Page 133 of Breaking Point
the fuck?
why does that make you think of drugs lol
your brain is interesting
KIERAN ASHFORD
I take it it’s not a drug?
GRAYSON
no
Back soon, my ass.
Bella must not know me very well because the entire time I trail behind her, she never once looks over her shoulder to check I’m not following her. As if I’d let my sick—I feel like screaming when I say this—fakegirlfriend walk around the hospital at two in the morning.
A plethora of situations could arise. The medication could stop working. A drunk could force himself on her. She could get lost.
There are quite literally a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this, but when I saw the stubborn gleam in her eyes, I realized she wasn’t going to budge. So, like the creeper I am, I let her go, only to follow her.
And I’m glad I did, because where the hell is she going? We’re halfway across the hospital when she makes a sharp right turn, her footsteps quickening. I come to a sudden halt once I see the wing she’s stepped through.
Oncology ward.
Suddenly, I’m the one who feels the need to heave and puke.
Why is she walking through an oncology ward? Did I mix things up at her house? Is she the one who’s ill and taking the dozens of pills?
My question is answered just two short minutes later as I watch Bella enter a room and a cry of shock follows.
“Bella! Bella,” a woman cries.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I hear Bella gush.
“What happened? Are you all right? Why are you in ahospital gown? Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been so worried!”
“One question at a time,” Bella says softly. “I got stuck on the bathroom floor with a bad flare-up. I couldn’t walk and my phone was in the living room.”
“I knew it!” the woman cries. “I’m going to call that dispatcher back. She should be ashamed of herself!” A sob is the next thing I hear, followed by a muffled, “I knew something was wrong.”
“I’m okay now. Grayson found me?—”
“Grayson found you?”
“Yeah, he said he got worried that he hadn’t heard from me, that it was unlike me, so he flew home?—”
“He flew home early?”
“Are you going to finish the story or should I? The one who lived it?”
“This is no time for jokes, Isabella,” the woman scolds.
“Sorry,” Bella apologizes, sounding sincere.
The rest of what she says is cut off as a nurse rounds the corner with a frown. “Sir, visiting hours are over. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Ignoring her, I take a step away from the door and instead ask, “What is Mrs. Stratford in here for?”
