by A. Marie
“Old dog, new tricks.”
Those dusk-like eyes flash with stars streaking across them as they abandon the doorjamb to track my movements. He catches himself a moment too late and his eyebrows nosedive trying to hide it.
Hmm. The war rages on.
“And you’re the trick?”
There it is. That infamous mouth of his. The one he wields as a weapon to torture me with both pleasure and pain.
“Wow. Two prostitute references in one night. I bet your mom must be proud.”
Back to his bullish behavior, his nostrils flare.
What the hell does he have to be offended about? I didn’t suggest he was a sex worker. Twice. And honestly, most of them work their asses off for reasons people like him would never understand. I’ve never had to sell my body for money—thankfully—but if it ever came down to that or someone I love going without basic needs, I’d pick the former. Without question. Have my body but leave my soul intact because nothing could ever hurt worse than watching a loved one suffer. Nothing.
For people to judge that kind of sacrifice floors me but Beckett’s idea of going without is probably using condoms geared toward her pleasure. I imagine him with two loving parents, doting on him so well, he never had to think about that sort of thing. About choosing someone else’s well-being over your own.
I’m still waiting for him to mash his teeth and stomp the ground when he spits, “I call it like I see it. You just had your lips glued to mine after kissing how many guys since moving in?”
Laughing, I shove my scrubs on under my towel. I can’t have this conversation pantless. I just can’t. He’s been all over the same number of girls, if not more, than me and yet I deserve judgment? I’m the problem here?
Just when Beckett was proving to be something different, something better in a world full of less, he goes and reveals his true colors, and they’re ugly. Just like mine.
“I didn’t hear you complaining a second ago.” Far from it. “I guess you like sloppy seconds after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a short list of fucks to give and none with your name so…”
With a flick of my wrist, I turn my back to him and drop my towel exposing my naked torso.
“What about you?” His sneer lashes my back, quick and unforgiving. “I doubt you’re making Mommy swell with pride.”
I wait until his footsteps disappear into the next room to answer, choking out, “I’d give anything to know.”
CHAPTER 13
Paige
“Dennis, put the mug down.” Technically, it’s just the handle but it’s still sharp and could be used as a weapon. He already smashed the damn mug into the wall and is now brandishing it in front of his body to hold us off.
Cynthia and I exchange glances and I give a slight nod in the other direction. She gets the hint, moving to her left, effectively taking Dennis’s focus with her.
Seeing my opening, I dive forward and wrench the broken piece out of his hand before he has time to process what happened. I slip it into my pocket then hold my hands up in front of me to block any retaliation he might try.
Luckily, Dennis just stares at his empty hand in confusion.
“What’s going on out here?”
My head jerks to the side at the sound of my mother’s voice.
Wrong move.
The next thing I know my hair is being yanked back by a strong grip. Not like Beckett’s careful hair pulling either, this shit hurts. Bad. So bad I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh, no you don’t. She’s not going with you.”
My mother ignores Dennis’s ramblings, scolding, “Let her go! Right now, or I’ll get the spoon.”
Almost forgetting the man with my hair in a vice grip, I open my eyes to watch my mother approach. She used to say that all the time. That was her preferred threat when any of us kids got out of line. It was scary as hell when she got the wooden spoon out. The notorious spoon was rarely used on me but the few times it was were more memorable than any other punishment I’ve ever received. The fact that she just used it in protection of me like she’s done countless times has my frenzied heart soaring.
And she’s out of her room, walking, and talking. This is the most interaction I’ve seen from her.
If only it was under different circumstances.
“Stay there, Ms. Christensen,” Cynthia orders.
My mom continues advancing, unaware Dennis is twisting my hair in his clutches in time with her steps. He swings us both around until my face is almost pressed to the spot on the wall where the mug was just broken.
Cynthia frantically calls the new night nurse over the radio for back-up.
Latching one hand over Dennis’s to try to ease the strain, I throw up my other palm to my mom, gritting out as professionally as possible, “Please go back to your room, Ms. Christensen. We’ll take care of it.”
I can’t allow anything to happen to my mom and Dennis is off the fucking rails right now. He’s never behaved like this in all the time I’ve been here, night shift or otherwise. I can take a hit if I need to, my mother won’t though. No other patient will. Not on my shift.
“You heard me, young man. Get your hands off her or so help me…”
I close my eyes against the tears leaking out. Another saying from my childhood. She’s remembering things. More of her old self is showing through instead of the withdrawn version she’s been recently.
“You can’t have her! She’s leaving and it’s all your fault,” Dennis rages, not caring one bit he’s being threatened by a mother of five. Anyone else would know better.
She takes a determined step forward, more fire in her voice than I could’ve hoped to hear during these times.
“Mom, stay where you are,” I rush out.
Shit.
It just slipped out.
My mother halts finally, staring up at me blankly. Hope chooses now of all times to show her fucking insatiable self, and I curse the day I let her into my life. Again.
Please. Please see me. See me, goddamn it!
But she is seeing me, isn’t she? That’s why she’s out here in the first place. Something called to her. Something inside me maybe. A broken heart calling for help. A call any good mother would come running to answer no matter what…right?
“Dennis, release Paige now or I have to use this,” the other nurse, Naomi, interrupts, holding a full syringe that she passes off to Cynthia.
My mother blinks, looking around like she doesn’t know how she got here.
No. Just give me a little more time.
Behind me, I hear Cynthia ask, “Won’t his other medication counteract it?”
“No, he hasn’t received any today. I checked.”
My stomach plummets. What? No wonder he’s a mess. Dennis needs his medication every day. Without it, well, this happens. Today is a prime fucking example why people like Vernon get paid as much as they do. Because the medication is that important.
“Dennis, let go please.”
My neck burns from working so hard to counter the pressure he’s applying and noticing the mug shards still clinging to the wall, I push back that much harder to keep from exfoliating my face with the sharp pieces.
“We’ll get this all cleaned up and get you to bed, okay? Don’t you want to get some sleep? It’s been a long night.” Made longer without Dennis getting his proper treatment.
“Honey, you’re not cleaning this up. He made the mess, he’ll fix it.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now is not the time for Mom to start regurgitating all her parenting rules.
“Ma’am, step back.”
“I will do no such thing. Not until he releases this nice young lady.”
Dennis tightens his grip so hard I’m gasping just as my mom’s face contorts into a shared agony. The concern written there is blinding. That or my vision is being affected.
I blink a few times, not wanting to miss any scrap of her love but it’s no use. Spots swim in front of me like sharks ci
rcling chum.
It’s gotta be now.
I thrust my head forward then, grimacing when a healthy chunk of strands rips from my scalp. The sudden move does the job of catching Dennis off guard but it also slams my forehead directly into the wall as fragments of jagged clay bite into the skin just below my hairline.
Spinning on my heel, I catch both his hands in mine and pull down—hard. When he stumbles a bit, I shoot Cynthia a look and she hurries over to inject Dennis with the calming liquid while he’s still unbalanced.
“That’s right, Dennis. Nice and easy. Everything’s okay.”
Cynthia and I make eye contact over his head, breathing out identical sighs.
“Ms. Christensen, let’s get you to bed,” Naomi soothes, leading my mother away. She’s wearing a vacant expression once again.
Together, Cynthia and I shuffle Dennis to his room. After tucking him in, I rush out to check on the mess in the hall finding Naomi, hands on her hips, already taking stock of the damage.
How can a place that smells like a tropical paradise turn into an absolute nightmare so quickly? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to me.
She glances over at me, saying, “Rosie’s on her way. I’ll take care of this if you want to get cleaned up.” She eyes my forehead pointedly.
I raise my eyebrows in thanks but end up hissing on a wince as the pain comes crashing back to me all at once. Not only from the physical assault but the emotional battering, too, and by the time I reach the bathroom up front my entire body is trembling.
Alone in the bathroom, I suck in a lungful of air, facing myself in the mirror. Who I see looking back is foreign. Completely unrecognizable. An alien from a planet I never, ever wanted to know existed.
How long has it been since I’ve seen myself? The real me, not this disoriented version. One that has no idea what the fuck she’s even doing anymore.
Hair stringy and kinked from the air-dry from earlier, eyes wired but still thoroughly exhausted, skin ashy and now bleeding, split lip on the mend—I look a hot mess. Worse than a hot mess. A steaming pile of trash only the unluckiest of garbage men would take.
When did I become this? A strong case could be made for last year when my mother went to live in her first facility. Having that lifeline taken away did damage. Damage I don’t think I’ll ever come back from.
But even through the ache of missing my mom, I always had my brothers. The four of them helped fill the gigantic void our remaining parent left in her wake on her own journey for survival. I was still able to tread water in the shallows, navigating my way back toward dry land.
Without their support though, I’ve started to sink. Plummeting into the darkest chasm with no rescue crew in sight.
Splashing water on my face to clean the miscellaneous bits sticking to my skin—blood, clay, paint, and plaster—it all runs into the sink, swirling the drain in a continuous loop before disappearing altogether.
The first aid kit was just restocked making it easy to find the items I need; so I clean the wounds as best I can, then pat them dry with stiff paper towels.
Rosie will want to know exactly what happened after a staff member and resident made physical contact. Even though I’ve worked here for a while, I’ve never had an altercation with anyone. Aside from the weird crap Vernon keeps pulling anyway, but that’s small potatoes compared to what happened tonight.
Maybe I was naïve in thinking I’d never have a resident get physical during my shift but it doesn’t make the bitter pill any easier to swallow. Given how many people were in that hallway, me being the only injured party really is the best-case scenario.
Fixed up enough to face my superior, I take one last look in the mirror.
My eyes drop immediately.
She’s still there. The lost girl. The one scrambling for some sort of floatation device before she drowns entirely. She just has a shiny forehead now.
* * *
Rosie’s office is small and quaint. Photos of smiling elderly models line the walls as advertisement. Her desk has a large bouquet of fresh wildflowers and my nose stings from the overpowering fragrance. The early morning sunlight just beginning to filter through the curtains reaches her chair as she swivels back and forth. Her hands are steepled in front of her and her gaze is unreadable as we listen to Cynthia’s take on what happened.
“Paige’s actions saved multiple people from a dangerous situation. Had she not responded quickly and effectively, I fear other residents could’ve been harmed as well.”
As valuable as nurses are, residents are priceless. They’re the ones paying the bills to keep this place open. Their families are the ones ensuring the staff’s paychecks are signed every other week. Without them there would be no us.
And without Alzheimer’s we’d all be better off. Fuck you, dementia.
Cynthia chose her words carefully and I’m grateful. While my decision might’ve been hasty, it ultimately only hurt me. A nurse getting injured is forgivable, but a resident being harmed—not so much.
“Thank you, Cynthia. You may return to your station.”
Cynthia rises from her seat beside me, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she passes. Tomorrow’s supposed to be her last day working here so in a way she gave me a hell of a parting gift, vouching for me like she did.
Rosie watches from across her oak desk, waiting until we’re alone to continue. You’d never know she was just pulled from bed. Not a single hair is out of place and her business professional attire is immaculate. A woman in her late forties, she’s turned this place around from the dump it once was. Some directors can become lazy and complacent in their role but Rosie’s always striving for improvement and I really respect her.
“Per our policy, I have to put you on leave.”
No, no, no.
“Rosie, I need the money. Dennis wasn’t hurt. Nobody was hurt,” I plead, leaning forward, ready to fall to my knees if necessary.
“You were hurt, Paige. That’s enough for me.” She raises an impeccable eyebrow, asking, “Is it for you though?”
I study the swirls in the wood of the desk in front of her, willing the tears filling my eyes to disappear.
Rosie sighs. “It’ll be paid leave. You may return the beginning of next week. Take the time to rest. Recharge.”
Clutching the arm rest, I meet her gaze again. “What about my mom?”
“That’s another thing.” My heart picks up, a loud staccato in my own ears. Don’t say it. “I’m afraid Ms. Christensen’s presence has impacted your ability to maintain a professional approach while on duty.”
“That’s not true. Aside from tonight, I haven’t had a single slip-up. I’ve managed to keep my connection to her confidential for the most part. Very few people here even know we’re related.” Although, I don’t know how anyone could miss the similarities. It’s the same for all us Christensens—once we’re in one room, the resemblance is unmistakable. “I’ve only been able to visit once on my day off and I left as soon as it became clear she wasn’t receptive. She hasn’t been herself and I’m worried about her as any daughter, or nurse for that matter, would be but I haven’t given her any special treatment. Just,” I stop, swallowing, “give us a little more time to adjust to the new situation. Please.”
My fingers twist in my lap. Sweat against sweat, they writhe like my composure.
Rosie looks me over. Can she tell I’m going under? Does anyone notice my lungs are filling with something other than oxygen?
Better yet, does anybody care?
She leans forward to rest her elbows on her desk, meeting my eye. “Okay. You’re one of the best nurses I’ve got or I wouldn’t consider it. I’ll see you back here after the weekend and we’ll see how things go from there.”
I push to my feet before she can change her mind.
“Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” she says, rising to see me out.
Coming face-to-face with a smug Vernon reminds me what got
this whole knotted ball rolling in the first place and I turn around in the doorway, blocking his path.
“Before I go, I recommend Dennis’s chart be inspected. It seems Mr. Gregory, along with Ms. Christensen, haven’t been receiving their medication as prescribed and I’m wondering how many other residents are missing their necessary treatments. Vern, maybe you could provide some insight into that.” My eyes lock on Vernon, watching as his widen in alarm.
Snitches get stitches, right? Well, if I’m nailing the last part of that, I might as well live up to the first part, too.
CHAPTER 14
Beckett
Waking this morning to find Paige’s bike parked in its usual spot was surprising. Finding her bedroom door locked was not.
Her absence stirred up a shitastrophy of emotions I didn’t even know I was capable of anymore. I didn’t want to be capable of.
As much as I hated the idea of having her here in the beginning, sharing my living space with the woman became nice. Normal. My fucking usual without me even realizing it. I tried, I fucking tried shutting her out after she literally knocked down my door, planting her ass too close to personal business I’ve been managing alone for years. But the disappearing act she pulled as a result backfired. Big time. The words I spewed to her, that felt like coughing up my own intestines, turned into verbal darts piercing my already perforated façade the more I replayed them until I was ready to grovel at her feet. And I don’t bow to anyone. Never had to before and I sure as fuck didn’t plan on doing it now.
Yet…that’s what I was willing to do for Paige. For her to come back, to come home.
Home.
Marc hasn’t spoken to me outside of work since Paige took off, blaming me—rightfully so—for her taking off.
I thought it would feel better. I hoped it would settle the constant jumbled mess inside my head. She wakes things in me that have long been dormant.
Instead it exploded in my face. Not having her scent sneaking along my skin and into my veins was like coming down from a high and noticing you’re all out of your favorite drug. Panic swirled like a waterspout over a tense sea, making my insides prickle, and I woke up bloody every day Paige was missing. I thought it was my body’s reaction to her irresistible pull but the hole she left from her sudden withdrawal was more than physical longing. It was all fucking consuming, to the point that nobody at Pop The Hood dared approach me for fear of losing a limb. Or their life. Whatever.