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Adrian suddenly got sick this week. He bummed around the house and complained for a few days before finally going to the doctor. Then, wouldn't you know it, he snuck off in the middle of the night and left a note saying, "Gone to the ER, be back later." I'd wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack and was the first to find it. I didn't bother waking up anybody else. I just went after him on my own.

When I got there, they had to check and make sure it was okay for me to be there. Security in that place was weird, but whatever keeps the patients safe, I guess. One of the nurses led me over to the "room" they were keeping him in -- you know, one of those spaces that's just curtained off but isn't an actual room. He looked pale and pitiful, lying there in those bleach white blankets and that ugly smock-thing they make patients wear. He kind of just stared at me as I pulled up a chair.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I asked him. I didn't feel like being tactful. I don't even know the meaning of the word.

"I wasn't really thinking anything," he replied, "I was just staring at the curtain, wondering if it had one of those hidden pictures you squint at."

I glanced at the curtain behind me, and then turned back to him. "If you weren't sick, I'd hit you."

He smiled. "I didn't expect anyone to show up."

I ran a hand through my hair. "That's because you're an idiot. Why didn't you ask for one of us to go with you?"

"I figured you were all asleep."

I gave him a look.

Adrian sighed. He looked exhausted. "Tristin, if it were you, would you really want your whole family to see you like this?"

I shrugged. "You are my family. I don't care."

"Liar."

"You're still an idiot."

"I know."

I leaned over, letting my elbows rest on my knees and didn't really look at anything for a minute. Even for late at night, the hospital was noisy with nurses walking back and forth, alarms going off, and all sorts of hospital-like noises. It was annoying. "How long have you been here?"

Adrian looked up at the clock. "Couple hours," he replied. "Didn't take me long to get in and registered. They took some blood and now I'm just waiting for the doctor to pop in."

"How can you stand it?" I started bouncing my knee. "It's like..."

"Prison?" he offered. "Yeah. I don't know how some people do it, being in and out of here all the time. Two hours and I already hate it. I haven't needed to stay in a hospital for long, ever." His expression went distant for a moment, but then he asked, "Why did you come?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "Wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess."

"Well, thanks," Adrian said. "I appreciate it."

"You still should've asked somebody to come with."

"You're here now. That's all that matters."

We sat for a bit. He didn't even have a TV in his room. I mean, what the hell? That's one of the few perks of being in the hospital! I hear it makes up for the shitty food. How was he not going insane from boredom?!

"You don't have to stay, you know," Adrian said. He'd been watching me while I'd been thinking.

I insisted, "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Why not?"

"'Cause you wouldn't do that to any of us. Why should we do that to you? Jeeze, Adrian." I shook my head. "Why don't you ever ask for help?"

He blinked. "It's not in my nature."

"Well, ******** your nature. If you were this sick, you should've seen the doctor, sooner."

"Can't afford ******** that. Don't mess with your health. You're no good to us dead."

He didn't say anything, just stared at me with a blank expression. He sighed and let his gaze drift elsewhere. We sat like that for a little bit longer before he spoke again. "Can I tell you something?"

"Go ahead."

"This year has been hell."

I blinked at him.

He sighed again, his gaze focusing on the tiled ceiling overhead. "I did a lot of stupid things that I regret. I hurt a lot of people. And I didn't fight for you as hard as I could have."

"Adri--"

"No, let me finish, Tristin." He looked at me, his mouth opening and closing as he hesitated. "I raped Mal."

I could feel the blood drain from my face. It felt like the world fell out from under me.

"I'm not going to try to excuse it," he continued, "and I don't expect you to forgive me. He has. We've been working through it for the past year. But I haven't been able to forgive myself.

"Then... after that, I started having a hard time dealing with someone close to me. We hurt each other. I guess she got over it, but I haven't. Then, you know, there was the whole thing with that guy... It was a rough year."

He took a deep breath, eyes focusing on the ceiling again. "I almost didn't live to see this day, you know."

My voice sounded really weak to myself. "No, I didn't know."

Adrian looked almost wistful. "Standing on the rooftop, ready to fall... I can't listen to that song anymore. Anything that had to do with that summer, that whole year... I can't. I came close to jumping. But I didn't. You kids weren't taken care of, yet. I was terrified of what would happen to Mal and everyone if I wasn't around anymore. How would they have explained it to the little ones? I couldn't do it."

I still hadn't recovered from... everything. "Why are you telling me all this now?" My voice cracked.

Adrian shrugged. "I know things between you and Mal haven't been the same since... whenever. And telling you the truth is something he's been wanting to do since you got back. I figured you might as well hear it from me, now, while I'm here." He tried to half-smile, but it fell flat.

I stared down at my hands, feeling completely helpless. "I thought I knew you," I said to him. "But you..."

I couldn't even form words for what I was feeling. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to strangle him with my own two hands. I buried them in my hair and tugged -- hard.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you," he murmured. "If I could do anything... you know I would. But I can't. You don't have to forgive me right away, but I hope you can, eventually."

"I can't..."

Someone tugged at the curtain. "Mr. Karlet?" a man in a white jacket (not that kind of jacket, unfortunately) with a clipboard asked.

"Yes?" Adrian asked. He seemed even more tired than when I'd first come in.

"I'm Dr. Ward," the man said, walking in and holding a hand out to Adrian. "Is this your son?"

Adrian looked pained as he glanced at me. "Y-yeah," he said uneasily. "This is Tristin."

I'm sure I shook the doctor's hand, but I don't remember. I didn't even hear half of what they were talking about. I was too busy trying to process what Adrian had told me. But I came back to reality enough to hear the words "meningitis" and "spinal tap." I listened to the doctor list off the risks of letting meningitis go untreated and then the risks of the spinal tap. It all sounded bad, if you ask me. Damned if he did it, damned if he didn't.

Adrian looked at me when the doctor was done talking. I don't know why he was looking at me, though. What did he expect me to say? I wasn't the adult --

And that's when I remembered that Adrian was rarely -- if ever -- mature, and a lot younger than he tried to play off. He looked vulnerable.

"Is that your way of asking for help?" I managed to say flatly.

"Did it work?" he asked. He was trying to look amused, but it still wasn't working.

I threw up my hands and got up from my chair. "Adrian, just do the goddamned spinal tap to see if it's the meningitis or not. Die from the meningitis or die from the spinal tap, it's your choice. I don't give a s**t right now."

And so I left the room. I needed to walk. I needed a cigarette. I needed to get the goddamned hospital noises out of my head.

And while I needed all of those things, I needed a good cry the most.

I hadn't expected to walk into Malachite on my way out.

Tristin paused, the orange juice jug close to his lips. He was only a little surprised to see Adrian come into the kitchen -- it had been a couple weeks since Adrian was confined to his room, so he had to be going a little stir-crazy.

It was the first time they'd seen each other since the talk in the ER.

Adrian gave him a nod and opened the cupboard to get a glass.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Tristin asked flatly.

"Being upright for a minute won't kill me. Shouldn't you be using a glass?" Adrian countered. He reached into the fridge for the milk jug.

"You're not still contagious are you?"

Adrian glanced at the jug in Tristin's hands. "I'm being very careful with my germs."

Tristin scowled and put the OJ back in the fridge. "******** off."

"Sorry." Adrian finished pouring his milk. "How've you been?"

"Fine, I guess."

"I heard you met Miss Brenda."

Tristin grunted, casting a glance at the door.

"Not that I think you need it," Adrian gave the disclaimer, "but if you ever want to talk to her, I'll cover the cost of it."

"Cool." Tristin's tone was still flat.

Adrian half-smiled, but didn't bother looking up at Tristin as he turned to leave. "Well, I'll be seeing you."

Tristin watched him leave. "Sure."

Soco came in, dressed in his typical uniform, just as Adrian was leaving. He glanced at Tristin. "Well, that must've been awkward," he said, "from what little I heard of it, I mean."

Tristin just grunted again and looked out the window.

Soco reached under the counter for some cleaning supplies. "How long are you going to hold it against him?"

"Forever."

Soco stood up and looked Tristin in the eye. "Forever is a long time. You think it's really worth that?"

Tristin stared back at him with a frown. "Why should I forgive him?"

"Because it's going to eat you up inside. If every time you look or think of him and all you can think of is that grudge, your body is going to respond to the stress and your mood is going to go from 0 to bitchy in a matter of seconds."

Soco turned and started sorting through the bottles of cleaning solutions. "Or, if you want to look at it this way, do it because your boyfriend wants you to. For one, he's not going to want to deal with your petty attitude, and two, he loves Adrian as a father. I know you didn't have so great an experience with your guardian, but--"

"Leave him out of this!" Tristin snapped.

"See? You have a grudge there, too."

Tristin scowled. He turned to the fridge and took the bottle of OJ out again. "Fine," he spat, "you're right. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No." Soco set the unneeded supplies back under the sink. "It's not a matter of whether I'm right or not."

Tristin's grip on the jug was so tight the plastic snapped and popped. He counted to ten and exhaled, relaxing slightly. "Fine," he repeated, still agitated.

Soco shrugged. "Do it when you're ready, but just do it and get it over with," he said as he left the kitchen.

Tristin finished off the orange juice and tossed the jug in the garbage. He checked his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes before heading out the front door and down the street. He figured the fresh air and exercise would clear his head and calm his nerves.

He muttered to himself as he lit up, "I wouldn't have to deal with stress if people would shut the ******** up."