Finding Redemption

by Emilia Finn

  She wouldn’t like this attention; the round the clock vigil, the crying and sadness. She wouldn’t like all these people standing around with broken hearts. She especially wouldn’t like to see Bobby so broken. Or Jack.

  “It’s my shift, B. You’re mom’s going to take you home for a shower.”

  “I wanna stay.” Bobby’s confused eyes have cleared, his voice like steel despite his total physical and mental exhaustion. He hasn’t slept lying down in a week. He’s living off vending machine food except when one of us bring him a plate, which rarely happens since most of us are living on the same no sleep, no food diet.

  Nell is the only sensible one, her job first and foremost to make sure her children are safe and well. She lets him get his way most of the time, but she’s here to take her baby home today, to force him to eat something more than pretzels and to make him sleep.

  He’s no help to Kit if he’s dead on his feet.

  Bobby runs his hands along the stubble on his chin, stubble he doesn’t normally let grow as he sighs then cracks his aching neck. “No, I’m staying, Tink. You can go home.”

  “No, B. It’s my turn.” I squeeze his shoulder one last time then drop my hand. “I missed her all night. I wanna spend some time with my best friend. You’re always monopolizing her time.” I smirk as best I can, though joking is the last thing I feel like doing right now. Mostly I want to climb on to Kit’s bed, straddle her and rest my head between her breasts. I just want to hug her. I want her to wake up and tell me she’s okay. Tell me she forgives me for not being there for her, instead sitting in a bar and laughing while horrible people hurt her, while she had to get herself out, while she ran through white snow made pink by her blood.

  My best friend almost died; she could still die.

  Her head is still bandaged; in fact her entire body is bandaged top to toe. She was stabbed and beaten, she was brutalized and sliced open. Then she was hit by a fucking car, cracking her skull open on the road like a watermelon thrown from a ladder. She was broken.

  “Your mom’s here to take you home for a bit. I want to spend some time with my best friend.” When he shakes his stubborn head again, I pull out the big guns. I’m selfish like that. “She was mine first, B. She was mine and you took her. Give us a few hours alone. I miss her.”

  “Come on, baby.” Nell enters the shadowed room and takes Bobby under his arm, though she couldn’t actually lift him from his seat if he doesn’t want to move. On another big sigh, Bobby looks to his mom then back to Kit.

  He stands then pins me with his angry eyes. “Don’t leave her, Tink. Not even to piss. Don’t you leave her side. If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “I’ve got her, Bobby. I won’t leave her for a single second.”

  “Let’s go,” Nelly murmurs with her best soothing mama voice, but I think the only voice that will ever soothe us is deep asleep right now.

  “Can you take Jack too, Nell? He needs to rest.”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ve already got him up and moving. We’ll all be back in a few.”

  “Alright.” I sit in Bobby’s vacated seat, the cushion still warm from his large body and I take the hand Bobby slept in.

  Her hand is still crusty and sore looking, her nails mostly all broken off, dried blood still stuck under whatever nail she has left.

  She has IV lines hanging off her everywhere, her left arm bandaged from shoulder to wrist, the bones broken from the car, the bicep sliced open by her sadistic crazy bitch cousin strung out for her next hit and some financial relief.

  Kit has broken ribs, bruised organs, sliced open limbs. Despite the horror her cousin put her through, the car accident caused her worst injuries, her head that was almost popped open like an overripe fruit.

  Her doctors considered taking her back in for surgery, removing a section of her skull to allow room for her swollen brain, but scans they send her for daily show she’s on track. Swelling is going down, she’s doing better. We just have to watch and see.

  I brush a long lock of her hair off her shoulder. As soon as I’m allowed, I’ll wash it for her. Brush out the tangles, smooth it out. I think she’d like that. “So, on a scale of one to we’ll never be friends again, how mad are you at me?”

  She doesn’t answer me of course, but I imagine her words, the well-deserved vitriol that if she were awake, she’d spit on me without remorse.

  I hate your guts, you stupid self-centered bitch. We’ll never be friends again. You left me alone, I had to escape myself but I needed you. I needed my best friend.

  I highly doubt those are her actual words; she’s too kind for that. But that’s what I think she should be thinking.

  I’m a horrible best friend.

  I organized a birthday night, her birthday, and she got hurt instead. I should have helped her.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I turn in my seat at the soft tap-tap at the door and Izzy quietly letting herself into Kit’s room. She walks in, looking as beautiful as ever with her shiny brown locks, her sporty body wrapped in yoga pants and a Rollin tank. It’s freezing outside, but she wears just the pants and tank and carts a coat around with her.

  Despite how put together she looks right now, I know she has a giant egg on the back of her own head. She was struck down last week, she was left unconscious in the snow, left to the weather and chance that she might be found.

  She spent a few days in this same hospital, a floor or two higher than Kit’s current room, and was released only a couple days ago with strict instructions to come back if she was having any trouble with sight or dizziness.

  Jon has been a basket case since the first time he called me in the club, on her back about every little thing. He’s reverted right back to caretaker mode, back to his childhood that I know despite his silence on the matter, that he raised his baby sister, essentially stealing her from an abusive home, keeping her safe somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  He’s become obnoxious about watching over her, his anxiety seeping through his home, clawing its filthy fingers into all of our skin. Izzy escapes the house in the mornings, running up here to see Kit, preferring to see an unconscious woman and live with Bobby’s devastation than see her brother and live with his.

  Not that she gets far without him. Jon just follows her, ready to swoop her away at the first sign of dizziness or sadness.

  I genuinely worry that he might have a heart attack if he doesn’t take a deep breath soon, but I find it hard to soothe him when my own anxieties roil for Kit.

  We’re just a big mess of adults, all tied up in the injured girls, our survival and happiness dependent on their health.

  Izzy is all better besides a painful bruise, but Kit has a long way to go yet. I can’t even unwrap myself from my own guilt to help Jon.

  As is tradition; I’m a self-centered bitch.

  “Hey Izzy.”

  “No change?” Iz sits on the chair on Kit’s other side, taking her other hand in hers and squeezing.

  Kit still doesn’t wake up.

  “No. But I got Bobby out.”

  Izzy’s smile lifts fractionally, looking sadder than it does happy. “That’s surprising. I didn’t think he’d go.”

  “I used Nell, but he’ll be back soon.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How you feeling, Sissy?”

  She sighs sarcastically. “You sound like him, you know? You and Jon spend too much time together.”

  I study Kit’s hand again and swallow my guilt at the sight of dried blood. “Sorry.”

  Izzy smiles again as she traces circles in Kit’s skin with her pointer finger. “Don’t be sorry. He’s different now. Well except this past week. He was kinda like this always before you came along, but he’s been different for months. You make him more bearable to be around,” she laughs softly and I find my own smile tug at my lips.

  “I don’t know about that. He’s pretty unbearable to be around even since I’ve known him. He’s a pain in my damn ass.”


  “Yeah, well. You don’t even know it, but you’ve been my shield. It’s been wonderful. He’s almost as obsessed with you as he is with me. Little longer and I might be able to transfer that anxiety exclusively to you.”

  “Gee thanks,” I roll me eyes at her silly grin. “That sounds peachy, but no thanks. He’s already full on. I don’t need your share too.”

  Iz scoffs. “Welcome to my world, Tinkerbelle.”

  Despite the fact I did sleep lying down last night, I’m still dragged down by my exhaustion, my head heavy on my shoulders as my eyelids threaten to fall. I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time in a week, worried sick about Kit, worried about Jon.

  We’re still sleeping in the same bed most nights and it’s normally really nice, oftentimes I’m pulled on top of him so my entire weight rests on him, my head resting in the center of his strong chest, his hands rubbing soothing circles in my back; although I normally love it, this past week he’s been riddled with anxiety, and with our skin being in contact so often his anxiety has crawled from him to me.

  I already carry enough guilt. I can’t deal with his too.

  I might go home to my own neglected bed if I didn’t worry for him.

  It’s like he needs me. I’ve become his safety blanket and though I wouldn’t normally mind, I hate that he’s created this weakness within himself.

  I can’t be his safety blanket because we can’t do this forever.

  He’s not interested in a relationship, and though I wasn’t either, I know I will be eventually. With him or with someone else.

  I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life.

  And if he’s not looking for the forever with me, well, maybe another man is. But that other man isn’t likely to be okay with tag teaming me. He and I can be a couple Monday through Thursday during daylight hours, but I go home to Jon in the evenings and weekends?

  That wouldn’t work.

  And even if by some crazy chance I end up with an anomaly, a man who doesn’t give a shit if I sleep in the same bed as another man – which is not actually the kind of man I want anyway – I really don’t see Jon feeling that same charity.

  Together or not, I don’t see Leo cooling his shit enough for me to jump beds like that.

  I get my head comfortable, snuggling into Kit’s side though careful not to hurt her, and I find myself humming. Humming the same song that’s been in my head for months.

  The vibrations move past my lips, soothing me, hopefully soothing Kit too.

  You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

  Kit always said my singing made her happy. I hope she wasn’t just being nice, though that would be completely in character for her.

  “I like that song.”

  “Mmm.” A slight variation in my humming is the only answer for Iz as she lays her head on Kit’s other side, just as tired as the rest of us.

  Kit is the heart of our group. We don’t eat without her. We don’t sleep. We don’t rest.

  We need her back.

  ~*~

  I walk in my front door, dropping my bag and keys to the floor and I stumble my way to my fridge. I need a drink, preferably alcoholic. Preferably enough to tranquilize me and stop the guilt I feel as it stabs me from the inside out.

  Another day down, another day Kit doesn’t wake up. Another day we tick off the calendar. The doctors told us the longer she stays under, the more likely it is she’s sustained permanent damage, or worse yet, she might never wake at all.

  She should have regained consciousness already. We all stood around the day they stopped sedating her. It was an exciting day, we were all smiling, waiting for her to wake, to smile at us, to tell us she was okay.

  But then she didn’t wake. A day passed us by.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Now I find myself unable to sit with her a moment longer, drowning in misplaced guilt. I know I couldn’t have changed the outcome but I still feel the guilt eat at my stomach, clawing through my organs and shredding them on the way through. Just like everyone else, I’m not eating properly. Just like everyone else, I’ve lost weight.

  Though Bobby might have dropped the most. He was training for the heavyweight title. Eating over eight thousand calories a day. He was bulking. He was training all day every day.

  Then he just stopped.

  Weeks of no training and no eating, though his metabolism was still firing as though he’d been training; he’s lost weight.

  Kit’s been there to catch me my whole life, and my heart hurts because the one time I could have helped her, I was oblivious.

  I grab the bottle of vodka from my freezer and slam the door closed, then I have to grab a chair to stand on to find the shot glasses above my fridge.

  Kit put them up there, easily reaching with her long arms and teasing my height issues.

  She put them up here because she said I’d never need them without her. That she’ll be here to get them down for me.

  Well she’s fucking not. She’s not here, and I need them because she’s not here.

  “Fuck it.” She’s not waking up tonight. Jon can sleep on his own. It’s Izzy’s turn to shield me today. I’m getting drunk.

  I jump down from the chair, landing it even with my heels and I push the chair back to my table.

  I swipe away the first angry tear; I’m not a crier. I don’t do that shit and tonight won’t be the start of a new bad habit. Except the drinking. I’ll be starting that one tonight.

  I glare at my bag as it rings on the floor. I want to ignore it. I want to wallow in self-pity. I want to flip the bird at the whole world, but I find myself skidding down beside my bag, fishing the phone from the side pocket, terrified and excited it could be about Kit. She’s been out for weeks now.

  “Hello?”

  “Sunshine, hey. Where are you?”

  “Is Kit okay?”

  He sighs. “She’s fine. She’s the same. Where are you?”

  “You’re not calling about Kit?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, well,” I stand back onto my sexy heels and walk back to the counter to pour my drink. “I gotta go, Jon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” he calls out as I lower my hand to end the call.

  I swipe another tear away, a fresh wave of disappointment washing over me since he gave me a second to hope something had changed with Kit. The new disappointment weighs twice as much as the old.

  I pour the shot, spilling it over the lip of the glass and picking it up anyway, I smash it down. How many do I need to feel some numb?

  I wipe my arm across my lip. “What?”

  “You didn’t say where you are. Are you coming home soon?”

  His sad puppy voice hurts my heart. Time to find a new coping mechanism, Jon. I’m tapping out for the night. “I am home. I need some alone time. See you tomorrow.”

  “Casey--”

  I hit the end call button, throwing my phone down on the counter then pouring a second shot. My single angry tears have turned to a stream of flowing heartbreak. I want my best friend back. I want her to forgive me.

  And I want Jon, even though I was a bitch to him.

  I’ll make it up to him tomorrow, I’ll blame it on PMS. He’s spent several months with me now while I’ve been a raging bitch. True to his word, he even bought me tampons when I asked, and from years of painful endometriosis causing cramping bad enough that I need to curl up on the couch with a heat pack, he’s always quick to bring hot chocolate and massaging hands.

  I don’t know why he’s so damn stubborn about his outlook on life, about never loving anyone.

  He’s already practically in a monogamous relationship with me. Minus the sex. He picks his shit up, he leaves the toilet seat down, he buys chocolate for no reason at all.

  What more could a girl want?

  I pour a third shot glass, pick it up and walk to the floor where my bag sits. Sliding along the wall, I sit on my butt, knees bent, glass resti
ng on my kneecap and I sob. I sob because one of my best friends is in a coma. It’s been three weeks, everyone is dead inside and I’m terrified she might never wake.

  And I cry because I’m in love with my other best friend, more than the way I love Bobby, and he’ll never love me back the same. I’ve spent almost every single day with him for six months and I’ve steadily fallen stupid in love with him. My heart squeezes every night when we cuddle on the couch. My heart breaks every night that we go to bed together and I can’t tell him how I feel. I didn’t want this, and I know he didn’t either, and he warned me he never would, but somehow my stupid ass still fell in love and now he carelessly ping pongs my heart around and he doesn’t even realize he’s bruising me.

  He’d never hurt me on purpose, which is exactly it; I can’t tell him. And he can’t possibly know. So that leaves me in heartbreak lane with no exits in sight.

  Twelve

  Jon

  I’ll Be Your Spoon

  Something’s wrong.

  Something more than this already horrible fucking month. Something is wrong with Case. I felt her dim even over the phone.

  Casey doesn’t dim. She’s sunshine, she’s bright and beautiful and everything good in this world.

  I insert my key in her apartment door, not giving a damn if she told me she needed alone time. I’ve never given into her shit before, today won’t be the day I start.

  The door stops suddenly as it bangs into something, then a surprised yelp and hiccup has me sliding the door forward slowly, then when I can squeeze through, I’m on the floor next to my sobbing best friend and pulling her into my arms.

  This is bad.

  I can’t do this. I can’t have any more hurt, any more heartache. She can’t break because I need her to hold me together. I’m a weak fuck who needs a one hundred pound fairy to hold me together. I’m not strong enough to do it myself. “Sunshine. Are you hurt? What’s the matter?”

  She doesn’t answer me, she just stuffs her face in my neck and throws her arms around my shoulders.

  Her sobs wrack her tiny frame and I feel the sweat slide down my spine again. It’s happening a fuckuvalot lately and my heart can’t take it.