Dead But Not Done

"Roger, don't do anything stupid!"

"Stop him!"

Panicked screams and chaotic footsteps exploded through the room.

Roger shrieked at them, "Don't come any closer! If you do, I'll jump right now! Aren't all of you blaming me? Don't you all think I'm lying? Then I might as well die!"

Amid the chaos, I struggled to pry my eyes open.

Casey was the first to notice I was awake.

She looked at me without a trace of warmth in her eyes—only command.

"Bobby, no matter whose fault it is, apologize to Roger first. Convince him to come down, and we'll let this whole thing go…"

My father and mother both turned toward me as well, wearing identical expressions of pleading desperation.

The oxygen mask covered my mouth and nose. Every breath carried the metallic taste of blood.

I raised my trembling arm, locked in plaster, and used all my strength to rip off the mask and tear the IV needle from the back of my hand.

Drops of blood splattered across the pale bedsheets.

I climbed out of bed. Inside my body, broken bones shifted with faint, sickening cracks.

Then I knelt on the freezing tile floor, lowered my head toward the window, and whispered hoarsely, "It was my fault… I shouldn't have pushed you. Please don't jump…"

The moment I finished speaking, I coughed up a mouthful of blood. Dark red blood splashed across the floor and spread rapidly. I collapsed forward, my forehead slamming against the ground.

This time, I couldn't get back up.

Casey stumbled backward as if she'd been burned. Then she suddenly turned and rushed out of the hospital room.

My mother froze for a second before finally screaming hysterically, "Doctor! Call the doctor, hurry!"

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room.

They lifted me back onto the bed and hurriedly reconnected the monitors and oxygen tubes.

The attending physician frowned deeply, his tone sharp with anger.

"The patient's injuries are already this severe. His bones haven't even started healing properly yet. How could you let him fall out of bed? How are you people taking care of him?"

He quickly checked my pupils and vital signs.

"If another accident happens, we really won't be able to save him. He still hasn't passed the critical stage and needs complete bed rest."

The doctor turned to my parents and carefully listed precautions.

"He cannot be left alone for twenty-four hours. Watch the monitor readings closely. If anything abnormal happens, press the call button immediately."

Only after giving several more instructions did the doctor finally leave.

The hospital room fell silent except for the steady beeping of the machines.

Two days later, I finally dragged myself out of the endless darkness and pain once again and opened my eyes.

Casey stood beside my bed, her expression unusually conflicted. A tablet was clutched in her hand, its screen displaying blurry surveillance footage.

"I went to the hospital security room… and found a child who was in the hallway that day."

Her voice sounded dry and strained.

"The child said… he saw Roger smash the bowl himself and lie down on the broken glass on purpose."

She lifted her head and looked toward Roger, who was curled up in the corner.

"Roger… why would you do something like that?"

My father's face instantly darkened with fury. He strode over to Roger in two steps and slapped him hard across the face.

"You bastard! Why would you treat Bobby like this?!"

The blow snapped Roger's head to the side, and his cheek immediately began to swell.

My mother instantly rushed over to shield him, heartbroken as she stroked his face.

"How could you hit Roger? Can't you talk things out properly? Roger must've had his reasons…"

Even Casey's expression softened slightly, though her lips remained tightly pressed as she looked at me.

Roger's eyes reddened instantly.

"Dad, Mom… I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. I really am sorry!

"I only did it because I was scared… You both know what I saw before—Bobby killed our sister…"

He looked at me in terror, as though I were some savage beast.

"And later, it was because I reported him that you sent him to the correctional facility. I was afraid he'd get revenge after he got out… especially since I'm only an adopted son…"

With a thud, Roger dropped to his knees beside my hospital bed and cried, "Bobby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have framed you. I swear I'll never do it again. Can you forgive me?"

As he sobbed, he reached out and tightly grabbed my right hand, which was fixed in plaster.

A piercing pain exploded instantly.

His grip landed directly on my fractured wrist bone.

I could clearly feel the bones—which had only just begun to heal—shift and crack apart again under the force of his grip.

Pain swallowed my vision whole, but I couldn't make a sound.

Casey and my mother both stared at my face.

Casey spoke softly, "Bobby, Roger only lost his head for a moment. What he said makes sense too—he was just frightened…"

My mother immediately chimed in, "Exactly. Besides, he never actually did anything to you. Jumping off the building… that was your own decision. You can't blame Roger for that.

"And Bobby, what's gotten into you lately? Over every little thing, you either want to die or make a scene. Are you still holding a grudge because we sent you to the correctional facility?"

Her voice turned cold and unforgiving.

"If you hadn't killed Alison, we wouldn't have sent you there in the first place. If you weren't my son, I would've sent you straight to prison a long time ago!"