We drank our tea and went to bed, lying side by side and kissing lazily with our hands clasped and our hearts marching to the beat of the same drum. With a sigh, I laid my head on her chest, my ear pressed to the butterfly I’d carved into her skin, and I was lulled toward the safety of slumber in her arms. I imagined every night of the rest of my life ending this way, after a long day at Salem Skin, and after eating dinner with her and Freddy as a family. I imagined her and me, together in this bed, or maybe mine, and feeling nothing but contentedness that this was our life and that it was as good as a life could be. It’d be all I ever dreamed of, all I never knew I could have, and all I never knew that I could even deserve. I would fall asleep with a gentle smile on my face, knowing this was ours and how nothing would take it away.
But the fantasy was wiped away with the reminder that Jake was alone, trapped in a prison he couldn’t break out of, and I wasn’t able to help him. I couldn’t rip him out, I couldn’t do a damn thing, and I held in my tormented hurt as I silently begged anybody who would listen to do what I couldn’t.
Please. Please, for fuck’s sake, help him. Whatever you need to fucking do, just save him. Please.
Chapter Thirty-Five
ON NEARLY A daily basis, the doctors mentioned the eventual possibility of turning Jake’s machines off if there was a stop in brain activity. But after weeks, it still hadn’t come. Not yet, anyway. He just seemed to be stuck in a permanent state of limbo. Not quite sleeping, yet not dead, either. Audrey was convinced that it was his body’s way of healing after the accident. And maybe she was right. We all knew it’d be next to impossible for him to cope with the doctors’ orders of taking it easy while his bones mended. It was a nice thought and I wanted to believe her, but I was forever the realist and I wasn’t convinced that his body just simply hadn’t let go yet.
Still, I hoped she was right.
What I did find amazing, was how we’d all settled into this new normal way of life. After a week and a half had passed since the accident, I had gone back to work, needing the daily reprieve from the monotony of sitting within the hospital walls without any end in sight. I’d spent my days tattooing and daydreaming about what I was going to do with the shop once Gus and I made my status as shop manager official. And I never let my phone out of my sight. Just in case my parents called.
Now, it’d been about three weeks since Jake’s accident, and it was a few days before Christmas. I’d gone to bed early, exhausted after a day of work, then sitting at the hospital, and cooking dinner and doing laundry with Audrey. She was out of work for the holiday break and we had plans to do some last-minute Christmas shopping before I went down to see Jake, and when I woke up, she was already missing from what I’d begun to think of as our bed.
Stretching my arms overhead, I relished in how refreshed I felt. It’d been weeks since I had slept so well and there was only a faint twinge of guilt in regard to that. I opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the old house, and smiled when I heard Audrey’s singing voice come from the kitchen. With the assumption that she was making tea and breakfast, I sat up to rub the sleep from my eyes, with all intentions to join her. But before I could press the heels of my palms against my face, I was stopped, rendered stupid and stunned, at the black and yellow figure of the butterfly.
So small and perfect in its design, it was perched precariously at the bed’s footboard and apart from the gentlest twitch of antennae, it was motionless and almost looked fake. My heart hammered wildly in my chest as I reached out slowly for my phone and quickly texted Audrey, telling her to get in here right now to make sure I wasn’t completely losing my fucking mind.
It was possible. I hadn’t seen Dr. Travetti for some time, not since the session where I told her to call Audrey’s family. My condition could’ve deteriorated in that time, whatever the hell my condition even was exactly. Things felt too okay while still being so bad, so I could see where my mind would start conjuring these simple delusions. Why the fuck would a butterfly be here, in my girlfriend’s bedroom, in late December? How the hell was it even alive?
The more I sat there, frozen solid, the more I thought about it. And the more I thought, the more I began to think I really was seeing things. There was no possible way there was a butterfly in here right now, and just as I began to feel self-assured in my ability to talk myself away from the brink of insanity, Audrey entered the room and stopped with the smallest of gasps.
“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, clapping a hand to her chest.
“Wait, you see it, too?” I answered, my voice hoarse and embarrassingly shaken.
Audrey nodded and quietly tiptoed to the bed, climbing on to sit beside me. “How long has it been there?”
“I don’t know. I just woke up.” Then, I turned to her and shook my head. “How is that your first question, and not how the hell it’s here in the first place?”
“Because I know how it’s here,” she replied simply, keeping her eyes on the butterfly that hadn’t yet moved.
“Oh, really? How?” I challenged, narrowing my skeptical glare.
“It’s a message.”
I didn’t mean to roll my eyes but I did, accompanied by a steady shake of my head. “Audrey, come on …”
Her eyes met mine then. “I get that you have an explanation for everything, and that’s fine. But what could possibly be your explanation for this, if it’s not that?”
Sighing, I turned toward the butterfly again. It still hadn’t moved from its spot on the footboard, but its wings lifted and dropped in a slow rhythm, almost in time with my breath.
“I …,” I’d begun to speak, but I was stopped short by the reality that there was no logical explanation for this. Whatever I could say would sound just as ridiculous as her assumption of it being a message from someone or something, and so I closed my mouth to shrug.
“That’s what I thought,” Audrey jabbed, accepting the victory with little grace.
“I’m not agreeing with you,” I pointed out. “I just don’t know what else it could be, other than a freakish thing.” And it really was a freakish thing. The butterfly was nearly identical to Audrey’s tattoo, and if she wasn’t going to point that out, neither was I.
“What do you think it—” I began, when my phone started to ring, and Audrey grasped my wrist. Her gaze was full of fear and dread as she stared at the device in my hand and the butterfly flew off in a fluttering frenzy around the room. And I knew why.
My dad was calling.
A swirling mess of nausea, sadness, and hope tangled through my gut and veins as I stared, shaking and scared, at the phone. I couldn’t move. My brain screamed for me to answer the call, to pick up the fucking phone, but my fingers wouldn’t comply. I could hardly blink, let alone get my hands to behave the way I needed them to, and finally, Audrey had to take it from me.
She put it on speakerphone and said, in a quivering voice, “H-hello?”
“Put Blake on,” Dad said urgently.
“He’s here. You’re on speaker,” Audrey replied.
“Blake?” he asked, as if he didn’t believe her.
Somehow, I managed to coax my vocal chords into saying, “Yeah, Dad. I’m here.”
“We need you here now,” he rushed, nearly breathless and shaken.
I blinked rapidly, too tempted by the tears stinging at my eyes. “Wha-what’s going on? What’s happening?”
He was too quiet and hesitated for too long. My heart hammered, my head spun, and my jaw hung open so loosely, all I could do was cover my mouth with a hand to ward off the uprising of bile in my throat. Audrey’s hand was against my back as she reminded me to breathe, saying my name and saying other things I couldn’t hear. But my father’s voice sliced through the torrential wave of panic, saying, “He’s waking up, Blake,” and I heard him. I heard him loud and clear, and thank God for that.
***
Walking through the hospital felt otherworldly. With Audrey’s hand in mine, I tugg
ed her toward my brother’s room with urgent desperation. I needed to see him, know he was alive, and ensure that my parents weren’t just pulling some sick, cruel joke on me.
I heard him before I’d even reached his door at the end of the hall. He was shouting for everyone to get away from him, to not touch him, and to let him up and let him leave. I released Audrey’s hand and took off at a run, zigzagging between carts and irritated hospital personnel, until I reached his open doorway.
Crowding around his bed was a handful of nurses and a couple of doctors, all struggling to keep him still while they took his vitals and blood. My parents noticed me first, as I barreled my way into the room, calling his name through a dream-like haze.
“Blake, Blake, Blake,” my brother answered through his panicked outburst, tugging his arms out of their clutches. The IV line snagged on the bedrail and he cried out in pain, only to tug harder.
“Oh, God, he’s gonna rip it out again,” one of the nurses muttered. “We need to sedate—”
“No!” I shouted, hurrying to his bedside. “Don’t you dare!”
She twisted her face and looked like she was about to protest, when I finally got to him, clasping his face in my hands and collecting his tears in my palms. “I’m here, buddy,” I assured him, barely breathing as I leaned over to press my forehead to his. “I’m here.”
Jake grappled for my shoulders, holding onto me with enough force to crush my chest. “I wanna go home, Blake. I wanna go home.”
“I know, buddy, I know,” I soothed, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, dotted with sweat. “But listen to me, okay? Can you listen to me?” He nodded furiously and I continued, “You need to listen to these people, okay?”
He shook his head, keeping his gaze on me as though that alone could make the room disappear. “I don’t like it here. I don’t like them. Don’t like them at all.”
“Yeah, I know, but I promise, they’re only trying to help you.”
His frantic resolve settled a bit as he exhaled. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll be right over here,” I swore to him, pointing behind me.
“Pinkie swear?”
Sniffing back a sudden rush of emotion, I nodded, reaching for his hand and wrapping my smallest finger around his.
“Pinkie swear.”
***
I kept my promise and stayed in the room with my back glued to the wall, overseeing every move the nurses and doctors made. Jake mostly kept his bewildered gaze on them, but every now and then, his eyes darted in my direction. Making sure I was there and that I hadn’t left. Audrey had slipped out sometime during my dutiful watch. She hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t noticed, but I knew she understood.
After what felt like hours, the room was finally emptied of medical staff, taking the air with them, and it was just my parents, Jake, and me—a family that no longer felt like one. Mom hurried to Jake’s side and wrapped her hands around his, but he jolted from her grasp.
“I wanna go home,” he said, turning to me with urgency before repeating, “I wanna go home, Blake. Let’s go home.”
I didn’t know what to say. Now that he was awake and the prognosis was miraculously good, I wasn’t sure what my parents’ plans were and I didn’t want to lie to him. Still, I did want to comfort him, so I laid my hand over his and said, “I know, buddy. Soon.”
We let him fall asleep and when his snores filled the room, I felt a cool hand on my forearm.
“Blake,” my mom said, so soft and weak. “Can I talk to you?”
Exhausted and ragged, I laid a hand over my eyes. “Mom, I really don’t want to fight right now.”
“Neither do I. Just … please, I want to talk.”
Reluctantly, I turned my eyes from Jake’s sleeping figure and followed my mom out into the hallway. She asked if I’d like to get some coffee from the cafeteria, to which I replied coldly, “I don't drink coffee.”
She responded with a sad smile. “I guess I never knew that. What about tea?”
“I like tea,” I concurred with a nod.
“So do I.”
***
We sat in the cafeteria, hot paper cups of tea between our palms. It was weak, nearly flavorless, and at the first sip, both of us screwed our lips with disgust. Mom caught my expression and laughed lightly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard my mother genuinely laugh, but there it was.
It was nice.
Then, she began to speak. “Do you remember when you were a little boy and you’d run around in your underwear with that plastic sword and shield?” I shook my head at the question, while remembering a particular drawing Jake had made weeks ago. “You were always my brave little warrior. Always up for a fight, always getting into something, and your father and I were always waiting for you to get hurt. We didn’t wish for it to happen, but we expected it, I guess.”
She kept her eyes on the table as she continued, “I hated that you boys hung out at that house, but I couldn’t control you. And Jake …” She sniffed lightly. “He would follow you to the end of the world, so there wasn’t any controlling him either. But there was also a comfort in knowing he was there, to look out for you. Even your father would say, ‘He’s okay, Jake’s with him,’ and that always seemed good enough. That made me feel better. So, when it was you running home, telling us you killed Jake …”
She lifted her head to meet my gaze then and said, “I didn’t know what to do with that, Blake.”
I recalled that moment with tiny bursts of hazy memory. Me, bursting through the door of my parents’ house, knowing the blood was trickling down my leg but not caring. Then, gasping through my hysterics, and telling them over and over that I’d killed my brother.
“I was terrified, and I guess my fear manifested into anger. God, Blake, I was so, so unbelievably angry, and no matter how many times I told myself that it was just an accident, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that rage. In just a few, stupid seconds, my beautiful, smart, talented, sweet boy was taken away from me—”
“He’s still Jake,” I finally muttered, knowing it didn’t make anything better and that it was damn close to being a lie.
Mom tried to smile but failed as she shook her head. “Yes, but he’s not the boy I knew for ten years, and I guess … I guess I’ve been mourning that boy for a long time, and I needed something to blame for losing him.” Her glassy eyes, swimming in apologetic agony, met mine and she said, “It was so easy to blame you. It shouldn’t have been. God help me, it really shouldn’t have been, because you’re my son and I love you—I always have—but it was still just so … easy. And I pulled away from you and ruined everything, I know I did, and I’m not sure I could ever apologize enough for what I’ve done to you.”
I wiped a hand beneath my nose and struggled to say, “I don’t know either.”
Her nod was sharp and broken. Her hand fluttered awkwardly, touching her hair and temple and neck. “Well, I, um, I was hoping I could at least begin to try, if you’d let me. I want to do better. I want to be better, Blake. I want to fix this—Lord, I want to fix this so badly. I hate what this family is now, and I see how much better you’re doing, how much better you’re being with Jake. Hell, even your father is making an effort. And after this past month, I feel like … like I’m finally opening my eyes again, and I’m realizing how much time I’ve wasted being angry. And Blake, I don’t want to waste anymore of my life being mad about something that was never, ever your fault or his. I don’t. I just want my family back.”
Exhaling, I slowly nodded, knowing exactly who to thank for everything good now in my life. My happiness and newfound faith and Jake’s contentedness. Dad’s attempts at acceptance. It was the same woman who’d also suggested there could still be hope for my mother and me, hope that we could forgive and reform a relationship that had died two decades ago. I hadn’t thought it was possible then, hadn’t even wanted to entertain the idea. But now, sitting across from her and seeing the tears that trailed over her c
heeks and around her untouched cup of tea, I found myself wondering if it really was possible. Not to forget, but to forgive and maybe head slowly toward something resembling a family.
“I’m not gonna pretend like I know what it was like for you,” I spoke through a throat so constricted and graveled. “I can’t put myself in your shoes, and I don’t want to. Fuck, I can’t even empathize, because all I can think about is the fact that I was your kid, too, and you didn’t give a shit about how much you were hurting me. You didn’t think about how I’d grow up or how fucked up I’d be.”
Her sob almost startled me. “Blake …”
Holding up a hand, I continued, “You and Dad were so consumed by what you lost, that you never for a second took the time to look at what you still had. You neglected both of us, and I can’t ever forget that. Hell, I’m not even sure I can ever forgive you for it,” I folded my arms on the table, leaning forward and fixing my stare on hers, “but I’m not you, I’m not gonna waste twenty years of my life being pissed off, so I guess I can try.”
Sniffling and nodding, she wiped her hands against her cheeks. “That’s all I’m asking you for.”
“I know a good place you can start.”
She nodded adamantly. “What? What can I do?”
“Don’t dump Jake in that place,” I told her, furrowing my brow and feeling my stony walls crumble as I began to plead. “Please. Don’t do that to us. Let him live with me. You guys can see him whenever you want, but just please, don’t—”
“Okay.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That was too easy.”
She shook her head. “Your father and I already called Shady Acres a couple of weeks ago. We weren’t going to send him there, he made it very clear he didn’t want to go and only wanted to be with you, so …” She offered me a wobbly smile. “Okay.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
Dropping her gaze and offering a slight shrug, she said, “We didn’t know if he’d ever wake up.”
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