Page 5 of Don't Hate Me
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Princeton
Marc
It was the middle of the night when my phone rang.
Disoriented, I scrambled for my phone and saw that it was just after two in the morning. Ash was calling on her normal phone, which was strange because she had to know it was the middle of the night. It wasn’t even a text to see if I might be awake. Instead she was calling.
“What’s wrong?” I answered. Because something was. Something worse than her anger toward me, if she was reaching out.
“Don’t be mad,” she croaked out.
Her voice was weak. Her breathing was shallow.
“Where are you?”
“Hospital,” she wheezed. “But I’m better. I’m better.”
I gripped the phone so tightly, I had this crazy idea I was strong enough to break it. To crumble it to rubble like some superhero, but I didn’t want to lose the connection with her, so I lightened up my hold.
“When?”
“Last.” Breath. “Week.” Breath. “I had to be on a machine before they could get it under control. They just gave me.” Breath. “My phone back. Saw texts. Don’t be mad.”
I stared into the dark room. A single on campus, because I couldn’t afford to move off campus like most upper classmen did. This whole time, I’d been cursing her for being an immature baby for not returning my texts, and she’d been in a hospital on a fucking breathing machine.
“You need to come home.”
“He’s sending me.” Breath. “To Florida. A resort called Amelia Island. I’m to recover there over the break.”
“Then what?”
“Then he said, we’ll see.”
No.We’ll seewasn’t good enough. What the fuck did he mean bywe? He didn’t have asthma. He wasn’t suffering in the constant frigid air. I’d accused her of making shit up about him because it seemed too crazy to believe. That the man I’d known for most of my teenage life was a monster.
A rich, stuck-up prick with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement. A man who’d disliked me simply because of my parents and upbringing. A father who thought I was beneath him and his daughter. That played.
Her using a burner phone to convince him she was talking to people back home less? That was different.
A man who’d learned his daughter had been in a hospital for a week and would consider sending her back to the place that was making her sick…? That wasn’t a joke. Or a cry for attention.
“Marc?”
“I’m here. I’m…” Processing. Conflicted between sitting in this bed, and getting up and selling my car to be able to afford a ticket to Switzerland. Or telling the dean tomorrow that I was dropping out. Letting Ash make her own choices without any impact to me.
“I’m going to fix this, Ash.”
“You can’t. He has reasons. I think. You’ll come to Florida?”
“Is that a good idea?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know if it’s safe.”
“You think he’d object to me seeing you, just to make sure you’re okay?”
“I don’t want him to think.” Breath. “You would even bother to make the trip.” Breath. “Tired.”
