Chapter 442 Tom Is a Fool
The external injuries were treated simply, but due to excessive blood loss, Connor's face was extremely pale.
"Where's Tom?" Although he didn't care if anyone was with him, Connor still asked instinctively.
He didn't want to stay in the hospital because he feared it.
When he was a child, Owen's so-called punishments left him covered in wounds and with a high fever that wouldn't subside. By the time Brian Hawthorne brought him home, he was barely breathing due to the fever.
He had been resuscitated for a long time, and when he woke up, he was alone in the ward.
That deep-seated fear and silence made him dread such places.
Even though he was talented in medicine, Connor chose to specialize in psychology.
He feared places filled with the scent of disinfectant and the aura of death.
He avoided them at all costs.
"He went out, said he'd be right back."
Connor nodded, not really caring. Tom was who he disliked in every way.
If Tom hadn't been so noisy, Connor wouldn't have agreed to stay in the hospital tonight.
He had wanted to refuse Ryan and go straight home, but since Ryan had already made arrangements, Connor didn't say much.
It was just one night of observation in the hospital and he could endure it.
"You had a concussion. You'll need an IV tonight. If you need anything, call the nurse," Ryan instructed. "I'm off duty now, so I'll be leaving."
Connor nodded, and the ward became eerily silent the moment Ryan left.
Leaning against the headboard, Connor stared at the ceiling and the IV bag, as if he had returned to the past.
Those memories and hellish scenes from before did not fade with time.
It was the same for him, and for Jasmine as well.
Even if they seemed normal on the surface, any contact with their triggers would make them extremely tense.
His fingers turned pale as he gripped tightly, and Connor felt his breath trembling.
The veins on the back of his hand bulged, and the IV needle had started to backflow, but he seemed unaware.
"Connor, how can you be alone in the hospital? I will stay with you." Owen's voice was like a curse to Connor.
He was like an unkillable demon, making Connor suffer continuously.
"Connor, I punish you for your own good. You won't blame me, right? I am the one who loves you most in this world."
"Connor, boys become rebellious as they grow up. If you become one of those disobedient kids, I will be very sad."
"You have to be good, or I will abandon you."
"Be good. If only you never grew up, Connor."
Connor clenched his hands tightly and slowly closed his eyes, as if Owen and the doctor's conversation still echoed in his ears.
"How is Connor's health?"
"Sir, the dosage is too high. Connor's physical development is already slower than his peers. If we continue with the medication, the Hawthorne senior will find out."
"Why isn't he mentally impaired yet? How did he manage to get first place in the entrance exam?" Owen asked angrily.
He wanted Connor to become a mentally impaired fool, but to his surprise, Connor was only physically weak and malnourished. Not only was he not impaired, but he also achieved astonishing results in the elementary school entrance exam.
He was what they called a genius.
"He's inherently a genius, perhaps..." the doctor explained nervously. He didn't tell Owen that he had secretly replaced the medication with saline.
He couldn't bear to do such harmful things.
"Backflow! What's wrong with you?" A loud voice pulled Connor out of his hellish memories.
Connor's breath tightened, and he opened his eyes abruptly.
Blood had already flowed back into the IV tube.
"Nurse, reinsert the needle. He's too restless," Tom scratched his head. "He's such a grown man, yet he can't stay still during an IV, causing backflow." Tom had been a student athlete since childhood, strong and rarely sick, but even he would fidget during IV drips as a child, causing backflow or swelling, which would earn him scoldings from his parents.
The nurse exclaimed in surprise and quickly replaced Connor's IV needle.
Connor stared numbly at his pale hand, his gaze wandering.
"Sir, you're too tense. You need to relax your muscles and fingers," the nurse sighed, unable to insert the needle. "Your fingers are so cold. Are you feeling cold?"
Connor said nothing.
Tom walked over to take a look, then he grabbed Connor's fingers.
"You!" Connor was a bit angry, feeling that his hand was now dirty and needed to be disinfected with alcohol.
"Your hand is so cold," Tom said, letting go of Connor's hand and running to the bathroom. He came back with a towel soaked in hot water and placed it over Connor's hand. "Your hand is too cold; it will hurt more when the needle goes in."
Connor hadn't expected that someone as scatterbrained as Tom would have such practical knowledge.
He looked up at Tom and frowned. "In this short time, did you go out to fight someone?"
It was obvious that Tom had been in a fight. He had injuries on his forehead and the corner of his eye, and his lip was split, looking like he had taken a beating.
"Aren't you always bragging about how good you are at fighting? Who beat you up like this?" Connor was somewhat displeased, feeling that this fool had been bullied.
"I was just caught off guard today and didn't have time to call for backup. If our crew had been there, those guys wouldn't have stood a chance." Tom started boasting. "I'm not exaggerating; I took on six of them by myself. These injuries are nothing. They're battle scars!"
Connor felt a headache coming on from Tom's bragging.
"A bunch of idiots," Tom snorted. "Especially Christopher Hawthorne, always scheming from behind."
Connor's hand, which had been rubbing his temple, paused. He looked up sharply at Tom. "You fought with Christopher?"
"If he hadn't had friends with him tonight, I could've beaten him to a pulp," Tom boasted. He dragged a chair over and set it up with a blanket and pillow, preparing to lie down.
It was clear he was used to staying overnight as a caregiver.
Their group was a regular at the hospital, thanks to their habits of clubbing, drinking, fighting, and racing.
"Why did you fight him?" Connor asked bewildered.
"Wasn't he the one who had someone drive into you? That was reckless. You could've died falling off that overpass." Tom was furious, unable to comprehend the malicious business battles and family feuds, only seeing Christopher as inherently evil.
Connor stared at Tom for a long time. "I thought you hated me."
"I do hate you," Tom said bluntly, taking off his shoes and socks, ready to lie down. "But you're my guy. If anyone wants to mess with you, they have to think twice."
Connor's mouth twitched, wishing he could sew Tom's mouth shut.
"Watch your mouth!" Connor frowned, reminding Tom.
"We're roommates. No one can touch you except me," Tom explained further.
"How did you get into college?" Connor was genuinely curious.
"I got in on a sports scholarship," Tom said proudly.
"We're just in a temporary living arrangement," Connor gritted his teeth, reminding Tom not to spout nonsense.
Tom nodded. "Fine, you're just a guest, and I didn't mind."
Connor suddenly felt so exasperated that he wanted to sleep. "Go wash your feet, put your shoes on the balcony, and remember to spray some alcohol."
Tom got annoyed. "Do you think I'm a virus?"
"No, it is Christopher," Connor explained for the first time.
It wasn't that he thought Tom was dirty; among their group, Tom was the cleanest. But Christopher had been promiscuous since his teenage years.
Tom's anger dissipated instantly. "You should've said so earlier. I think he's dirty too. I'll go wash up properly."
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