Chapter 8 》Racist Motherfucker

Natalie's POV

"You're at thanksgiving. Sweet potato pie, or pumpkin?" Chase asks me, placing his hand under his chin as he analyses me, his elbows on his knees. "Sweet potato pie, all day." I answer and he leans his back against his chair.

We're sitting across each other, not because we had a choice, but because every other chair had someone occupying it. The two chairs right across the room from each other were oddly the only empty chairs left. One in the middle of it's row and the other one the same. "Okay, mac and cheese. Side dish or full meal?" Is that a trick question?

"Full meal." I answer and his eyes grow wide in shock. "What?" I ask, innocently looking into his dilated pupils. "Mac and cheese ain't no full meal, Natalia." The people in the room are either trying their best to tune us out or they're listening quietly and intently to our conversation. Either way, we continue to speak to each other, regardless of the distance between us or the quietness of the hospital waiting room.

"It's the easiest, quickest meal ever, out of a box." He runs his fingers through his hair after I say this, seemingly disappointed and amazed at the same time.

"Real macaroni and cheese doesn't come from a box. It comes out the oven, bubbly, cheesy, crispy on top."

"Now he was raised right." the random black lady sitting next to me says. It's the same old lady that put her bag on the empty seat next to her when Chase and I walked in. I stood there looking at her until she took it off. Weed gives me patience. If I was sober, I probably would've thrown her bag out the window and sat down. I don't even understand what she has against me. I'm a fellow black American woman. Half black is still black.

Have you never read 'The Hate You Give'? Chase asks. "I did and I agreed with Chris one hundred percent. Macaroni and cheese is a protein. You sprinkle bread crumbs on top." I tell them both of what I've believed to be true ever since I can remember. His eyes widen once more, in the same shock. "Breadcrumbs? You're not serious. Breadcrumbs?"

That's it, I point a middlefinger at him. "I'm the black one here."

"You have a white surname." he says.

"It's not white. It's Arabic." I inform him of what he already knows.

"Arabic for white."

"Okay, fine. Damn, kill me for having a black mother and white father." I'm blacker than him anyway, dammit.

Just then, David's doctor appears. I hold the empty bucket that was once full of nuggets, get out of my crisscross applesauce position and walk with Chase towards Dr. James. "There's nothing wrong with him. Just a few bruises. He'll be fine." he tells us with a smile before walking away.

"Great, that was definitely worth an hour in the waiting room." Chase says sarcastically.

All of a sudden, my stomach and my throat feel queazy, my mouth fills with saliva and I have this exasperating need to grab hold of something before I think I'm going to fall over. "I don't feel..." I try to say, but in the quickest second, grabbing hold of the closest thing to my own hand, Chase's hand, I'm vomiting into the nugget bucket.

Chase reacts to my weak touch by wrapping his hand tighter around mine. We've never held hands before. The feeling of my hand in his gives me comfort without the effort of words as I refill the bucket with the same nuggets in stomach acid form. I swear, half of the vomit is my mirror neurons making me feel empathy and "sympathy vomiting" for myself. It's disgusting. My stomach is literally emptying itself out.

"Are you alright?" I hear Chase's voice, his other hand getting my long braids out of the way. Since I basically can't form a sentence in this state, I slowly shake my head from side to side, being careful not to worsen the headache that I've been ignoring for the past hour.

"Yeah, well, at least we're at the hospital." he takes the bucket from me and hands it to a nurse I hadn't noticed standing next to me. Chase moves his hand to the back of my knees and lets my hand go before unnecessarily picking me up bridal style to a hospital room.

"I can walk, Genius." I say. "That's what I thought too a minute ago when you grabbed my hand just to keep yourself steady." he states.

I chuckle a little and roll my now very heavy eyes at him. My one arm is resting around his shoulder, my head on his shoulder and my other hand against his chest. I can feel his heart beating against my hand - not too fast, not too slow, just perfect. I can smell his skin. I close my eyes and allow myself for a moment to be engulfed in his aura.

Eventually, I feel him stop walking and he lays me down on a hospital bed next to David's hospital bed. I'm forced to open up my eyes again. Dr. James asks me a bunch of questions which I answer all honestly with, "No."

"You have a very mild concussion. All you need is bed rest, a lot of fluids and I will have a nurse bring you some Tylenol to ease the headache. And then you can go home." he tells me at the end of his questions before walking away again. I hope I don't vomit this time.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Chase asks and I give him the same answer I've been giving Dr. James. "No."

"Should I call Dr. James back?"

"No. I'm just really hungry again." I tell him, scrunching my nose and he laughs.

"Of course." David mutters. "What was that?" Chase turns around to face him. "No, nothing. I was just thinking about how right my mom was when she told me that, no offence, black people are all the same - ghetto and hungry all the goddamn time." he says, laughing at the end.

"What did you say?" Chase asks him. I look up at him from my hospital bed before looking toward the asshole. Chase is getting pissed, I can tell. His fists are clenched. "I said "no offence". Man, you know how it is." David still has the audacity to answer.

"No, I don't know how it is. And if you weren't already injured, I would beat the fuck out of you and your racist bitch of a mom, Racist Motherfucker."

I can't help, but smile a little at the fact that Chase just defended my biracial ass. He turns back around to me and says, holding his hand out to me. "Let's go." I take his hand and climb off the bed. The two of us walk out on a very intimidated David. I would be too, to be honest.

I can't believe my relationship with Chase is up to holding hands now. It feels...oddly good.