Even better. She probably made the trip easier for both of us.

As soon as I sat up straight, closing the door, that hope was shattered.

"How the frick do you end up in situations like this?"

"Valie..." said the girl behind the wheel in a warning tone, asking her friend with it to look in the mirror.

The girl raised her hands in the air, making an innocent bystander face.

"Okay," she muttered, turning her head nonchalantly, and it lasted maybe a second. She looked at her friend again. "But doesn't that surprise you?"

"Valentia!"

At the next warning, the Latina only responded with a snort, but she did not say a word. Then the slightly nervous short-haired girl fixed her blue shirt, which was already in perfect condition, and for a moment she turned in my direction.

"I'm Yvette."

After saying that, she gave me her hand.

And then Valentia's hysterical, anti-gracious laughter erupted in the car.

Yvette, a good moment later, buried her face in her hands, suddenly realizing what her friend was die-laughing about. I couldn't help but raise the corner of my mouth.

"Great, Ivy, why don't you high-five her instead! There's a hospital nearby, so don't worry."

The girl gave her a death stare in the mirror, and then moved with the green light. But Valentia's wide, sincere smile never left her lips.

"Glass." I nodded when Yvette looked at me apologetically.

"Sorry, I didn't think."

"It's fine," I replied, already looking at the road ahead of us. "Why did you pick me up?"

The girl in the backseat answered right away.

"Blocked phone, no emergency contacts, it was supposed to be Ken, but it's us. That's why."

"In translation, Kendrick had your phone. He found it in the car after the fact. He had no way to tell anyone in your family because there were no emergency contacts on it. The nurses told him to come pick you up today, and that at this time and day of the week he drives his cousin to school and the others couldn't do it for him, so it landed on us."

I nodded slightly confused at Yvette's elaborate explanation, and was about to ask about the mentioned device when Valentia dug it out of her jacket, reached her hand in my direction, and laid the phone on my leg.

"You only have one message. Blocked, of course." I know, because I tried to read it," she admitted straight up. Has this girl ever held back from anything?

Focusing on the information, I turned on the screen, unlocked it discreetly with my password, and displayed the message Valentia had mentioned. The number was unknown, but seeing the content, I instantly knew from whom it was sent.

And I haven't gotten worse news in the last two months.

"We'll drop you right outside your place. Would you give me the address?" asked the girl next to me, what I realized she did after a while.

I turned away from the screen, gave an approximate, inaccurate address, still seeing one sentence before my eyes. I looked out the window, wanting to escape the gaze of both girls, but my expression was caught in the reflection of the exterior mirror by Valentia. I just hung there for a moment, seeing her exploratory gaze, and then again, a little too quickly, I looked at the road ahead.

When the girls were discussing the false report and the reason for police arrival yesterday, despite their curiosity, I couldn't understand a single word coming out of them.

As if I was thrown underwater.

'See you on Sunday, Gigi.'