I stop next to the bed, letting go of Claudia’s hand. My breathing is coming out fast as I look my mom over from head to toe again. I fight the tears that threaten to break free. I want to be strong for her. I knew my mother would be strong. Hell, she barely cried after my father’s funeral, deciding to throw herself into work to forget what led him to his suicide. She was never home for me in the first place, but once Dad was gone, she was a ghost in the house.
“I’m sorry, Lanee.” Claudia sniffles next to me.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve seen my mom in years, and it has to be lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life. I move to the side of the bed, taking her weak, limp hand in mine. I cringe at how cold it feels, and I wonder if she is feeling chilly. “She’s cold,” I mumble.
Claudia pulls up a blanket, covering our hands in the process. “This will help.” She moves a chair for me to sit in and goes to sit on the other side of the bed.
“Thank you,” I say softly. I watch the machine pumping air into her lungs, feeling the weight of all that has happened hit me hard. I can’t control the tears anymore. I cry quietly, fat, hot tears streaking down my face. Wondering where the hell life all went wrong, I don’t even wipe them away. I miss my normal life. I miss the life I was supposed to have. I miss my crazy, angry mother who always gave Dad hell for spoiling me when I was younger.
“It’s going to be okay, Lanee. She knows we’re here,” Claudia says, giving me a sad, watery smile. She may not have liked it when my mother lashed out at me, but neither one of us would want to see her like this.
I nod slowly. There is nothing I can do but watch her breathe through the machine, and hope that the swelling goes down and she comes come out of this. I sit numbly in the chair, watching and listening to the beeps in the room. I like my job working in the hospital, but I don’t like visiting like this. It brings back too many memories.
I hear Claudia talking to me, but all I can focus on is the memories of why Mom and I were torn apart in the first place. It is all flooding back to me in full force. There is nothing worse than what happened to us. The memories. The scars. They are all there. And it is like a fresh wound, sitting here next to my mother when so long ago our roles were switched. It was me who was in bad shape. It was she who sat next to my bed while my dad tried to find the person who did that to me.
* * * *
My head is pounding with rage, and there are loud noises all around me. I want to open my eyes, but they are heavy. I feel drugged. I try to breathe or swallow, but I can’t. Something is in my throat. It feels wrong. This all feels wrong.
What is going on?
What happened?
Where are my parents?
Pain is radiating through my body, and the beeps are getting louder. I try to move my arms, but can’t. It feels like I’m being held down. My whole body hurts.
“Baby? Calm down… Baby, you gotta relax. I called the doctor in to remove the tube. You’re in the hospital.” I hear Mom’s voice, but it sounds wrong. It sounds like she is far away.
I want to cry and tell her it hurts my throat. I hear someone moving around, and suddenly I can open my eyes, but something is off. One of my eyes won’t open much. It hurts.
What happened?
Why am I in the hospital?
I hear voices telling me to relax. I feel pressure on my body, and there is a doctor with kind, dark eyes looking at me. His mouth is moving, and soon I’m gagging and gasping for air. My throat is burning, and I try to roll, coughing in pain when I do. It is then I see the look of horror on Mom’s face.
What? What is wrong?
“M…M-mmom,” I croak out.
“Shh, baby…it’s going to be okay now.” But clearly it isn’t okay because her eyes are red and puffy. Her features are always sharp and focused, but she is looking at me sadly. It’s like I’m going to break any minute once I remember.
Remember?
My eyes widen, and it is all coming back to me. The drinking. The dancing. More drinking. Telling my parents that Bryce and I were going to walk on the beach before we went back to the hotel. Bryce holding my hand. Bryce giving me something for a headache that started. Then there was something else. I woke up naked with Bryce on top of me. Fighting him off of me but feeling sluggish.
He was too big. Too strong. He was hurting me.
A loud wail burst out of my mouth. No! No! No! He did this to me. I remember him punching me in the face when I clawed at him. I remember him calling me names because I was a tease. I remembered it all.
“Oh, God.” Mom sobs next to me, but then she hugs me. Her body is warm and I feel cold. She shakes over me, but I’m not sure it is her doing all the shaking.
“B-Bryce…” I try to say through loud sobs.
“We know. We know,” she chants over and over.
They know? They know what he did to me. Then they know I’m not innocent anymore. They know he tried to kill me when I told him I would never be quiet. He had wanted me to tell my dad it was some local guy here. He got angry and pulled out a knife, slicing it into my skin when I told him no. They also know I used him to get all my alcohol too, and that this was my fault.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled back from my mom.
“What? For what, baby?”
“I led him on,” I say between sobs. “I led him on. I flirted with him. I got him to buy me drinks. I knew he liked me. I knew he wanted me, but I didn’t want him like that.”
Mom’s eyes are wide, and she steps back from me, her face turning ashen. “No, baby, this isn’t your fault.” But she appears disappointed. She knows that I willingly went off with him. This has to be my fault. Whose fault would it be then? “Your father went to the hotel for sleep. I’m going to call him. I will have to call the detectives too.”
I nod numbly. I watch her leave me. I knew this is going to change things, but I would never know how much. I knew better than to take something from someone, but I figured Bryce would have been different. I trusted him because our families always vacationed together, but I never thought him capable of doing this to me.
A nurse with midnight-black hair comes in, her smile warm and friendly as she checks my vitals. “How are you feeling, Lanee?”
“Can I have a mirror?” I ask her.
She hesitates, and I know I must look really bad. I need to see what he did to me. She leaves the room quickly and returns with a small hand mirror, her eyes full of pity when I take it from her.
Oh shit! My right eye is swollen shut, and there is bruising where his fist had hit me. I look down at the cuts on my lips, wincing when I touch my sore lip. I sit the mirror down and decide to lift the blanket. I gasp when I see the white bandage on my inner thigh where he stuck the knife. My vision is blurred, and I can’t stop crying again. It breaks my heart to see my poor abused body. I know without a doubt I will have a scar on the inside of my thigh, but it is the scar that has shattered my heart that I’m most worried about. The scar of being violated.
I feel a hand touch me, and I scream, trying to move away from the source. I don’t like being touched, especially right now. I see the nurse move toward me, but it makes my skin crawl. I don’t like her touch. It feels cold. It feels wrong. I am trying to get farther from the nurse when both my parents burst into the room.
“What happened?” Dad’s deep voice booms.
“I was just trying to tuck the blanket around her. Her body was shaking,” the nurse said sadly, watching me carefully.
One look at my father’s face, and I know that I’m broken. I’m not the only one either. I can see it in his eyes. I saw the same cold, dead look in my good eye. He came to the bed to touch me, and I couldn’t help cringing away from him and my mom. Touch. I didn’t want to be touched. I hated touch. I was never going to let anyone touch me again.
“Lanee?” Claudia’s voice breaks into my reverie, and I look up to see her sad face. “Do you think we should go?”
“H
m?” I glance at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it has been three hours since we first arrived in the room. I see the machines, my eyes tearing up again. “I…I don’t want to leave.”
“I can’t just leave you here carless.” Claudia is right, but I hate the thought of leaving Mom’s side. She never left my side when I was under, but the doctor said it would be a few days. “I’ll bring you back in the morning, sweetie. I promise.”
“Yeah, okay.” I stand up to leave, but first I kiss my mom’s cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Mom. Get strong.”
Claudia says good-bye to her too, and the two of us leave. She tries to make small talk, but I’m still stuck in my own head. She must decide to give me space because I don’t even hear her for the rest of the drive home.
Once we are home, I crawl into bed, not even bothering with changing out of my clothes. Exhaustion is taking over, and I just want to sleep. It has been a long week with little to no sleep, but I don’t care if the nightmares come for me tonight. I’m too tired to care.
Chapter Nineteen
Memories and the Scars They Leave
The last few days have been horrible. I have barely slept. I can’t seem to keep food in my stomach without getting terribly sick. I’m run-down. I’m up early in the morning to spend the day beside my mother in the hospital, listening to the machines beep, keeping her alive. Her condition is still severe, and last night she spiked a high fever. Today when I came in to sit, the doctor told me there is no brain activity and they fear we are just prolonging her life by keeping her on the ventilator.
I’m scared.
I’m the only one who can say yes to take her off the machines, but I don’t want to. If I lose her then I will be all alone. I have Claudia and I love her dearly, but I have no family without Mom. I hate that Mom is making me decide whether she should live or die. I didn’t even realize I was her “medical power of attorney” for everything if she became incapacitated. I hadn’t talked to her in a very long time.
Before I left to go home last night, a lawyer came to her room and showed me the papers that Mom had drawn up four years ago, telling me that I have medical power of attorney. Her attorney expressed his condolences as he handed me the documents. Even if she were to pull out of this, her injuries are severe enough that she will be paralyzed from the neck down and have to live in a nursing home or with twenty-four-hour care.
I spent most of last night wondering why my mom would give me such power, but now that the doctor is here I understand. I read over the papers from the lawyer as I sit in my chair next to Mom’s bed, recalling the part of the documents that detailed how she did not want to be on life support for the rest of her life. Years ago after Dad’s suicide, she had a living will written up, making sure I was named beneficiary in event of her death. It felt so unfair of her to do this. I needed to respect her wishes and let her go now that the doctor has told me there is no hope, but it hurts deep in my heart.
I read over her documents, tears leaking down my face. I hate that I have to choose like this. I know she is a doctor. I realize this is not how my mom would want to live out her life. I wouldn’t want to be in a vegetative state either.
I have to let her go. I can’t keep her in this state. I ache deeply for what I’m about to do, but I have to respect her. I want to hope she will come out of this coma, but she won’t. She is gone and I pray that she is going to be with Dad soon.
I get up and kiss her cold cheek one last time. There are so many things I wish I could take back right now. I want to reconcile with her. I want to be able to see her happy. I wish I could have introduced her to Ezra.
“Good-bye, Mom,” I whisper.
I go into the hallway to find a nurse to help me. I tell her I need the doctor to be paged to my mom’s room. I have to give him my decision about the life support. I’m going to set her free. I only pray that once my parents are together that they can be happy again.
I’m not sure how long I sit waiting for the doctor, but I can’t help thinking about the past. I remember how broken we were after our family vacation. I don’t like the way the memories tug at my mind. I hated how my mom treated me like one of her patients, telling me to take the antidepressants. I didn’t like rehashing my memories to a therapist either. I think that is part of the reason I fought so much with my mom.
I hear footsteps enter the room and I know this is it. I will be alone. I am going to be parentless. I inhale deeply, willing my strength to end my mom’s life. I have to do this for her. I will do it.
Chapter Twenty
Sick With Heartbreak
“Lanee?” Claudia asks from the other side of the bathroom.
I’ve been in the bathroom for over half an hour, vomiting. I thought I would get better, but I just feel worse. I could barely keep down toast the last few days. It has been two days since my mom finally took her last breath. I told her about the death and how Mom didn’t want to be on a breathing machine keeping her alive. Claudia was upset when I didn’t call her. I know I should have, but I needed some space. I kept it simple, praying she just took my tears as emotion toward Mom’s death.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Claudia’s voice is filled with worry, and I hate the fact that I’m upsetting her. She wanted me to go to the doctor yesterday, but I just didn’t have the energy. “I’m calling Dr. Palmar now. I can’t stand to hear you so miserable.”
I want to tell her I’m fine, but I can’t. I feel exhausted. I’m sleepy. I feel horrible. I have so many emotions running through me right now that my head is hurting too. I ache that my mom could make me choose her death like this. Now I have to plan a funeral for her.
My stomach roils again, and I heave over the toilet, my insides feeling like someone is cutting them out with a knife. Being this sick almost hurts more than finding out my boyfriend is a womanizing user. At some point days ago I was coming to the idea that I could deal with Ezra’s past with other women. He looked so torn when I kicked him out. I could see the sincerity in eyes when he told me how sorry he was, and I did love him. Shit. I missed him so much, but he hasn’t called or texted in days.
I feel like I’ve lost my mom and my boyfriend in one week. Maybe that was how I was supposed to be. Alone. I thought I was healing inside and out with him, but then I found out about Roxy. I had wanted answers, and I demanded them from Ezra, but I wasn’t strong enough for the truth. It made me feel like I was being used too.
I was screwed up!
My heart is breaking all over again, and I feel like crap. I can barely keep anything down, and now I have Claudia here taking care of me. It isn’t fair to keep needing her like this. I was supposed to be an adult. I shouldn’t be this damn weak! I needed to get up and get through the day. I might have lost Ezra over this all, but I can’t afford Claudia hating me too. It isn’t fair that she is stuck with a broken friend.
I slowly get up from the floor. I go to the sink to brush my teeth for the fourth time today. I wash my face, keeping from looking at the tired, worn-out girl in the mirror. I was going to be fine. I had to clear my head. I would go to the doctor and get some magic pills to make me feel better, and then I would work on myself. I am going to get strong again. I can do this. I will do this. I just have to keep repeating that to myself as I leave the bathroom to change my clothes.
Claudia made me an appointment for five o’clock. It is the latest Dr. Palmar’s office would take patients on a weekday, and I was grateful for it. I just want to get better and stop feeling this awful. Claudia drives with me and sits in the waiting room when I was called back to the examining room.
Dr. Palmar enters with a smile, which melts away when she sees the dark circles under my eyes. Her black hair is pulled back in a long ponytail, and I realize I haven’t seen her in over a year.
“My God, Lanee. You haven’t been sleeping again,” she blurts out.
I know it doesn’t sound like proper doctor etiquette, but Dr. Palmar has known me since I was born. Shelley was
my dad’s best friend in high school before he met my mom—always there for birthdays, holidays, or when we needed her.
“I haven’t,” I respond softly, my voice feeling scratchy from all the heaving earlier on.
“Are you still taking your prescription?”
“Yes, but I can’t keep anything down lately.” I watch as she washes her hands in the sink. I know the routine, asking me questions about my sleeping and then she’ll start checking me out with her equipment and working through the whole exam, trying to make me feel comfortable because she knows my issues with touching. I answer each question honestly and quickly, wishing she would just give me a shot of something to give my immune system a boost. I tell her that I just lost my mom, and she replies that she just heard about it, and I go on to say I’m sick with heartbreak.
Dr. Palmar chuckles softly. “I don’t think this is heartbreak, darling, but that is a good one.”
I huff out a breath. “I know…but…it feels like it. I think I just lost my boyfriend,” I say slowly.
“I didn’t know you were dating.” Her dark eyes sparkle when she says this. She knows how fragile I have been in the past. She was the one to encourage me to stay on the birth control even when I told her I was never letting a man touch me again. “How long did you date?”
“I think a month.” I look down at my feet, swinging them like I did when I was a kid.
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