Chapter Nine: The Chair

It was funny, how things worked in life... it was all a tumble of 'if's' and 'buts'

If Peter hadn't pranked her, Meg would have had the use of her legs.

If she hadn't fallen for his trick, she would still be able to walk.

If her parents loved her, she wouldn't be here.

But she was here.

Alone.

Still.

Even on the last day in the hospital.

She had been stuck in the hospital for another week, undergoing more tests... and after one of the last X-rays, the doctor had ordered for the neck brace to be replaced with bandages. All in all, she had been healing up so nicely that she was supposedly going to be leaving the hospital and returning home that day.

Her parents hadn't visited her once while she'd been bedridden. Not that she'd wanted them to, of course... she wouldn't have been able to face her father's smart remarks, or the look of disgust and cold disappointment on her mother's face, as if everything bad was her fault. Every time she'd ever been sick, her dad had taken advantage of it and hurt her on purpose, so not seeing them might have been a blessing.

She still had a small scar on her jaw from when she'd gotten the mumps and he'd thrown a glass of milk at her face... as if the steaming bowl of soup he'd chucked at her right before that hadn't been enough of a way to say 'I hate you'. She sat silently in the sterile bed, waiting for the nurse to bring her new wheelchair with her eyes on the clouds outside the window, but when the door finally opened, she glanced up...

And was instantly horrified.

Eyes large behind her glasses, she stared at the smiling nurse, who had her hands on her new wheelchair.

Although, 'new' was kind of a lie.

Blinking rapidly behind her glasses, Meg stared at the wheelchair in disbelief, not wanting to think this was real... that it was really happening.

But it was.

The dented, rusted, ratty wheelchair in front of her would be her new legs.

It was too much to bear.

Her eyes watered for a moment, but she choked back the tears when the nurse wheeled it over.

"All right, Megan," the woman sweetly told her, voice dripping with sugary syrup as she lowered the bars of the hospital bed. "Let's go! It's time to go home!"

Meg looked at her deadened legs and weakly attempted to drag them out from under the covers using her hands.

The nurse stood there, watching passively, as she finally managed to manually pull her useless limbs out and drape them in an upright position. Her back and her neck smarted for a moment, but she eventually managed to slide herself onto the hospital floor, where she dragged herself along the tiles using her arms. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the bars of the wheelchair and struggled to pull herself up.

The nurse merely smiled, eyes full of forced cheer, but made no move to help.

Meg wasn't upset though: she was determined not to have any help, regardless. If she was ever going to survive, she needed to do things herself, because nobody would help her once she was home. Limbs shaking, she finally managed to sit down on the wheelchair, then dragged her legs into place, panting heavily. She wiped her brow, feeling sweaty and gross and a little nauseous since the movements had hurt her back a little bit.

"Let's go," the woman sweetly urged, opening the door and motioning for her to start rolling. "Come on, Megan."

The nurse's tone and obvious attitude problem irritated her, but she jerkily did as she was told and somehow managed to turn the rusted wheelchair around. Rolling herself out the door turned out to be a difficult process because of how rusted the wheels on the chair were, though.

Figures that my parents would get me the cheapest thing possible, she silently muttered. No surprise there.

The halls slowly moved past as she worked her arms, shoulders screaming in agony, panting heavily.

When her muscles began to throb, she fully realized that it was far harder than it looked and she abruptly realized why her neighbor, Joe Swanson, had such huge arm muscles: the effort it took to roll herself to the elevator had taken an hour's worth of energy. She was grateful when she was able to rest her arms, but that brief respite only made her muscles scream even more once she started again.

It took fifteen minutes just for her to reach the lobby.

Her reward for the struggle was to see Jerome waiting for her instead of her family.

Meg's heart instantly squeezed and she momentarily looked away from him, assaulted by a wash of unpleasant memories, but she eventually gathered her strength and made her way forward. The black man turned when she rolled up, but his stoic expression cracked and he could only watch with a tight face as she approached, breathing heavily. His face quivered for a moment, as if he were fighting back a torrent of emotions, but then he let out a sigh.

"Hey, Meg," he drawled in that familiar baritone. "It's been a long while.'

She stared at him sullenly and scribbled a disheartened response, holding it up in front of her nose.

'What are you doing here?'

"Your old man got drunk at The Clam, so Joe Swanson asked me to snag you," Jerome grunted. "You've already been checked out, so let's just get you home."

Walking behind the chair and putting his arms on the handles, he tried to push her towards the front doors, but... he couldn't do it.

His eyes hardened when he tried again, and with a squeal from the rusted wheels, she was off. Meg set her arms in her lap and lowered her head when he pushed her outside, because from here onward, her life would be returning to the way it had been before... only now, she was crippled.

There would be no special help.

There would be no care.

There would be no respite.

Living hell awaited her.

She took a deep breath, but then the wheelchair snagged on something and she was tossed forward. Jerome struggled to move it again, but when he failed, he unexpectedly cursed and knelt down, picking up the entire thing. Meg's heart lurched and she snatched the armrests as he carried her the rest of the way, grunting and straining before he gently shoved her into the back of his minivan.

It didn't take him long to get into the driver's seat and key the ignition.

The ride home was a silent one, since Meg couldn't talk and Jerome was obviously not in the mood to speak to her.

Her eyes watered as she pondered the future, but when a few tears started trickling down her cheeks, she frantically wiped them.

She wouldn't cry.

She had to be stronger than before, because she was weaker.

After she'd managed to fight back the tears, she closed her eyes, trying to process what was happening. Even after so many days in the hospital, it still didn't feel real, it felt more like this were a nightmare she was unable to awaken from. A few few times along the way home, she actually pinched herself in an effort to force her mind into waking up: it had always worked in the past whenever she'd had a nightmare.

"I'm so sorry, Meg."

Her face twitched since it had come out of nowhere.

She lifted her eyes and looked towards the front of the van, feeling a bit confused when she saw Jerome's chocolate brown eyes looking at her in the rear view mirror: there was a surprising amount of guilt there, and a whole lot of pity, but Meg felt nothing but a stab of anger and hurt.

Her lips tightened and she abruptly looked out the window, eyes stinging even more than before.

She knew why he was apologizing, and she didn't want to accept it.

Back when his house had been undergoing fire damage repairs, he'd stayed with them for a few days before couch hopping at Glenn's. She'd been uncomfortable having a strange hulking black man sleeping one bedroom away from her own, so she hadn't shown her face much while he'd been there, and things at school had been particularly awful that week: Connie and everyone else had been cornering her alone, telling her to kill herself, writing notes that suggested she should die...

And she would have.

For once, she'd actually gathered enough courage to do it.

She would have pulled off committing suicide if Jerome hadn't walked into her room at precisely the wrong moment.

His simple curiosity about the room beyond her perpetually closed door had made him open it right as she'd been about to step off the chair and hang herself using a couple of belts. Before she could say a single word, he'd bolted forward and lunged onto the chair, ripping her carefully constructed noose and the ceiling fan down with a crash. He'd roughly grabbed her arms and shoved her down onto the bed, looking more furious and frightening than anyone she'd ever met.

"What the fuck was you thinkin'?!" he'd roared. "Are you crazy?!"

Meg had only been able to stare at him, on the verge of bursting into tears.

"No, I'm not," she'd croaked. "I'm doing the right thing. This is what everyone wants."

"You really are crazy!" he'd bellowed, waving his arms. "Your momma and daddy would be heartbroken! Did you even think of them?!"

But to his shock, she'd burst into tears and harsh laughter at the same time.

"Heartbroken? They don't give a shit if I'm here or not. They'd throw a party instead of a funeral if I died."

"Bullshit. Lois would never do somethin' like that, and Peter wouldn't either, even if he does have a few screws loose."

"And how would you know?" Meg had asked. "You dated my mother twenty years ago, Jerome. She doesn't care about me. Neither does my dad."

"Yes, they do."

"No, they don't, and I can prove it."

He'd raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, looking her up and down; above him, the wires sticking out of her ceiling had sparked a few times.

"I'm listening," he'd muttered. "If you're bein' honest, prove it like you say you can."

"You know how my dad gets when he sees you around my mom, right?" she'd told him, mouth quivering in defiance. "And you know how my Mom acts when it comes to Chris and Stewie getting hurt, right? Or doing things they shouldn't be doing?"

"Yeah... so what?"

"Next time you see my dad, tell him you had sex with me," she'd told him, ignoring his shocked reaction. "Then you'll know."

"I can't do that," he'd muttered. "I have a daughter around your age, and you're a minor, too! I can't say somethin' like that!"

"If you want proof, that's how you'll get it," she'd sniffed, rolling over and sadly facing her bedroom wall. "Do the same thing with my mom. Next time you see her, tell her I fell down the stairs and you think I broke my ankle or my leg or something."

He'd stared at her for the longest time, eyes wide and a very uncomfortable expression on his face, but then he'd run a hand through his wild black hair and had walked out of her room without saying another word, closing the door.

That same night, he'd done what she'd asked him to do before leaving.

Right after he and Peter had resolved the situation between him and Lois not sleeping around, he'd actually told Peter that he'd slept with Meg instead, and her father's reaction had been instantaneous.

"I don't care about that."

From that point on, whenever he'd seen her, Jerome had looked at her with eyes that plainly said he knew the truth.

He knew that her family didn't give a shit.

She didn't trust him, though, because the one time he could have gotten her out of the Griffin household, he'd taken her father's side and defended him. When Peter had shot her, he'd told the courts that she'd tried to commit suicide by shooting herself, and the fucked up part was that everyone had believed him. A few months after she'd fully recovered, however, Jerome's daughter, Pam, had unexpectedly come to her locker at school and had given her a very tight hug from behind.

"My dad said to remind you that we're always here if you need to talk," she'd whispered. "Just tell us and we'll be there, 'kay?"

And for the first, and last time, in her life... she'd genuinely reached out to someone for help.

After school that same day, she'd gone to Jerome's house and had told him everything they'd done, with the truth about her dad shooting her.

He hadn't believed her.

He'd told her she was over-exaggerating things, that her story was too unrealistic, that it didn't make since.

He'd called her a liar.

Since then, she hadn't spoken a single word to him, because he was just like everyone else.

He didn't listen. Didn't see. Didn't care.

Meg was alone.

She shivered when she realized he was pulling up in front of a familiar yellow house with a red roof.

"We're here," Jerome muttered, getting out of the car and opening the rear door; with steady hands, he pulled her out and gently set the chair on the concrete road. Meg's eyes were drawn to a long black streak that had stained the white pavement, but she looked away since she knew what it was.

The remains of her blood.

Jerome pushed her all the way up to the front door, then rang the doorbell.

"Coming!" Lois's voice happily trilled; footsteps followed, but when the door opened, the redhead halted. "Hello, Jerome. Thanks for bringing her home!"

Those hazel eyes narrowed when she saw Meg, still heavily bandaged up, sitting in the rusty old wheelchair.

Meg didn't even return that cold, judgmental gaze.

"She hasn't said a word," Jerome noted, stepping back and giving them both a look. "I've never seen Meg so quiet."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Lois exclaimed, forcing a laugh before she roughly dragged the wheelchair into the house. "I'll take it from here. Say hi to Pam for me!"

And without another word, she slammed the door in his face.

Meg watched as her mother stomped back over to the couch and sat down before she wheeled herself over to the stairs, wanting nothing more than to go upstairs to her room... but she halted, looking up at them in confusion. She glanced back at Lois to see if she had any answers, but the television was on and her mom wasn't even looking at her anymore. Meg swallowed, then slowly leaned forward, letting herself fall out of the chair and onto the first step.

She hadn't even been able to put her clothes on... she was still wearing a hospital gown.

Hands shaking, she began to crawl up the steps, shifting her weight and pulling herself up them one at a time.

As she was doing this, however, Stewie came into view.

He stopped, looking down at her... then he tilted his head and mumbled something. He sat down at the top of the stairs and watched her struggle with husky blue eyes that looked far colder and much more calculating than any normal four-year-old's should have. When she made it to the top step and stopped to take a breather, setting her head on the stairs, he smirked in a very adult-like manner.

"Well," he drawled, making Meg freeze; she slowly lifted her eyes and blinked at him, then looked around to see if someone had broken into their house. "It seems you've made it home, Meg."

She turned and looked at her baby brother, heart seizing and mouth dropping open.

Is Stewie... talking? she wondered, eyes growing huge behind her glasses. What...?

"Hmmm... I guess I underestimated you," he said airily, speaking in a highly inflected tone; lifting his little hand, he gripped her chin and turned her face this way and that, peering at her in a calculating manner. "At the very least, it would seem you might actually be useful to me, especially since you can't talk now. Yes, very useful indeed... I must discuss this with Brian at once!"

What the fu-doodle cakes? Meg silently whispered, blinking rapidly. I've lost my mind... I've gone insane from the shock. There's no way!

"Sorry to miss your welcome back party," Stewie sighed, smiling at her in a very adult fashion, "but I have to go take care of some business. Have fun crawling. It does get easier after a time, you know, but... oh, well, it would see you'll have to get better at it than walking. Tah-tah!"

Then, with a bizarrely maniacal laugh, he got to his feet and wandered off, leaving Meg staring after him with her jaw on the floor.

She opened her mouth to call his name, but like before, no sound came out of her mouth, only a dry whisper of air.

She huffed, then decided to take what she'd just seen as a hallucination and continued crawling towards her bedroom. She was sure that the pain medication they'd put into her IV was responsible, there was no fucking way her little brother could have just been talking. She was either nuts or still drugged up.

It was still only ten in the morning, so her father was at work and Chris was probably at school, but she was already exhausted and wanted to go to sleep. Luckily, her bed wasn't too far away... if only she could make it there. Struggling madly, with sweat running down her cheeks, she fought to drag herself to her bedroom... and once she was there, she flailed for the doorknob and managed to snatch it on the third try.

She jerked it around and wriggled it until the door opened and she saw her bed.

Relief swamped her and she struggled to drag herself over to the mattress, aching all over.

She managed to grab the edge , but pulling herself onto the bed itself was difficult, and she ended up pulling her comforter and all of her sheets clean off in her attempt to get a good hold on it. That didn't stop her, though: with a final great heave, she managed to slide onto her familiar, soft bed and let her face flop on her pillow, closing her eyes with a sigh and carefully twisting her upper torso.

She was beyond exhausted.

Is every day going to be this hard? she silently wondered, opening her eyes and peering at the mattress through her lashes. What am I gonna do?

She didn't know, but there were several things she was sure of.

One, she would still be attending school.

Two, moving around was going to be a pain in the ass.

Three, putting on pants was going to be impossible for her unless she wanted extra effort and exhaustion.

Four, she was as helpless as an infant.

And five... her future was gone.

She had no voice. She couldn't walk. And nobody cared.

Meg forced herself to roll onto her back, the process taking extra effort since she needed to manually move her legs, and stared at the ceiling.

Thinking.

She was returning to school tomorrow, and that in itself would be a new hell to overcome since she was pretty sure everyone had seen the accident and its repercussions thanks to the news. She had been mortified to discover that the people she'd seen coming and going while she'd been out of it had actually been news reporters, and upon remembering the video she'd seen earlier that morning, she cringed involuntarily.

The slow motion replay of her getting hit by the car, then the neck-break landing... it had been painful to watch.

It was a wonder her neck actually hadn't broken.

Somehow, she'd gotten off without even a fracture in that part of her body, but her spine had been messed up... was still messed up.

The doctor had warned her not to put too much strain on herself just yesterday, but such a thing was impossible with her situation since she had absolutely no help.

Closing her eyes, Meg let out a huff of air and decided to go back to sleep.

That's all she really wanted to do.

Sleep.

And so, she did... she slept the whole day away.

Later that evening, when Peter got home from work, Lois stood up and looked him dead in the eyes.

"Peter, we need to talk," she said firmly, folding her arms. "It's serious."

"Not now, Lois," the glasses-wearing man said, holding up a hand. "I'm in the process of imagining the concept of Buddhism making Jesus Christ a sandwich."

She tapped her foot and watched as he stared off into space for nearly two minutes... but then, he let out a low snicker and she rolled her eyes.

"Peter, listen to me!" Lois snapped. "It's about Meg!"

"What about her?" Peter scoffed, setting his stuff down and flopping on the couch.

"She's home," Lois retorted, gesturing at the ratty wheelchair her daughter had arrived in. "What are we gonna do about the money situation? Everyone knows what happened to her is our fault! Our reputation will be destroyed if we don't let her do rehab, but we can't even hope to afford it! Rehabilitation can take years!"

Peter simply looked at her, not seeming all that worried.

"So?" he asked, making her gawk. "Meg's eighteen. She should be grateful just to be livin' here."

"Peter, this is a serious issue!" Lois snapped, moving in front of the television in fury. "Eighteen or not, we have to do something!"

"Lois, calm down," Peter drawled, rolling his eyes. "You're more worked up than that time that Giraffe had a baby on our front lawn."

"PETER!" she angrily barked, clenching her fists. "Listen to me! We NEED to DO something! Meg could have you thrown in JAIL for this! You paid the driver of that car a hundred bucks to speed on a suburban street, and he hit her! She could genuinely put you away for good if she really wanted to!"

That caught his attention, and he looked shocked, but then he narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, so that's how she wants to play this, eh?" he asked, getting to his feet and rolling up his sleeves. "We'll see about that!"

When he made as if to stomp over to the stairs, Lois grabbed his arm.

"Don't even think about it!" she snapped, then glanced at the window with a harsh frown; as she'd thought, Joe Swanson was watching them from his window using a pair of binoculars, the same way he'd done ever since the accident. "Joe's still watching the house."

"Joe?" Peter snorted, turning and looking at her. "I haven't seen Joe at the bar in a while. The guys say he hasn't been feeling up for drinking lately."

"Peter, we really have to do something," Lois muttered, clutching his arm with a worried expression. "We can't just sit back and not fix this! The whole state saw the accident on television! Maybe even other states, too! The way you handled yourself during that interview painted us in a very, very bad light!"

The man sighed, then pulled her into a hug.

"All right, Lois," he conceded. "We'll think of something. Maybe some sort of fundraiser."

He instantly imagined standing with the guys and holding a huge banner depicting a disgusting, photo shopped image of Meg with the words "Donate to Help my Ugly Daughter Walk again. And have plastic surgery" beneath it.

The image popped like a soap bubble when Lois pulled away and smiled.

"All I'm asking as that we try," she murmured, glancing at the window out of the corner of her eye. "Who knows? Maybe if we call Daddy, he'll help Meg walk again!"

Peter instantly looked uncomfortable.

"I dunno, Lois," he drawled, narrowing his eyes. "Your father isn't too keen on helping us these days."

"Well, I'll still give him a call and test the waters, then," Lois sighed. "As long as we do something."

Right around that moment, the front door opened and Chris walked into the house; Lois instantly turned around and smiled warmly.

"Welcome home, Chris!" she exclaimed, troubles vanishing from her expression. "How was your day?"

The blonde boy merely looked at her.

"It was good... I talked to some of my friends about Meg today," he explained, then lowered his eyes. "Mom? Dad? Can I ask you about something?"

"Sure, Chris, go ahead," Peter drawled, picking his nose and flicking the contents he pulled out of it away from him.

"Well, do you remember when I was little?" he asked, making Lois blink. "The day I asked you guys how to make Meg happy?"

Peter stared off into space, narrowing his eyes. Then he gasped.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that!" he exclaimed, then let out a laugh. "Lois, remember? Chris came up to us asking how to make Meg happy, so we told him what not to do!"

The woman blinked, then her eyes flashed and she covered her mouth to hide a snicker.

"I do remember that," she chuckled, laughing throatily. "The look on her face! Like she'd swallowed a lemon, every time! It was so funny!"

"Why do you ask, Chris?"

However, when they turned to look at him, he looked stunned and horrified.

"You... you guys lied to me?" he asked, obviously not believing his ears. "But... but you said Meg liked being teased! And that me being more successful than her would make her happy! You even said she liked it when Dad yelled at her, because it means he cared!"

"Eh, that was all a lie," Peter callously drawled, flopping down on the couch. "We told ya that for shits and giggles, Chris."

The blonde boy's face turned red and he clenched his fists.

"You mean that Meg really doesn't like it?!" he shouted. "We've... been making her mad and upset all those times for real?!"

"Yeah," Peter said, eyes glued to the television screen. "Oh, shhh! My favorite game show is on!"

On the screen was a cockeyed woman in a shark tank eating dollar bills like a goldfish.

Chris, bright red with shock, outrage, and horror, lost his temper.

The rage surged into his throat.

Stomping forward towards the television his father's eyes were glued to, he let out a scream and kicked the flat screen with all of his strength. Both of his parents jumped when it fell over, but Chris didn't stop: still screaming at the top of his lungs in utter fury, he stomped on the television until it was totally busted. Then, he turned and looked at his parents, face even redder and breathing hard.

"CHRIS!" Lois squeaked. "What on earth has gotten into you?! What are you—"

"Shut up!" the blonde boy shouted, making his parents twitch. "Just shut up! Don't say another word!"

"Chris, what's wrong?" Lois whispered, staring at him with round eyes. "Why are you so angry?"

"SHUT UP!" Christopher angrily bellowed, stomping his foot yet again; the woman instantly flinched back with an expression of startled hurt on her face. "YOU LIED TO ME! BECAUSE OF YOU, MEG HATES ME!"

Both of them stared at him, but his eyes filled with tears when he noticed that they didn't look concerned.

Just mildly confused.

"What's your point?" Peter demanded, angrily getting to his feet making his son turn almost purple with fury. "Why do you care?"

Without a second thought, Christopher threw his school bag at his father with all of his strength. Peter let out a terrified shout and cowered with his hands over his head, then backed away towards his wife with quivering eyes. Both of his parents looked afraid of this outburst.

"Chris!" the woman cried. "Don't throw things! That's a very bad thing to do!"

"I don't believe you!" Chris hollered, clenching his fists. "You told me teasing Meg was a good thing, and look at her! She got hit by a car! LIARS!"

"You're going too far," Peter warned, narrowing his dark brown eyes. "If you don't stop with this shenanigan, I'll have to discipline you."

"Excuse me?! This is my way of disciplining you!" Chris instantly roared, making his father cower once again. "Parents can make mistakes! I know that because you make them all the time! But you two messed up EVERYTHING this time! YOUR LIES MADE ME HURT MY OWN SISTER FOR YEARS AND YEARS!"

"Young man, d-don't you take that tone with us," Peter stammered, nervously waggling his finger. "D-do you understand?"

"SHUT UP!" Chris screamed, face turning dark crimson. "MEG WAS RIGHT! YOU'RE THE WORST PARENTS EVER!"

"Stop fighting!" Lois cried. "Chris, please, just tell us how to fix this!"

"Meg is in a wheelchair like Mr. Swanson because of you! HOW CAN YOU FIX THIS?!"

"It was only a little prank," Peter whimpered. "I didn't mean to!"

"If you really feel that way, apologize!" Christopher spat, turning his eyes away from his parents with a trembling mouth. "I want you to apologize for everything! I love Meg! She's my big sister! But because of you, she hates me! It's all because of you! I always wondered why she never smiled at me, why we always laughed when we teased her, why we did tease her, and why nobody ever listened. You said she was dramatic, that it was fine, and I thought it was okay because of YOU!"

"You're grounded!" Peter finally snapped, pointing at the ground. "You broke the television, so go to your room! After everything we've done for you... ungrateful."

"Peter," Lois whispered, resting a hand on his arm, "don't be so harsh on him. He's our son."

"Meg needs more sympathy than I do, Mom," Chris said coldly. "After all, she's mentally unstable because of you guys. Go take a good look in the mirror and see who REALLY needs to be grounded. I may be slow, and dumb, but I'm still smart enough to know what's right and wrong. And this is ALL WRONG!"

After kicking the television one last time, he grabbed his bag and stomped towards the stairs, but when he saw the dented and pitiful wheelchair resting in front of them he froze. Eyes flashing up towards the top of the staircase, he tore past Lois and bolted up them two at a time.

To his shock and delight, the door at the end of the hall was open.

Tearing over to Meg's room, he stumbled inside, but his face fell when he saw her lying fast asleep.

Still, she was home... she was really home.

He wanted to talk to her, to say that he was sorry... that he hadn't meant to tease her and hurt her feelings... but she looked exhausted, so he reluctantly walked out of the room and closed the door behind him before heading into his own bedroom. He leaned against the door, promising himself that he would be a better brother from now on. He wouldn't listen to his parents anymore. They'd lied to his face about something that had actually really mattered to him for years on end.

Everything he'd done had been based off of an actual lie.

"I'll be a good brother," he mumbled, clenching his fist before straightening his cap. "I'll make sure nobody bullies Meg, ever again!"

Sadly, that would be much easier said than done, considering he was kind of a wuss, but he would try.

He would try.