Page 31 of Piston

ELEVEN

JENNY

Something's gotta give.It's been 7 days of this shit with Piston and I'm about ready to slap the stubborn right off his face.

I juggle the tray of food, water pitcher, and meds as I barge into his room. He's glaring out the window, not even glancing my way. Figures.

"Mornin', sunshine," I say, all fake sweetness. "Got your breakfast of champs here."

I set the tray down on the nightstand with a clatter. He doesn't flinch. Just keeps staring off like I'm not even here. The anger simmers in my gut.

I cross my arms. "You gonna eat today or keep being a mopey piece of shit?"

Nothing. No reaction. I let out a huff, trying to keep my cool.

"Look, you need to get your strength back. The doc says-"

"I don't give a shit what the doc says," Piston growls, finally eyeing me. "I didn't ask for your help and I sure as hell don't need your pity."

I laugh, sharp and humorless. "You think this is pity? No, honey, this is me busting my ass to keep your ungrateful hidealive out of some misguided sense of loyalty. But I'm starting to question why I even bother."

He snorts. "Then don't. Ain't nobody forcing you to be here."

"You're right," I snap, snatching the untouched tray. "Excuse me for giving a damn." I stomp out, slamming the door behind me.

In the kitchen, I lean against the counter, fuming. This routine is getting real old, real fast. Each day I drag myself over here, hoping he'll come to his senses. But it's like talking to a brick freaking wall.

I glance at the clock. Better get to school before I'm late. At least there my efforts are appreciated. Unlike here, with Sir Broods-a-lot.

Screw it. He wants to wallow, that's his choice. But I'm done beating my head against his immovable attitude. There's only so much disrespect a girl can take.

I gather my purse and keys, sparing one last glance at his closed door. A pang of guilt pricks at me but I push it down. I've more than tried.

It's time Piston learned the world doesn't revolve around him and his self-pity. I've got my own life to live.

I walk out without a backwards glance, slamming the front door extra hard, just because I can. Message sent, loud and clear.

A loud knock jolts me out of my stewing thoughts. I yank open the door to find Mason and Carlie, arms loaded with grocery bags.

"Thank God, reinforcements." I usher them inside. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

Carlie sets her bags on the counter and pulls me into a hug. "How you holding up, honey?"

I slump against her. "Barely. He's being impossible."

Mason's jaw tightens as he glances towards the bedroom. "We figured. That's why we're here."

"I appreciate you both coming." I start unpacking the groceries. "But I'm not sure it'll make a difference."

"We'll see about that." Mason's voice is low and determined. He strides purposefully towards Piston's room.

Carlie shoots me a worried look. "Maybe we should--"

The bedroom door slams, cutting her off. She flinches at the sound.

I sigh heavily. "Let him try. Lord knows I have."

We work in tense silence, putting away the groceries as raised voices filter through the walls. I can't make out the words, but there's no mistaking the fury in Mason's tone.

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