Fat Chances by J.S. Wilsoncroft

jacket and dark wavy hair were dripping wet. Mom must have noticed it, too.
    “Is it still freez ing raining outside?” Mom asked Cory, looking up at him with concern. 
    “Yes ma’am, it is. The roads are getting slick,” he informed my mother.
    “Really? Hmpf!” Mom sighed. She looked at me with concern in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. Mom was afraid to drive in bad weather. Let me rephrase that. She was deathly afraid to drive in bad weather.
    “Annie dear, do you mind if ... ” she pointed at Cory, not remembering his name.
    “It’s Cory, ma’am,” h e chuckled.
    “Cory, do you mind bringin g Annie home when she’s finished? I’m going to have to head home before the roads get too bad. You know how I am about driving in bad weather,” she reminded me, turning to face me. I held my breath, staring angrily at her. Why do Mothers feel that they have to torment their daughters? Doesn’t she know how embarrassing this is? Doesn’t she care that I’m lying here in a hospital bed wearing the most God awful ugliest piece of clothing known to man, and the most gorgeous guy on the planet is sitting here, watching me? And to top it all off, the damned gown doesn’t even fit my fat ass.
    “No problem, Mrs. Powers. I’ ll bring Annie home as soon as they release her,” Cory replied, standing up, then politely shook my Mom’s hand. I stared at both of them in disgust. She turned to kiss my forehead then winked at me before turning to walk through the curtains, leaving me all alone with Cory. I shook my head in disbelief as he sat down in a chair beside the hospital gurney, smiling.
    There has to be something wrong with his brain. Maybe his mother dropped him on his head one too many times when he was a baby, or maybe he was in a bad car accident and suffered a brain injury. I don’t know, but either way, I still didn’t understand why he was interested in me.
    We both sat in silence, neither of us saying a word. The only thing that could be heard was the clock above my head, ticking away and once in a while the gentleman in the next curtain would go into a coughing fit. Cory gave me a crooked smile every time the guy sounded like he had hacked up a lung. As the minutes ticked by, I slowly started to feel woozy. “Are you feeling okay?” He stood up, covering his warm hand over mine, sending shock waves up my arm.
    “No … I feel …queasy,” I mumbled. The room began to spin in circles making me more nauseous. I looked over and saw a waste basket on the floor beside a small counter and pointed at it vigorously. Cory quickly grabbed the small garbage can and handed it to me just in the nick of time. I heaved miserably, puking until there was nothing left in my stomach. After a few more minutes of spitting up foamy bile, Cory came and stood beside me, but his head was turned toward the curtains. His tan face was white as the sheet on the bed.
    “I’m sorry, ” I mumbled when I finally leaned back onto the pillow, exhausted. The room reeked of vomit.
    “You don’t need to be sorry. You’re having a reaction to the pain pills. I’ll let the nurse know when she comes back in,” he said, standing up, then took the garbage can from my hands. I heard him gag a few times as he quickly set it on the floor, far away from us.
    “Well, well … what do we have here?” said an older gentleman in a white coat as he entered. His name tag read Dr. Arnold Sears. He shook Cory hand then mine as he proceeded to look at my medical chart. He grabbed the black and white x-ray pictures and held them toward the light on the ceiling.
    “Hmm … I don’t see any broken bones or fractures, but I do see a lot of fluid,” he said, smiling, then layed the x-rays at the foot of my bed.
    “What am I going to do with you, Little Missy, is to inject a needle into your knee cap and suck out the fluid. You will start to feel relief instantly. Just like that!” he said, snapping his fingers, chuckling.
    “Thanks,”