4. The Cost

The bell had rung. The fight had ended — how exactly, even Erick wasn’t sure. Blood on the mat. Cheers. Shadows. And then nothing but the roar in his ears.

Hours later, he pushed open the sliding glass door of the hospital’s emergency entrance. One arm was wrapped tight around his ribs, his knuckles split and still bleeding through a rough bandage he’d done himself.

The nurse at the desk looked up, startled — then sighed when she recognized him. She didn’t even ask questions, just pressed the call button for the doctor on duty.

“Room 12, Erick. Sit down before you fall down.”

Erick ignored the chair and leaned against the wall instead, eyes half-closed. He could hear the soft hum of the late-night hospital — the beep of monitors, the shuffle of slippers. Somewhere in here, his mother was sleeping, the machines doing half her breathing for her.

The door at the end of the hallway swung open. Dr. Rahman strode out, a tired but sharp-eyed man in a white coat that barely hid the worry etched across his face.

“For God’s sake, Erick,” he muttered as he reached him. “You’re here again? What is it this time?”

“Just a split lip,” Erick said, voice hoarse. “Couple ribs, maybe. Just stitch me up.”

Dr. Rahman looked him over — the busted lip, the bruises half-hidden under his shirt collar, the raw knuckles. He shook his head and guided Erick firmly into the exam room.

“You’re worse than your mother sometimes,” he said, half to himself. “At least she doesn’t walk in bleeding on her own feet.”

Erick sat on the cold metal bed while the doctor checked his vitals. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the faint scent of old sweat and dried blood on his clothes.

“How is she?” Erick asked quietly.

Dr. Rahman paused, glancing at him. “Stable. But you know she needs that surgery soon. You can’t keep paying her bills by killing yourself in some back-alley fight club.”

Erick flinched as the doctor pressed along his ribs. He didn’t answer.

“Look at me, Erick. You’re running yourself straight into a hospital bed next to hers. Do you even sleep? Eat properly? Your blood pressure is through the floor.”

“I’m fine,” Erick muttered. “I can handle it.”

“Handle it? You’re a walking disaster. Every time you show up like this, you gamble with your life. And for what? You think your mother would want you half-dead to keep her alive?”

The words stung more than the disinfectant on his cuts. Erick clenched his jaw.

“Just do your job, Doc. Patch me up.”

Dr. Rahman sighed heavily but softened a little. “I’m always patching you up, Erick. But one day you’ll walk through that door and I won’t be able to.”

He finished cleaning the wounds and started wrapping the fresh bandages. Outside the room, the hospital’s night buzzed on — a dull hum of life clinging on.

“Promise me you’ll stop this,” the doctor said quietly, tightening the last bandage. “Promise me you’ll find another way.”

Erick didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on the door, where somewhere beyond it his mother lay waiting for a tomorrow that always felt just out of reach.

“Thanks, Doc,” he said instead. “Send the bill to the usual place.”

He pushed himself off the bed, wincing but steady. The doctor watched him go, the weight of unspoken worry settling heavier than any words could.

Outside, the night was cold. But Erick stepped into it anyway — fists bandaged, ribs aching, mind already drifting back to the fight that never really ends.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***