It was almost three when my parents came in with dad’s signature, “Hey buddy, how you feeling?” He always comes in with that when I put myself in the hospital accidently.

“I’m fine I guess.” Mom came up to me and put a hand on my shoulder

“You gave us quite a scare with that stunt you pulled.” Dad’s voice nice yet with a tone of ‘you’re so fucking dead when we get home’. Why can’t he just be an asshole all the time and not put up this stupid act?

I shrugged, “I’m sure I did for the umpteenth time,” and gave him a winning smile, “Daddy.” It was always a joy to watch this man’s face go beat red with anger knowing that he can’t do much more than give me very vague threats.

A doctor came in, “Oh good, you’re all here! Hello I’m Dr. Bluff.” He chirped as he scrolled his eyes through his tablet, “You’re quite a lucky soul, Miss Rome.” A big ass dopey plastered on my face as I watch my parents give me and the doctor confused looks. “Had you not had a good helmet on, you would’ve suffered severe brain damage. But with the helmet on you were only knocked out with a concussion.” He rubbed his beard, “I have to ask where you got that helmet, it’s still perfectly intact with some marks and dents.”

“I got it online, saved up enough money to buy it. It was from a motorcycle store that makes kick ass helmet.” I replied.

“Can you give me the site address? I’d love to browse around since I’m a recently purchased motorcycle owner.”

“Sure!” I ripped a piece of paper out of the tiny notebook I got and scribbled down the address, giving it to the doctor.

My dad coughed, “Oh right, besides the concussion you did quite well to protect yourself, young lady. Most patients who rolldown hills end up breaking a limb or two in the process. Quite incredible, if I didn’t know that you tried to roll down Devil’s ride, I’d almost say you’re smart.” Dr. Bluff jabbed causing me to wince. “What were you thinking trying to make that ride?”

I gave him a wild smile, “Living life to the fullest. I have no regrets.” I felt a hurtful clinch on my arm.

The doc shrugged, “If you call almost dying living life, I guess I can’t blame you since I just bought a motorcycle.” He sighed, “Do any of you have questions or comments before I let you free?” I shook my head while dad verbally said no. “Good. I hope I don’t see you next time.” And walked off.

My dad glared at me, “What did you tell him, son?”

I smiled innocently, “Whatever do you accuse, daddy?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do?” I fluttered my eyes at him.

“Yes, you were being called ‘Miss’ and ‘Girl’ and ‘Rome’.”

My smile drained away a bit as I stood up and stretched, “Best we get out of here before you have one of your meltdowns. Don’t want the hospital staff knowing that my father is an abusive narcissist.” I walked to the door, “Oh and by the way, my name is Rome now, your son, Roman, is dead, and my pronouns are she/her.” As I skipped out of the room having the time of my life, I could taste the rage radiating off of dad even though I was out of the room. If my nerves weren’t jittery, I could almost say it felt good to rebel.