by A. M. Brooks
My eyes feel itchy and dry, my throat clogged and scratchy like sandpaper. I glance down at my hand and see the needle attached to the clear rubber tube leading to the IV bag next to the bed. My brain registers the beeping sound coming from the other side of the bed. Before even glancing down, I know something is wrong with my leg. I remember the agonizing pain and blood after hitting the barrier. A gentle throb starts and stops, probably thanks to whatever meds they have me on. I try to move it, but it feels heavy and weighted down. My face frowns and another small stab of pain on my forehead causes me to wince. I bring my non-needled hand up to my head, my fingers graze over the bandage there.
“Oh sleeping beauty is awake.” Ethan’s voice grows louder as he comes closer to the bed.
“About time.” Elijah’s voice comes from the shadow in the back corner.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s crabby because he slept in the recliner,” Ethan laughs.
“Because you took the couch again, ass hat.” Elijah shoves Ethan’s shoulder.
I smile then wince when sharp pain sprints along my jaw. My hand comes up, my fingers meet with the squishy swollen tissue.
“It looks as bad as it feels,” Elijah tells me. His face is serious, and I realize it must be pretty bad.
“Do you remember what happened?” Ethan asks, shifting his eyes back and forth between me and Elijah. I nod my head as the memories play over in my head in little foggy clips.
“You’re fucking lucky,” Elijah says, shaking his head. I remember they tried to stop me, but there was no way I wasn’t going after her. Nora.
“Shit,” I say, sitting up straighter. “The news report. I still have to go apologize.” I try swinging my leg over the bed and realize again how weighted down it seems. It takes all my strength just to bring it to the edge.
“Ahh,” Ethan says. “Probably not a good idea right now, Cuz.” The twins exchange a look between themselves in their own private communication. I’ve always hated it when they do that.
“Why?” I ask. I’m starting to feel agitated, preparing myself for the worst, hoping nothing had happened to Nora. Even if the news story was wrong and her dad really did steal the money, I was going after her. I’d check myself out of the hospital and drive today to Seattle.
“Well,” Ethan says, looking back at me. “She was here.”
“She was here, as in she was in Araminta?”
“No, as in she was at the hospital,” Elijah finishes. “To see you.”
“She knows about the accident?” I deadpan, watching both of them closely. “Everyone knows about the accident, don’t they?” It’s not a question. I can tell by their faces I was right.
“To be fair, she heard it from Aunt Jodi before the news channel broke the story,” Ethan states quietly.
“What are they saying about it?” I ask. That scholarship flashing in the back of my mind.
“Your dad is working on it,” Elijah responds, his eyes watching me closely. My stomach feels sick thinking of how he’s handling it. Of what I’ll have to do for him to make up for it.
“Where is she?” I ask, suddenly feeling panic creep into my chest, “I have to talk to her.”
“She left already,” Ethan answers, “Back to Seattle. She wanted to make sure you were okay before leaving for good.”
“What are you talking about? Her dad is innocent, why wouldn’t they move back?”
“He is, but she wants to stay with her aunt.” Ethan takes a deep breath before blowing it out. “She doesn’t want us to contact her. Ever.”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head to be sure I’m not imagining this whole conversation. It doesn’t make sense. We fuck up and make mistakes, but we always get back to each other. Why would she give up all the sudden? “Is this because of the whole prom thing?” I question, even though a shallow pit in my stomach is telling me it is.
“I’m pretty sure it’s everything but, yeah you fucking her friend probably didn’t help,” Elijah says, blowing out a breath.
Even now, I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around what I did after prom. The conversation from the hospital echoes in my brain daily. It was an asshole thing to do, but I had my reasons to push her away. Those reasons were a moot point now, but at the time I hadn’t known that. I also should have known that trying to push Nora away never went how I thought it would. I always circled back around to her like clockwork. She was magnetic and I was attracted to her force.
You would think after the accident, I stopped using right away and got my life together and you would be wrong. It was still two more weeks after being out of the hospital I binged and complained about the rehab, losing the scholarship, going to NA meetings, and losing my license before the final nail in the coffin of my previous relationship with Nora sent me flying toward recovery. It was graduation day. I had tried numerous times to contact her by phone and on social media. She never responded and in my drug haze, I figured it was because she didn’t log on to her accounts. I even attempted to drive again to Seattle to confront her before being stopped by the guys. Twenty minutes before the graduation ceremony, my phone dinged with an alert on Instagram, NoraSutton01 posted a new picture. My fingers fumbled with the passcode to unlock my screen so I could see it. The caption read People who make my heart whole with a bunch of smiling emojis. The picture was a selfie of her and that racer guy Trent Nichols. After graduation, I got drunk then decided I needed to make a change if I was ever going to stand a chance to get the only girl I had ever loved back.
“And in closing, ladies and gentlemen, remember the Lord is with you when you face tough times, face temptation, or just when you need a friend. John 13:7 Jesus replied, ‘You don’t understand now what I am doing but someday you will.’” I close my eyes as the echoes of everyone’s “Amen” sound around me. It’s an internal struggle I have after every meeting, trying not to laugh out loud. I’m not an atheist, but I have a hard time accepting that God exists and that we’re all just hanging out here waiting to die and join him again. Instead, I channel my thoughts and need across the states to the girl with the knowing eyes who bared her heart to me despite the tough exterior she showed to everyone else.
I crutch my way out of the building as fast as I can before anyone gets a chance to talk to me or stop me from leaving. Once I’m able to breathe in the fresh air, the stuffy feeling from the basement subsides. I squint my eyes against the sun looking for the truck and sure enough, Ethan is parked in the same space as before waiting, popping a bag of Skittles in his mouth.
“Well,” he says as I haul myself into his cab, “Do you feel purged of sin and your soul cleansed of depravity?”
“Fuck you,” I joke, hitting his shoulder. Unable to help myself, I check my phone again for updates from Nora’s accounts. Ethan isn’t oblivious to what I’m doing. I have been semi-stalking her since she left, checking for any updates or any new pictures of her I could find. I constantly browse her old ones just to see her face. To make sure she was real. It is borderline obsessive, but I’m past caring. It didn’t matter what anyone said or thought, I was just thankful she hadn’t blocked me from any of the sites.
“She still planning to be home next week, right?” I ask him again, my thumb still scrolling through her posts.
“As far as I know, yes,” he replies. His jaw tenses and I know he’s just as anxious as I am. Nora banned us all from her when she left, and I know it ate him up inside considering he was the one who “found her” as he puts it. He might have been friends with her first, but she consumes my every thought. Our only link to her the past few months is through Ethan’s aunt Jodi who was still dating Nora’s father. Both of whom were not my biggest fans at the moment.
“Still want to stop at the store quick?” he asks.
“Yeah, I need a new pack of pens before Monday,” I reply. My classes started this past week at the community college while the twins are starting their senior year of high school. I could have left and picked a new college, but I was d
etermined to stay in Araminta until I could fix this thing with Nora.
With summer ending, the store is even more packed than usual on a Friday night. We parked as close as we can given my need to crutch inside. By the time we have what we need, a light sheen of sweat was covering my forehead.
“When do you lose the cast?” Ethan says around a mouthful of cheddar chips.
“Tomorrow, actually,” I tell him. The appointment is scheduled bright and early so I can still start my first day of class on time. I’m looking forward to the relief from the itch more than anything. All summer in a casted leg sucked. I miss surfing and being able to walk without padded metal digging into my arms.
“Coach still going to work with you part-time for your physical therapy?”
I nod, remembering how much groveling I did in order to get that to happen. PT at the gym in town was also scheduled, but I knew they couldn’t get me back into the shape I needed to be.
“Well, that’s nice of him.”
I nod again because it was, and I know I didn’t deserve it. Coach poured his heart and soul into me during high school and I had no chance of playing pro ball now. I leaned my head back against the headrest as the same exhaustion swept over me that I had been experiencing since being sober. I know it’s my body’s way of recuperating and I can’t deny that I wish I had something to take the edge off. Instead, I bring Nora’s face front and center in my thoughts. I got clean for her, but I needed to stay clean for myself.
“I need to get out of here. I need to get to Seattle and explain everything.” I sat up, pulling the oxygen from my nose and unclipping the monitor from my finger. Machines started to buzz throughout the room, but I didn’t care. Finding Nora was all that mattered. Her dad was innocent, so we could go back to how things had been.
“D - I love you, man, but you need to get back in that bed. Chasing after her right now is not going to do any good.” Ethan reached for my shoulder, guiding me to lie back against the pillows again.
I was pissed off. I jerk my arm away, “Da fuck, man. I thought you were on my side. I need to go after her.”
“No, man, you need to get sober and stay sober before she will even talk to you,” Elijah said.
“Seriously, Darr…she needs some time. You need to give that to her and work on yourself.”
They both had been right. I had fought it the whole time I recovered at the hospital. Fought it once I was out and still fighting. Sixty-eight days sober and counting.
“There you go, Mr. King. Your leg is good as new.” The doctor clips the last of the cast away before setting my leg free. My foot flexed back and forth, the muscles around my leg tightening and releasing around the bone like they should. Only a small twinge of pain remained, but I figure that was from being stiff and confined. I hopped down from the table gently and tested my weight.
“Feels good, Doc,” I say, alternating all my weight onto just the one leg.
“You can expect some mild pain in the next few days, just an over the counter ibuprofen is all I’d prescribe. If you experience anything worse, fever, chills, nausea, or tenderness around the original break sight, come back.”
“Okay,” I reply before sending a quick text to Elijah, my chaperone for the day.
“And, you have physical therapy set up, correct?” he asks again, looking up from his clipboard.
“Yes, sir,” I tell him. “I called the clinic yesterday to confirm twice a week at the gym.”
“Alright.” He stands to shake my hand.
I manage to walk out of the clinic with only a slight limp, but the tension is leaving the longer I use it. By the time I reach Elijah’s car and slide in, I feel normal. He blows a puff of cigarette smoke out the window before looking at me.
“Are we still making the other stop?” he asks, flicking the remainder of his cigarette butt out the window. My eyes swing to his which are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses despite the cloudy day.
My jaw twitches as I grind my molars. “Yes. He needs to know.”
“Alright, man.” Elijah smoothly pulls us out of the parking lot before heading south toward the city. I see his hand tense on the steering wheel as he drives us closer. I can feel the same tension building throughout my body, anger pulsing near the surface.
Miles tick by before the imposing grey stone wall is visible out Elijah’s window. His face remains passive as we took the second turn for visitors. A solid wall without windows faced the road until we wrapped around to the parking lot. He reached to unclip his buckle, but I shook my head.
“Nah, man.” My hand flexes over the door handle. “I got this.”
He nods and slumps back looking relieved. I don’t blame him. Squaring my shoulders, I walk toward the menacing building. Araminta Correctional Facility is etched into the stone above the heavy doors. My pulse picks up as I walk in. The air inside is dry despite the humidity of the late August weather. Heavily armed guards motion me toward a metal detector where they also take my phone and keys. My ID is taken from my wallet and handed to the older lady behind a tall bulletproof glass screen.
“Who are you here to visit today, Mr. King?” she questions, not glancing up from her paperwork.
“Roman Delgado,” I answer, wondering if she can hear the distaste rolling off my tongue as I speak his name.
“And the reason for your visit?” She looks up, peering over her gold-rimmed glasses.
“Friendly chat.”
She peers at me a little longer, like she can detect the hostility roaring through my veins. There is nothing friendly about this visit besides a means to an end. I hear the clicking on her keyboard before the big guy next to me is ushering me through the next set of locked doors.
His boots echo in the silence as he leads us through the maze. He stops at a steel door and a buzzer sounds before the lock clicks. I walk in and look at the mirror across from me.
“He’ll be down in a minute. This is a no-contact room. Use the receiver to talk. When you’re done, press the black button by the door and a guard will be back to get you.” He nods once before turning to leave.
I inhale and exhale a few times before sitting in the plastic chair. I feel trapped in the small space. My eyes dart around to make sure I’m not actually locked in here for good, guilt eats at my stomach for all the reasons I probably should be on the other side of that glass. Thank fuck, I am not. My knee bounces while I continue to wait. When the bolt on the door across the glass cracks open, I bring my head up slowly, noticing the leather padded cuffs keeping his hands bound in front as he shuffles toward his seat. His usual cropped hairstyle is grown out and is starting to slightly hang over his vacant gaze. I reach for the phone before he does. My skin crawls when I notice the sadistic grin stretched across his mouth and I want to hit him until he bleeds.
“What’s up, man,” Roman yells, ignoring the phone while I’m waiting for him. I don’t answer. It’s a small test of my patience waiting for him to grab the receiver. I can feel the twinge in my jaw as my teeth clench. He shakes his head before bringing the phone to his ear. I smirk, feeling satisfaction at the awkward way it cradles against his face because of the chains.
“Heard you got banged up a couple months ago, D.” He grins. “You still look pretty though.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I lean forward wishing again I could feel his blood against my knuckles. Rage courses through my veins and I breathe a few times to find control again.
“Little birdie told me a certain punta was arriving soon.”
“Stay away from her, Rom. I’ll give you and your crew one warning. Next time you talk about her like that or any of you even so much as look at her wrong, I’ll make sure you never see the outside of these walls again.”
“She’s just another bitch, D. She left you, didn’t she? Found a nice little place with her aunt in Seattle.” He cocks his head to the side. “You want to fuck up our arrangement for some side action?”
“We have no arrangement. You’re a drug dea
ler. It’s not my problem you were so wasted you continuously hooked up with my sloppy seconds. Not my problem your crew isn’t loyal, and you’re stuck behind that glass.” I shrug my shoulders. His eyes blaze when I point at the glass. One thing I’ve learned about Roman over the years is that he is claustrophobic. Must suck to suck. “Stay away from Nora.” I hang up the receiver, not caring what else he has to say. It already bothers me how much he knows about her situation, which only confirmed someone is watching her like we feared. I look up again as he taps the receiver on the glass, motioning for me to pick up. Standing, I grab the phone before bringing it back to my ear.
“Wait just a second now.” He leans as far back in his chair as he can. He looks too comfortable. “I think you’re forgetting that we don’t work for you. I don’t work for you or your father. That bitch…messed with something larger than you, the crew, me or your saint of a father.”
“You’ll never get out,” I threaten again. My voice is surprisingly calm. I can feel the tension vibrating through my body. He smiles smugly, getting up from his chair. At his full height, Roman is just a hair shorter than me. His face tightens, he fixes me with his gaze, his soulless dark irises flicker.
“It ain’t me you got to worry about, King,” he says before dropping the receiver in place and hitting the button next to his door. Frustrated, I hit mine as well, bracing my arm against the side while I wait to be let out.
It doesn’t take long, and the burly guard is there to open the door. I feel ice slide down my spine, fully aware that Roman is watching me leave, but I don’t care. I don’t acknowledge him or the fear that is flaring in my stomach. It takes less time to leave the tightly secured building than it did to enter. When I get to Elijah’s car, I find him reclining with the window down. His arms tucked around himself, he jumps when I slam the door closed.
“Well?” he asks, sitting up. He starts the car, but he’s watching me.
“About as bad as we thought,” I tell him.
“How much did he know?”