Trained by N.M. Pratt

Author:N.M. Pratt [Pratt, N.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-07-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

A few nights later, Brendon finally had some time away from Jared. It’s not that he wanted or asked for the time, but Jared’s friends had decided they were all going out so he had gone, even if reluctantly. Brendon visited his parents, called his sister, and watched some Netflix before going to bed. It felt weird lying in his bed without his phone to his ear and Jared on the other end of the line. He felt lonely. He curled up tighter and tried to sleep, but it took a long time for it to hold. When his phone rang the all-familiar tune, he was sure he had only been asleep for a few minutes even though the clock read 1 a.m.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely.

“Hello, sir, this is Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, we have a Mr. Trent in the E.R.”

Brendon shot up in bed, and his heart dropped.

“Is he okay?”

“He got into a bar fight and got knocked out. The police are here to question him, but we’re concerned because he hit his head pretty hard. We checked his phone, and you are the most recent contact. Are you his next of kin? Can you make medical decisions for him?”

Oh God, how was he going to explain this? How was he going to help?

“I’m his best friend, but I live in San Francisco.”

“Do you know who we can call?”

Brendon knew no one, none of his friends. He didn’t even know if Jared had any other family members other than his mom.

“Lizzie. Her number should be in his phone. Call Lizzie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Can you- can you call and let me know if he’s okay?”

“I’m sorry, sir, unless you’re family or we have his written permission, we can’t disclose any more information about his care than necessary.”

Brendon felt like he was going to throw up. “I understand,” he said in a whisper and hung up.

He did, in fact, throw up. Then he paced his room late into the night. He sent multiple texts to Jared begging him or whoever had his phone to contact him and let him know how he was doing. Eventually, he gave up on going to bed at all and sat on his couch, knee bouncing nervously.

“Fuck it,” he said as he went back into his room and turned on his laptop. He reached under his bed for his small suitcase and threw it open. He grabbed clothes haphazardly and threw them unfolded into the bag. Just before he put in his credit card information on the Southwest website, his phone rang.

“Hello?” he said hopefully.

“Brendon? Hi, my name is Lizzie.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Is he okay?”

“Um, can I ask how you know him? I see that you talk a lot, but I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of you.”

Brendon felt lightheaded, so he sat at the edge of his bed. “I’m a client and a friend. He’s been helping me exercise.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” she said, sounding relieved.

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he hit his head pretty hard.

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