Scorched

Oh my God.

I had been drinking and—

“Honey, you awake?” Dad sat on the edge of the bed, and I realized his shirt was wrinkled. So were his khakis. Actually, he was wrinkled. “Andrea?”

I forced my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “Yeah.”

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a long and low breath. “You’ve been asleep for over a day. I know it’s normal after these kinds of injuries, but I didn’t want to leave this room until you opened your eyes. Your mother is going to be so upset to know she decided to pick up food for us at this exact moment. Are you in pain?”

Pain? Everything hurt—my stomach and my head, even my hand. My gaze drifted to my right hand and I suspected the giant, freaking I.V. hooked up to it was the culprit.

“Injuries?” I rasped out.

Dad reached out, picking up my left hand in his cool one. He squeezed gently. “You hit your head pretty hard. It’s a concussion. And you’re pretty banged up, but the…” He squeezed my hand again. “Your spleen ruptured. There was no saving it. It had to be removed, and you needed a blood transfusion. Without a spleen, there are going to be some complications. Issues with fighting off infections and…”

He continued on, but I wasn’t really hearing him any longer. My spleen had burst and I no longer had one. Blood transfusion? A concussion? My mind raced back to the car, to the seconds before I heard the metal crunching and giving way.

“Did I hit someone?” I blurted out, ignoring the raw pain in my throat. “Did I hurt someone?”

Dad stopped and he stared at me so long that panic built in my chest. “Oh my God,” I croaked. “Did I hit someone? Did I? Oh God, I can’t—”

“You didn’t hit anyone, Andrea.” His throat worked as he stared down at me. “You hit a barrier wall on 495.”

Only a smidgen of relief filtered through my system. I didn’t hit someone. That was good, but I could’ve hit someone. Oh God, I could’ve killed someone.

“They ran a blood test. You were over the legal limit,” he continued, his voice rough at the edges, brittle. “You were drinking and driving.”

Pressure increased as those words settled in, seeped through the confusion and took root. I’d drunk and drove. Had I done that before? Never. I’d always waited at least an hour or more before I drove. I always made sure.

Oh my God.

Dad let go of my hand and his gaze moved to the blinds over the window. “I’ve failed you.”

His words jarred me. “Dad—you didn’t fail me. This… this was all me. I…did this.” Truer words had never been spoken. Tears rolled down my face. “I did this.”

He shook his head. “Your mother and I, even your brother, knew you drank. We kept telling ourselves that it wasn’t that bad. That you weren’t like me. That you wouldn’t become like me. We were wrong.” His gaze shifted to mine, and I saw that his stare was glassy. “I was wrong, but I will not let you become me.”

The pressure was increasing, and it was becoming hard to breathe. In the background, I could hear the beeps from the heart monitor increasing. It wasn’t just the drinking, I wanted to scream at him, but there were no words.

“And that’s why we’re stepping in right now,” he continued doggedly. “As soon as you’re well enough to leave the hospital, you’re going into treatment. That’s not up for discussion. If you say no or you fight me on this—” His voice cracked, and my shoulders shook. “I will completely cut you off.”

I could barely breathe. Not because my family was forcing me into treatment. Not because all choice had been stripped away from me. No. I could barely get enough air into my lungs because I had made such a reckless, irresponsible decision. Not just one, but years’ worth of them, and they all had been building and piling up on one another. I could’ve hurt someone—killed them. This was no longer just about me. This…this was out of control.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

I completely understood.

Before I’d left the bar, I had realized that I needed to change, and now more than ever I knew this. I wasn’t going to fight this. Not now. I met my father’s blue eyes and then his face blurred.

“Dad…” The tears rushed me, heedless of the sting they caused when they hit the incredibly raw splotches on my face. “There’s something really wrong with me.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

My gaze shifted away from where Syd was perched on the edge of my bed. It was a day after I’d woken up in the hospital. I still hurt something fierce. “You shouldn’t…be proud of me.”

“Why not?”

I stared at the ceiling. “I drank and then I drove. I could’ve…” Absolutely disgusted with myself, I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“I’m not proud that you did that,” she said. “But I’m proud that you’re getting help.”

Closing my eyes, I sort of wished I was asleep. “It was my dad’s idea.”

“You could’ve fought it.”

“He threatened to cut me off if I did,” I told her, also wishing I had another blanket. It was chilly in there. “You know me. I like all my perks. Can’t have that—”

“Knock it off,” Syd snapped, drawing my attention. Her cheeks flushed with anger. “I talked to your dad. You didn’t even try to fight it. Not one second. You know you need help. I’m proud that you’re making that decision, so why are you acting this way?”

Why? Because I didn’t deserve her kind words, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve anyone to be proud of me. “I drank and I drove. I totaled my car. I don’t…have a spleen anymore. I’m a loser. I’m going to have to go to court and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my license. I’m not complaining. I deserve that.”

My ass actually deserved to be in jail, and who knew, I might just end up there.

“Andrea…” She sighed as she tilted her head. A long length of dark hair fell over her shoulder. “You’re not a loser. You—”

“I need help. I know.” The wall I’d erected since my father left crumbled a smidgen. “I know.”

Her lower lip trembled as she patted my hand. “When Ta

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