Connection | 18+

Chapter Nine

   Her lips twitch, and a hint of frustration flashes in her eyes. "I'm not going to jail," she whispers, voice filled with stubborn certainty.

   "Keep lying like that, and you just might," I counter, searching her face for some sign of the girl who asked me to control her, to keep her in line. All I see now is someone hell-bent on self-destruction.

   She looks down before glancing away, her fingers fidgeting nervously. "You can't tell him," she mumbles.

   "Why-"

   "I got it from the dealer Dan pinned the police to," she interrupts, her voice barely above a whisper.

   I freeze, her words hanging in the air between us as I step back, frowning in confusion.

   "What?" I ask in disbelief.

   She lets out a long, tired sigh, her expression still calm, and detached, as if her confession costs her nothing. "I'd been getting my stuff from him long before Dan pinned him with someone else's hit-and-run case. I recently found out about it. I can't let Dan catch him."

   I search her face for any sign of regret, remorse, guilt, or any hint of emotion. But all I find is the same indifferent expression.

   "So, what? You expect me to feel bad for him? For you?" I scoff as the weight of her selfishness settles in. "He was selling drugs, Olivia. And you—you could’ve killed someone. Or yourself. Don’t you get that?"

   She laughs, a dry, hollow sound that sends a chill through me. "You think that’s bad? My brother’s client actually did. Some dickhead driving under the influence ran over someone. You know what Dan did? He pinned it on my friend. Said the drugs he sold were the reason the guy was high in the first place. But that’s bullshit. We all are responsible for our own deeds. The guy paid a few thousand fine and nothing. Clean slate. Do you still think I should care about the law then?"

   I sigh and step closer to her, grabbing the back of her neck. Leaning in, my voice drops, “It’s not the law I’m worried about.”

   She blinks, confused like she’s trying to piece together what I mean. “Do you still not get it?” I ask, my frustration barely contained. “Something could have happened to you.”

   For a moment, she stares at me, and then a soft, hollow chuckle escapes her lips. She offers me a sad smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I’m not that lucky, Ethan,” she says, her voice low and full of resignation.

   As if she didn't mean to say it.

   She lifts a finger, pointing upward toward the ceiling. “Whoever’s up there? They never cared enough to give me that kind of relief.” Her gaze drops as she speaks, bitterness creeping into her tone. “So you don’t have to worry about me. Nothing will happen as long as I’m too much of a coward to let it happen.”

   Her words hang heavy between us, the weight of everything she’s implying settling like a thick fog.

   Before I, or Olivia could say anything else, the door creaks open, and the doctor who had been examining Olivia earlier steps back into the room, a nurse following closely behind him. His expression is unreadable and professional, and a clipboard in his hands.

   He approaches the bed as I step back from Olivia, his gaze shifts briefly between us, then it goes back to the clipboard in his hands.

   "Mr. Hayes," the doctor addresses me as I nod in attention, "we’ve completed the initial assessment of Ms. Cameron's injuries. She has a non-displaced fracture to her eighth rib on the left side. It's painful, but it should heal on its own with rest and pain management."