Chapter 4

Joseph continued, "Giselle's only out there for the band! If anything bad happens to her, can you really take responsibility?"

Every single word, all of it was fiercely protective.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say I didn't really need him to be there with me.

That I just wanted to get an answer from him. But the words got stuck in my throat.

Joseph had already turned and walked straight into the night without looking back.

The front door slammed shut with a loud crash. The walls shook from the impact.

Everything fell silent. Only the lonely, cold light in the living room was left, casting a harsh white glow.

I stood there, unmoving, as if time itself had stopped for me.

Priorities. What mattered, what didn't. That was right,

In Joseph's mind, he always knew exactly what was important and what could be set aside. He never once blurred those lines.

At the end of the hallway, the morning light was cold and bleak.

*****

I hadn't slept a wink all night. The heavy bang of the front door slamming shut last night still lingered in my ears.

I leaned against the wall, clutching the bill tightly in my hand.

The sharp edge of the paper dug into my palm, leaving a burning pain.

The head nurse hurried past, her steps suddenly halted. "Miss Bagwell, you need to sign the surgery consent form," she said.

She glanced at the empty hallway behind me and asked, "Where's the guy with the nice car who picked you up last time? There's a lot to carry. He'd really make things easier."

My throat tightened, as if someone had stuffed it full of wet cotton.

I tried to smile, but couldn't manage it. "He's busy," I replied.

The head nurse's gaze lingered, as if she saw right through me, but she didn't press any further.

She just gave my shoulder a quick pat and walked away.

That pat was light. But it still made my knees go weak.

I dropped my gaze. My eyes fell on the weighty bill in my hand.

Through the glass window, Mom lay surrounded by tubes, her breaths so faint they barely stirred the air.

Helplessness crawled up my spine, the cold sinking into my bones until every joint ached.

My fingers wouldn't cooperate, trembling as I tried to dial.

I fumbled with the screen, swiping again and again before the call finally went through.

This was my last shot. Even if all I got was a borrowed car, that was better than nothing.

The ringing seemed endless. Right before the call was about to cut off, someone finally picked up.

"Hello?" She answered, a woman's voice.

The pounding of heavy metal drums filled the background, mixed with the sound of guys and girls bantering and laughing.

My heart suddenly sank. Giselle.

"Where's Joseph Holden?" I asked.

My throat felt raw and scratchy, like I'd swallowed a mouthful of sand.

"Hey, Eunice?" Giselle was clearly caught off guard to hear from me.

Her voice wavered for a moment, then she raised it to be heard over the chaos in the background.

She added, "Joseph's... locked away working on something. He can't come to the phone right now."

Locked away working on something? In a club packed with booze and hormones?

That excuse was downright pathetic.

Before I could even call her out, a man's voice cut in through the receiver, loud and unmistakable.

He sounded a little drunk, his tone lazy and indulgent. "Hey babe, who are you chatting with? Come over here and have a drink."

Babe. The word jolted through the line like an electric shock, piercing straight into my ears.

My fingers jerked around the phone, knuckles turning bone-white.

On the other end, I could hear her breath catch, frozen for a moment.

I didn't want to hear any more of it. Every extra second was pure agony.

I hung up. My stomach cramped up, bile rising in my throat.

Swallowing back the nausea, I tapped open my feed.

Just a few minutes ago, Giselle had posted an update. The photo was awash in dreamy, dim lights.

Joseph had his arm draped around her, flashing a reckless, bold smile, his eyes brimming with pure indulgence.

The caption read: [Guard my muse.]

So this was how things really were.

While I was stranded in the hospital with nowhere to turn, he was out at the club, guarding his muse.

It turned out that my so-called "trivial problems" weren't worth a moment of his attention.

I didn't freak out. I wasn't even angry. Just numbness, like the dust had finally settled.

I tapped on the profile picture, deleted, and locked. Then I tapped on another profile.

My fingers moved like a robot, deleting and blocking them all in one go.

Soon, those glaring names vanished from the screen, gone completely.

My eyes grew hot. A single tear fell onto the screen, smearing the glow across the glass.

I brushed the tear away. The chill lingered on my skin.