The Fury of no hope

As the pain in his hand drew his attention, once more, he gave up the search as he headed to his dorm room to get dressed. Once inside the room, Grant took off his towel and wrapped up his wet clothes in it as he dumped the whole thing into a nearby laundry basket. He got dressed in his typical attire, tighty whities, stone washed jeans, and a fo Hawaiian button-down shirt. The shirt was not as typical as the other items, but he chooses that shirt for its ease on his hurting hand. Completing his look with white socks and generic looking sneakers, Grant headed out of his dorm room with a hand towel over his damaged knuckles. Packing his bags had to wait until he got medical treatment for his damaged hand, as it would hinder his progress for the rest of the day.

Grant exited Crowder hall, but instead of turning right to head for the emergency room, he took a left and walked further into the college campus while his left hand was holding the hand towel against his bleeding knuckles to keep the blood at bay. Had Grant turned right, he would have seen that woman in black once again, standing a block away, watching his every move with great interest. She touched the right side of her sunglasses before mouthing the words, " He is heading your way." She then turned away and disappeared from view around a corner, her objectives unclear. As Grant entered the central Quad, a man in black followed Grant's movements with a sneer on his face, obviously not happy about having the baton passed to him so suddenly.

After, getting confused for a minute Grant asked a senior student about where, he could find a place called, " The Student Health Center." He had no real need to go to that building before now, so he did not recall where it was. Once the Senior pointed the way, Grant thanked him and with some minor urgency in each of his steps, headed in the indicated direction. The Student Health Center was an on-campus solution for minor emergencies that did not need anything more complicated than stitches. Procedures were completely free to current students, which thankfully Grant still was, for the time being. The Student Health Center also served as a classroom for the College's medical students, so they could get practical experience prior to their internships at real hospitals.

Luckily, every case, that comes in is first evaluated by medical professionals and put into one of two categories. Teaching moment or a real emergency, the former being treated by the pro alone or the latter, where a student will go through the various phases of medical diagnoses with the pro acting as a Supervisor/Guide. It is strongly discouraged upon to put a patient directly into the hands of a student, unsupervised, but if the rumors are any indication, such a thing is not that rare of a situation. While Grant was apprehensive, the fact that classes were ongoing, made the likelihood of that happening very low indeed. Grant let out a sigh as he looked at his injured hand before he pushed open the double doors that lead inside the lobby.

The lobby was pretty standard Emergency room style, numerous chairs to accommodate waiting patients, out of date magazines that are oddly still relevant, and a super powerful air conditioning unit that will turn you into a popsicle if you are not wearing layers. Grant walked right up to the receptionist area and he let out a cough to let the distracted receptionist know that someone was waiting. The woman behind the counter batted her brown eyes at Grant before she asked him what he wanted. Grant let out a chuckle as he held up his bleeding knuckles and asked what did she think he needed.

The receptionist rolled her eyes as she passed Grant a clipboard and a pen before going back to her distraction. Grant went to a nearby chair and sat down as he looked over the form he was given. It was a bog standard medical history form that all doctors make new patients fill out which frustrated Grant, mostly because he had to fill it all out with his other hand. Shaking his head, Grant could only slowly make his way through the tedium, wishing that he had his music player. Two hours passed by before Grant came out of the medical center with some low dose pain killer in his system and his right hand bandaged up. Luckily only the middle finger knuckle bone, had a crack in it.

It was lunchtime and Grant had not eaten since he woke up on the grass in front of Crowder Hall. How he had gotten there, he had no idea as his memory from that time was fuzzy. Beyond the graveside service, Grant had trouble remembering the long trek back to the dorm, blanking about halfway in his journey. The reason he was walking in the first place still made Grant's blood boil. Finally arriving at the university's cafeteria, he extended his right hand as he remembered all his pent up frustrations exploding all at once.

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The fire burned in Grant's eyes as he suddenly turned around and threw a right hook right at Robert's face. The sudden attack caught Robert off guard as the punch landed squarely on the jaw. Contrary to what Grant expected, Robert was not moved from his position one bit. The punch only turned Robert's cheek red from the impact of the fist. Grant got a sudden knot in his stomach as Robert crack his own neck and grew a sadistic smile on his face. He suddenly dropped down low before lunging at Grant, spearing him in the ribs and bringing them both down to the ground.

The two tumbled on the lawn for a few minutes tossing fists, elbows, and knees at each other while letting out noises ranging from grunts to primal screams. Grant was at a major disadvantage, not only was he a total novice when it came to fighting, but the difference of forty pounds and two inches of height made the situation even more of a one-sided beatdown. Luckily, all of the activity outside had drawn the attention of those inside, the door opened as a gravelly voice called out, " Hey! You two, knock it off!" Robert stopped immediately and disengaged from Grant and went over to the source of the voice, Cale Zane. Before Robert could talk, Carl slapped the back of Robert's head and sent him back inside.

Carl stared at the prone Grant with a mix of stern and sadness on his stressed, wrinkled face. " We need to talk Grant, come inside." He did not wait for an answer as he went back inside right away leaving the front door open a crack. Grant, who was laying on the ground, trying to catch his breath and calm down, remained that way for several minutes. Once his mind was clear, he attempted to get to his feet with some soreness and audible grunts, he got up to a knee before he let out a cough that hurt his chest. After another minute or two, Grant finally got back up to his feet.

Grant steadied himself with each step before he climbed the porch steps and entered the house soon after. The first sight that greeted him was a stripped-down living room, barren walls, and the happy sounds of relatives throwing a wake in the kitchen. Grant headed in that direction before he heard his name being called out from the study. He diverted and headed into the study, where Carl was sitting behind the desk. The study, itself was mostly untouched, only the pictures and awards that his grandfather had earned over his lifetime was packed into boxes. The sight hurt Grant more than his physical injuries ever could as the feeling of his grandfather, really being gone sunk in.

As Grant sat down, Carl had gotten up from his seat and sat back down in the chair beside Grant, his heart, heavy as he looked at his young nephew. He hesitates before he places a hand on Grant's shoulder and spoke in a clear deep voice. " I will not lie to you, I can't help you at all. I have enough on my plate just taking care of my four kids as a divorcee. With the funeral costs and such, both of Dad's life insurance and savings will be gone. Listen, don't worry about your stuff, the sale of the house can't happen right away, at least a year before I can put it on the market. That should give you plenty of time to get your own place when that happens, I can at least help you move your stuff."

While Carl was talking to Grant, Robert had stopped by and yelled to his Dad that he was going to go buy more beer. Robert did not wait for a reply as he ran out of the house. Grant, on the other hand, had tuned out, only catching bit and pieces of Carl's attempt to comfort him. Anger, once again grew as scenes of his grandfather's face flashed across his eyes, the loneliness, the feelings of abandonment mirroring each other. Carl continued to talk until he brought up the fact that he understood how Grant felt, which caused Grant to finally boil over. " You don't have a God Damn clue as to how I feel!"Grant had shot straight up from his chair, not only shocking Carl, but the shout had carried all the way to the Wake, which instantly killed the jovial atmosphere.

" Grandfather took me in, cared for me, and I took care of him, how mere leeches like you ever hope to understand how I feel! Where were you, when he broke his hip five years ago!? What about Christmas? Lousy card, not even signed, and a gift certificate for The Wall, who the fuck does that to someone you care for?!" Grant was pointing directly at Carl's face while his own face was beet red from anger, tears were streaming down his cheeks. The Wall was a cheap franchised convenience store boasting the lowest prices anywhere. While Grant had plenty of better grievances that could better articulate his point, the anger made him just go with the first thing that came to mind since the card in question was sitting on the desk at that moment. A guttural growl was the only thing that came out as he then kicked his chair out of the way as he exited the room and headed for the door, but not before taking a picture off the wall and tossing it back towards the office. The frame exploding against the door's molding accented with the sound of broken glass, the offending picture was a shot of Carl and grandfather from many years ago in their youth.

As Grant exited the house, the scene outside both shocked and infuriated him to where he could not even feel the cold wind that hit his face. The bike that he had ridden on to arrive at the house was on the ground, the frame was slightly bent the front wheel was depressed inwards and both tires were slashed. The rage exploded as Grant picked up his precious bike with a high pitched scream to the heavens before he then slammed the bike into the ground, hard, repeatedly. Ten slams were what it took before he finally let go but Grant was not done, his screaming fit continued as he jumped repeatedly on the bike's frame at least twelve times. Grant gave the bike an adrenaline-fueled kick as the sounds coming from his mouth were more intelligible, which only made it worse. His final assault was a hail of fists down upon the poor bike and a long string of violent curse words assaulted the ears of all who heard them, who could only look upon the scene with nothing but pity in their eyes. The energy finally visually draining from Grant, as his fists were slowing and the words came out hollow. Before long he could do nothing but crumble over the wreckage of his bike and silently sob.