by Hamel, B. B.
I had no clue what I was going to do. I knew I’d have to help my mom no matter what, if I couldn’t afford that on top of paying down that bastard Cosimo. I felt desperate and terrified, and I tightened my grip on her hand. I was barely twenty-three, never went to college, had middling grades in high school, and had no prospects, no future, nothing at all that suggested I might be able to make the sort of money that would save me from this situation.
“He owed them thirty grand, Mom,” I said, looking at her unmoving face. “Thirty thousand dollars. I don’t have even a third of that. They said he bought drugs from them and planned on selling everything, but he ended up using half of them himself. I didn’t believe it at first, but he really did it, didn’t he? That’s why he jumped off the Ben Franklin. That’s why the Coast Guard found him floating in the Delaware. Goddamn it, Mom, why would he do that?”
But I knew the answer already. My dad was a piece of shit, plain and simple. He was an addict, an emotionally abusive asshole, a criminal, and everything I hated. He drifted in and out of our lives, taking advantage of my mother, spouting vile insults at me when he had the opportunity, and generally making our life a living hell. I asked Mom once when I was younger why she stood it, why she didn’t divorce him and get a restraining order, but she’d only shaken her head and given me a sad smile.
“Honey,” she’d said, and lit up a cigarette, “you’ll understand one day that the heart wants what it wants, even when it’s bad for you.”
I still didn’t get it, and I wondered if I ever would.
“He can’t keep doing this to us,” I said, shaking my head, and reached out to stroke her hair. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, only kept breathing steadily in and out. “He’s dead and he’s still ruining our lives. When is it going to end?”
I hung my head and stared down at the sheets and wanted to scream. I felt so out of control and alone. My only ally in the world was unconscious, and I knew I couldn’t turn to anyone else—my friends at work wouldn’t believe me, and my friends from high school were all losers and assholes.
There were no saviors in this world, and if anyone was going to get me out of this situation, it had to be me.
I heard the door slide open. I looked over my shoulder as that doctor stepped into the room, Dr. Call Me Gavin. He was handsome, really handsome in that way doctors had—dark hair cut short, blue eyes, square jaw, tall and muscular. He clearly took care of himself and cared about his appearance. I narrowed my eyes at him and tried to look like I belonged, even though I knew I was breaking the rules.
He was nosy and I didn’t like it. I didn’t know what he wanted from me or what he was getting at earlier, but he suspected something. I had to be careful with him.
“You know you’re not supposed to be in here,” he said, leaning up against the wall. He gave me a tight smile and stretched his neck.
“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to visit her.”
He nodded and looked at her. “How’s she doing?”
“You tell me.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
He walked over to the chart, took it out, and flipped through the pages. “Not much has changed since she was admitted,” he said. “Swelling in her brain’s gone down, which is good. Seems like her injuries are healing.”
“Do you think she’ll wake up?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s what they all say.” I looked back at her and held her hand tighter. “I think it’s a nice way of saying no.”
He took a breath and let it out. When he spoke, his voice was soft and soft. “I’ve seen a lot in this place over the years. I’ve seen it all happen, one way or the other. Miracles and tragedies. I really can’t say which way it’ll break for your mom, because I’ve seen too much to know that sometimes it’s impossible to say.”
I let out a snort. “That sounds like bullshit, you know.”
He laughed and I glanced back at him. I wasn’t trying to be funny—I was trying to push him away, to piss him off, to get him to leave me alone.
“I’m sure it does,” he said, “but it’s the truth. Mercy has a way of making you realize how powerless you are sometimes.”
I chewed my lip and narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was being a dick or if he was serious—and either way, I wasn’t a fan. He was handsome, that was for sure, gorgeous really, but that didn’t change anything.
I was tainted goods, and if he was smart, he’d stay far away.
“Can I stay with her for a little while?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I shouldn’t let you.”
I looked at him. “Please. For a little while.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his thick, hard hair. “All right, you can stay for a half hour. I have to do rounds, and when I get back, I’ll bring you to your room.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him, trying to be disarming. Maybe being rude wouldn’t work—I could kill him with kindness instead.
He smiled back. “Sure, and when you’re ready to talk about those guys—”
My smile disappeared. “You should drop it.”
He tilted his head. “Maybe I should, but something’s up with you.”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m just a girl that got into an accident and I’m worried about my mom.”
“Right, that’s all you are.” He studied me and I squirmed a little under his gaze. It was intense, and I remembered the way he’d looked at my breasts before when the sheet fell down, remembered the glimmer of lust in his eyes—and felt a strange elation run through me. I had to look away.
He lingered for a few seconds longer before walking to the door again. I watched as he pushed it open and paused on the threshold. He looked back at me and his eyes told me everything—he knew I was in trouble, and he wasn’t going to let this go.
He shut the door and left me alone with my mother.
“That one’s going to be trouble,” I said softly to her, shaking my head. “I think I’m going to have to get out of here.” I chewed on my lip and leaned my head down until it touched her leg. It felt strange and bony, like she’d lost a lot of weight over the last few days. My mother and I had always been close, and I could remember curling up with her on the couch while she smoked cigarette after cigarette. We’d watch sitcoms, whatever was on at the time, and talk about our days. She worked in a law office and hated all the lawyers, and I had plenty of stories about all the snobby assholes that came into the restaurant. We’d laugh and talk about me going to college, although we both knew it’d never happen.
I wished she’d wake up and solve this problem for me.
“I don’t want to go, but that doctor’s going to keep pushing, and I can’t let him figure it out. I’m sorry, Mom. I swear I’ll come visit, and when you wake up, we’ll get you out of here, too.”
She said nothing, only breathed in, breathed out, and slept.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to cry, but the tears spilled out anyway, making the blanket damp.
3
Gavin
Another day at Mercy General passed like waves washing over a beach. I felt exhausted, strung out, and wrung of all my vital energy, but the thought of Erica kept nagging at me, even when I got home.
I spent the night drinking whiskey and trying to watch TV, but mostly thought about what the hell that girl had gotten herself into. The idea that a man wanted to force her into getting married made my pulse spike—and even worse was the thought that she’d go along with it.
I heard her voice in there when those thugs threatened her. She’d sounded terrified and alone, and I could only guess at what she was going through. Her mother was in a coma and as far as I could tell based on her records, she had no other living family in the world—only a father that had passed a week earlier. One dead parent and another clinging to life, on top of a difficult accident. I had to marvel at the fact she was still going at all.
There was a fire in her eyes when I pressed her on it though, and I kne
w getting through to her wouldn’t be easy. I got up off the couch and stood in front of my bookshelf where a picture of my sister, Jamie, smiled back at me. We had the same eyes, same hair, same nose—but she resembled our father and I looked more like our mother. We were ten years apart, but we were still close. She’d always been the wild one, and when we saw each other, I felt like I had to play catch-up trying to keep up with her breakneck speed. When our parents died, I had to grow up fast, but she seemed to double down on her recklessness.
I was twenty-five when it happened and she was fifteen. I moved back home and commuted while she finished high school. We fought a lot, struggled with each other, but we made it work. She graduated and I finished med school, and things looked up until she met Silvo.
I closed my eyes and put the picture back down. I hated that memory, the first night I met her scumbag boyfriend, and I hated even more what happened afterward. I finished my whiskey then drifted to bed, thinking about the similarities between Jamie and Erica, and wondered if only I’d been a little bit older, a little bit more jaded, maybe I could have saved my sister.
But that was the past, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it now.
* * *
I had an early shift the next morning. I arrived as the sun rose, slightly hungover, still exhausted from not getting enough sleep. Fiona sat behind the nurses’ station like she’d never left and nodded at me. I yawned and took a long sip of coffee.
“Busy?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Quiet.”
“How’s the woman in the coma?”
“Still asleep.” She glanced at me. “That’s the girl’s mom, right?”
I nodded and tapped the desktop. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?”
“Something’s up with you,” she said as I headed down to the doctors’ lounge. I waved and ignored her. Maybe I’d tell her one of these days, but for now it was better if she didn’t know what was going on.
I reached the lounge, put my stuff away, got changed into scrubs, and started my rounds. It was a quiet Mercy morning, which meant everything was a nightmare and a scramble, and I found myself distracted for the first few hours of my shift. As soon as I got a free moment, I made my way back toward Erica’s wing, and started climbing up the stairs toward her.
I heard someone heading down in the opposite direction. I didn’t think much of it—the elevators were notoriously slow so a lot of staff took the stairs. But my pace slowed as the girl came toward me.
It was Erica. I almost burst out laughing. She wore a pair of tight, dark jeans and a baggy gray sweater. Her hair was up in a bun and she wore dark sunglasses, likes she was trying to hide her appearance. I leaned against the railing and crossed my arms as she stood still and stared at me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and I realized she thought I’d been waiting for her.
“You’re trying to sneak away,” I said.
“I’m not— no, that’s not it.” She stared at me. “Why are you standing alone in the stairwell?”
“I was coming up to check on your mom, actually. Why are you sneaking away?”
“I’m not sneaking.” Her tone was tight and annoyed.
“You know you can leave whenever you want. You’re not a prisoner.”
“I know that.”
“You have to do some paperwork, get checked out by a nurse— I assume you didn’t do any of that?”
She took off the sunglasses and gave me a look. “I’m leaving, okay? I have some things I need to do.”
“Huh, strange, because last night you told me you think you have a bad concussion and shouldn’t be discharged.”
Her jaw flexed. “I got better.”
“I see that.” I gave her a wry stare.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” She started down the stairs again. “I can go whenever I want, right? So back off.”
“I know you can, but you should get discharged first.”
“No, thanks.” She brushed past me, and I grabbed her wrist before she could slip away.
She turned, her eyes wide, and I saw rage flash into her expression.
“Listen to me—” I started, but she wrenched herself away.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I held up my hands. “Erica, please. I know you’re in trouble. I heard some of what those guys said, and—”
Her eyes went wide. “You did what?”
“I overheard them. You’re in some trouble, and I know you need help.”
“Get the hell away from me.” She took a step backward, but didn’t judge her distance correctly. Her heel hit the edge of the step and she lost her balance.
I moved fast. I reached out and grabbed the front of her sweater, holding her before she could topple over backwards, then moved to the side of her and supported her weight, pulling her against me. She took a few gasping, shocked breaths as I steadied her and felt her body against mine. I smelled shampoo and menthol, and her lips parted as she looked into my eyes. I held her there, feeling her hips, her breasts, her breath against my neck—then let her go when she struggled and pushed me away. She leaned up against the door and crossed her arms, glaring at me.
I held my hands up and away. “I’m trying to help you,” I said, my voice gentle. “I don’t really know what you got yourself into—and I’m not sure I care. I just want to help if I can.”
“You can’t,” she said, but she didn’t sound as angry as before. “I appreciate your concern, but please, leave me the hell alone.”
I considered that, trying to keep my expression calm and neutral. She was like a feral cat cornered by a predator and I wanted to try to put her at ease as much as possible.
“Just so you know, I don’t want anything from you.”
Her eyes narrowed as her tongue ran along her bottom lip. I wondered what that tongue would taste like in my mouth—and pushed the thought away.
“You always want something from me,” she said, but I didn’t know who she meant—me in particular, or maybe men in general.
“Not right now. I really just want to help, if you’ll let me.”
For one brief second, I thought she considered it—but then she took a step back and moved down the steps, her hair bouncing as she descended downward. I watched her go but didn’t move to follow.
“Thanks anyway, doc,” she said when she reached the next landing. Her eyes looked sharp and I thought I saw her smile as she looked back up at me.
“Come see me if you change your mind,” I said, “and make sure you visit your mother.”
“Hey, I meant to ask you. Think she can hear me, when I’m in there?”
“Nobody knows.”
“I’m not asking what the experts think—what do you think?”
“I think that if she can’t, the worst you’ve done is talk to your mother. And if she can, then that might mean the difference between making it back at all.”
She seemed to chew on that for a second then nodded. She turned and skipped down the next set of stairs, disappearing from view.
I stood there and listened to her go until she pushed through the doorway at the bottom and was gone.
I took a few deep breaths and leaned up against the wall. The cinderblocks were cold against my neck and I took a few steadying breaths to try to keep myself calm. That girl was in trouble and she needed someone on her side, but it was clear she wasn’t interested in asking for help.
I’d have to figure out some other way to convince her then, because I’m not going to give up so easy.
4
Erica
I grimaced with every single bump in the uneven Philly street as I rode the bus down south to my apartment. I still lived with my mom, which I wasn’t proud of—I planned on moving out soon since I had enough saved, but the accident pretty much made sure that wasn’t happening anymore.
I unlocked the front door and headed inside. The familiar smell of shampoo and
detergent met me as I shut the door and closed the bolt. I had the strange sensation of being watched, but the apartment was empty as I dropped my keys in a small green tray and surveyed the tidy kitchen, the comfortable living room. A red blanket was tossed at one end of the couch and a People magazine sat unread on the coffee table.
My mother’s sense of style wasn’t exactly my own. She favored lots of small statues of chickens, cows, goats, and other barnyard animals. She had prints of bridges, forests, and lakes on the walls, and a few crystals hanging in the window that cast random rainbows across the walls. It was eclectic and weird—but it was my mother.
I tried not to cry as I turned and trudged back into my room.
My arm ached and my ribs felt like they were on fire. I wondered if maybe I should have stayed in the hospital, but I knew that wasn’t a long-term plan. I could keep Cosimo and his thugs away for what, a few more days, but then I had to face them sooner or later. I closed my bedroom door and collapsed on top of my tiny twin mattress and pulled my sheets around me.
I stared at the white ceiling then let my eyes drift to the navy blue walls with geometric painting prints in simple black frames placed at random intervals. I had a thing for minimalist stuff, and my room reflected my taste: bare desk with an old MacBook in the center, tattered white chair, fuzzy white carpet, sleek dresser. I’d furnished it all myself with my own money and moved all my old childhood stuff out over the years. It was the best I could do with my limited resources.
I helped my mom with rent and utilities, and saved everything else. She sometimes tried to talk me out of pitching in, but I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I didn’t at least give something. I was twenty-three and still living with my mom: it would be too pathetic if I let her pay for all my food and bills.
I roll over onto my side and squeeze my eyes shut. Right away I see that doctor again with his handsome smile, his tilted head—and I feel his hands on my body. There was spark between us, a spark I hadn’t expected, but it was there and burned with a white-hot flash that drove me crazy. I wanted to kiss him right there in the stairwell, even though I hated him too, hated him for getting involved when he shouldn’t have—and for eavesdropping on my most embarrassing conversation.