Fuck, what am I going to do? My best friend, the girl who saved my life five years ago, is laying in a hospital bed. Jocelyn and I have been inseparable for most of our lives, and now she might leave me.
We had never had an easy life, going from one foster home to the next. However, we never let that stop us. I remember being ten years old, running away from the grumpy old Ms. Mackinson to take a train alone in New York City to meet Jocelyn at her foster home.
I didn't get mad or blame Jocelyn, when last year she traded in drinking for some much more serious and dangerous drugs. There were plenty of times when I wished for an escape, times when the blunt, or the line of coke, or the six shots in a row were the only thing that could numb the memories and pain.
The difference between us was that, where I was terrified of the fact that I wanted more, she embraced it. I should've done something, I should've stopped her. I should've put up a fight. Now, here she is laying in a hospital bed with a respirator because she overdosed on cocaine, heroin, and alcohol all at once.
Whether it was an accident or on purpose I didn't care. We made a pact years ago we don't leave each other, and we don't give up on each other. So even if death is what she planned for, I refuse to let her give up.
My thoughts were interrupted when the doctor walked in.
"Hello, Sylvia. Back again I see?" She said kindly.
The doctor was a middle aged black woman with long black braided hair pulled into a neat professional bun. Where most doctors exuded a type of cold clinical calculation, she exuded a warmth. She somehow even remembered my name after the second time seeing me.
"I told you Dr. Smith, I'll be here every day until she wakes up. Now, did you get anywhere with the board?" I asked
Her face fell, and with it so did my heart. I knew that look all too well, the look of pity.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, they said maybe we could cover the fees if it had been some type of accident. The hospital just doesn't want people thinking we support these kind of decisions."
I felt my chest squeeze painfully in sadness and anger. I appreciated how straight Dr. Smith was with me. I know she could get in a lot of trouble for being honest and not giving me the company line, but I still couldn't help the anger that her words brought out.
"Right, because she chose to have a shitty life, she chose to become so dependent on substances that she couldn't function, and she chose to be so fucked up and depressed that she did this. Great, thanks." I spat out.
Dr. Smith was next to me in an instant soothingly rubbing my back.
"I know sweetheart, but it will all turn out okay. You can set up a payment plan or start a go fund me. We can look into it together." She said in a calming tone.
I took a deep breath in before letting it out. I'd already spoken to billing a hundred times in the three months Jocelyn had been in the coma. One night in the ICU would take me a year to pay off even with my two jobs. I was even looking for a third since I was now paying both halves of Jocelyn and I's rent.
As for the go fund me page, it currently had 63 dollars donated to it. I even reached out and begged to all of the charities I knew of. That had gotten us a whopping four thousand. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I really am. It's just so frustrating when every win feels like a lose because it's not enough.
"You're right Dr. Smith, I'll go talk to billing," I said giving her a forced smile.
The look of pity came back to her face ten fold. She then nodded before getting up and getting to work checking Jocelyns vitals and monitors. While she did that, I made my way to the billing office. At this point the elevator ride and twist and turns of halls wasn't maze like to me at all. I visited the hospital more than I visited my own apartment.
When I got to the desk, there was some sort of ruckus going on. All the nurses were gathered in one spot giggling while a group of doctors and a serious looking man in a suit stood just behind the desk talking in aggressive whispers.
"What's going on?" I asked the gaggle of nurses.
"Don't you know who that is?!" A nurse screeched in a high pitch half whisper.
I shook my head having no idea, and no care who the fancy suit man was.
"Oh my god, are you serious?!" Another nurse said staring at me like I had three heads.
I just gave them a death stare letting them know my patience was wearing thin.
"Jeez okay grumpy," a third nurse voiced out. "That is Asher Jacobs, the owner of this hospital, and youngest CEO the Jacobs Corp has ever had."
I looked at the tall man in a different light. Noticing the, no doubt, over expensive suit, the fancy Rolex on his wrist, the impeccably spotless shoes, the black hair that was gelled to perfection without a single hair out of place, and the air of someone rich.
Fuck him. I know it's not fair to dislike someone for something they can't control. However, he's got more money then he can spend, and I have a friend fighting for her life who might not get to stay because of money we don't have.
Before I could think things through any further, I saw red. I marched around the desk and right up to the man. The doctors all stopped speaking and stared at me wide eyed. Without hesitation I looked him dead in his cold blue eyes and said,
"Who the hell do you think you are? You own a fucking hospital not a god damn hotel. Yet, you care more about getting the money for each nights stay, than the lives of people who are fighting to stay for their loved ones."
He blinked once, the only sign of him losing his calm composure, before saying in an even calm tone,
"I'd like to speak with you somewhere private please."
Shit. What did I just do? God, this man has enough money to make me and Jocelyn disappear no questions asked.
Without waiting for my response he turned on his heel and marched off down the hall. Not wanting to make things worse, I followed behind him. After a couple turns and a painfully quiet ride to the top floor on the elevator, I was standing outside a door that said, "Asher Jacobs, CEO" in bold print.
Taking a deep breath, I followed him inside the office where he gestured for me to have a seat in front of the desk. I complied while he walked around and sat behind it.
"So, I take it you need money to help a loved one stay in the hospital?" He said in a deep rumbling voice.
Not knowing what to say I just blinked owlishly at him.
"I also notice there's no ring on your finger." He continued.
I looked down, to see my bare hand. I looked back up at him and shook my head.
"Here's the deal, I need a wife. Someone who can be a decoration on my arm at gala events, and who can keep the tabloids out of my business. If you are willing to sign a silence and wedding contract, I'm willing to forgive any and all debts you have at any of my hospitals."
What?