Promise Me: Diamond In The Rough 2

by Hart, Rebel

  Which was where I wanted to be.

  I heard the doctor talking to Cecilia outside. But I didn’t hear my father. No shocker there, of course. He probably stormed off and used this fight as an excuse to get more work done. And if it was up to me? He’d stay gone. He didn't help. He wasn’t supportive. And, apparently, this accident was all my fault. At the very least, I didn’t deserve an ounce of pity until it was proven that I didn’t cause my almost-death.

  He could fuck off with all that bullshit.

  “Clint? Can you hear me?”

  I nodded as I cleared my throat. Cecilia sat down beside me again, taking my hand like she had this morning.

  “Dad’s gone again, isn’t he?”

  “You know how he is.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, yeah. I know how he is.”

  That seemed to be the excuse for my father more days than not nowadays.

  “How are you feeling, Clint?”

  I sighed. “Better. But the doctor also just pressed my morphine button, so…”

  “I was on morphine once, you know. A little ball drip thing fastened around my waist in a fanny pack.”

  “That when you got your boobs done?”

  I didn’t catch the question before it flew out of my mouth. But I was kind of glad I didn’t. Because it launched Cecilia into another story of her life I would have never expected from her.

  “Actually, yes. It was a reconstructive surgery I got when I was twenty. Saved up almost my entire life for it.”

  I paused. “Reconstructive surgery?”

  She giggled. “Yep. I left home when I was seventeen, after graduating high school early. And in between part-time classes at the local community college, I took on a job. Saved up as much as I could while living with three other girls in a two-bedroom apartment to save up enough money to have it corrected. And boy, was that a surgery.”

  “What was the defect?”

  “Its technical name is ‘tubular hypoplasia,’ or something like that. It essentially means the base of a woman’s breast is much narrower than it should be, causing a tissue deformity and nipple malformation during puberty.”

  “So much more than I ever needed to know about my stepmom.”

  “And yet, here we are.”

  The two of us laughed softly before she patted my arm.

  “Hell of a surgery. Nine hours under, lots of sawing and suctioning and tugging about. And when I came out of it in recovery, I had this compression bra on and a fanny pack of morphine around my waist with tubes running into the tops of my chest.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yep. I still don’t remember those first two weeks of recuperation. Because morphine wasn’t the only drug I was on during that recovery time.”

  I smiled. “Holy shit. I don’t blame you on that one, then. This morphine’s got me fucked up enough as it is.”

  “You know, part of me wants to tell you ‘language.’ But, here I am. Cursing up a storm along with you.”

  It almost felt surreal. Like this was simply another dream. The shy, timid, soft-spoken stepmother I’d become accustomed to was anything but. And it made me wonder why the absolute fuck she’d settled for someone like my father. Then again, I knew why. We both knew why. She’d grown up in a life of conservatism. And my father, well, wasn’t. He gave her all the things she wanted. And even things she didn’t want. That would be attractive to any woman. Even a woman with her head seemingly screwed on straight.

  Money talked nowadays.

  “So, weeks of physical therapy?”

  She paused. “You heard that?”

  I shrugged. “Bits and pieces. I was still waking up and falling back asleep.”

  “You’re a shit liar, you know.”

  That made me laugh hard. “All right. All right. You caught me.”

  “I’m sorry, Clint.”

  “Don’t be. You stuck up for me. No one’s ever done that before.”

  “I should’ve started doing it sooner.”

  “Well, something tells me you’ve at least been trying.”

  “I’ll get him to stay behind, though. Don’t worry.”

  “At this point, I’d rather him go.”

  She paused. “Really?”

  I nodded. “He’s useless during shit like this. In his mind, this is my fault. So the medical bill will be my fault. For all I know, since I’m eighteen, he’ll write me up some sort of an official loan document and expect me to pay him back for it. Either that, or he’ll feel guilty after the fact and buy me a new bike to try and make things better.”

  “I’m sorry, Clint.”

  “Not your fault, Cecilia.”

  As I lay there, holding her hand within mine, I felt the crushing weight of an unwanted burden settle against my chest. I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would sweep me underneath its warm current again and rid me of the insanity of my mind. What in the world had I done to make my father hate me so much? Why couldn't he just love me? Accept me? I mean, I was his only child. It wasn’t as if there was another child to play ‘favorites’ with.

  Did he just not want me?

  Had he ever wanted me?

  “I’ll be here with you, okay?”

  Cecilia’s voice pierced my thoughts, and my next question flew out faster than I could even process it.

  “But why? You don’t owe me anything. And I’m pretty sure you don’t love Dad. So, you aren’t sticking around for him.”

  And after a beat of silence, she sighed.

  “I’ll be here because I want to be here. And you’ll just have to deal with it.”

  She didn’t comment on my other insinuation. On the other comment I’d made. And I couldn't blame her.

  I mean, how the hell could she love a man like that?

  “I feel tired.”

  “Then get some rest. I’ve got a book I’m reading, and I’ll let you know what the doctor says—if anything—once you wake back up.”

  I sighed. “What are you reading?”

  She held up the book in front of my face. “Finding The Spouse You Married.”

  I would have laughed had my heart not randomly started aching for her. This beautiful woman, full of love and interesting stories and lessons to pass on, was reading some bullshit self-help book on how to make my dad treat her the way she wanted to be treated. It was sickening, and yet very telling of what my mother must’ve gone through with Dad.

  I wondered if she’d ever tried reading books to fix what had become so broken.

  “Want me to read you a page? The anecdotal stories are pretty funny.”

  I smiled, closing my eyes. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “All right. This particular chapter is about getting the two spouses on the same page. Listen to this. There are two people in the story, Mary Margaret and James. And I’ll let the story tell the rest.”

  I settled into bed as she launched into this story. A ridiculous story of some imaginary married couple that had drifted apart because James thought he wasn’t getting enough sex. And Mary Margaret thought James had gotten lazy about sex. I chuckled as Cecilia giggled through the story, and before she could wrap it up the two of us fell apart in laughter. The story was so ridiculous, and had almost nothing to do with them getting on the same page. I mean, I’m sure it did, eventually. But Cecilia and I were laughing so hard we couldn't actually get to that part.

  “It’s so ridiculous. I still can’t finish this chapter because of the story.”

  My chest jumped with laughter. “How the hell can you read shit like that?”

  Cecilia kept giggling. “I don’t know. It’s so insane. And all the stories are like that. I guess I just…”

  Her sentence trailed off and I coughed, trying to calm down my laughter. Because hers had shut down, like someone had flipped a switch inside her head.

  “You just what?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I guess I’m just desperate to get back the man I married, I guess. And maybe, if I read enough of these books, the answer wi
ll jump out at me and I can fix what’s been so very broken for so long.”

  And in that moment, I didn’t know which I hated more: my father, for putting her in this position, or the damn author of that book, for preying on women like her and draining them of their money, only to feed them shit I could sum up with one sentence.

  It can’t be fixed if the other person doesn’t feel like they need fixing.

  9

  Raelynn

  “Why don’t you come make brownies with me? We can have them for after dinner tonight.”

  “Want to try our hand at making fresh ice cream to go with them?”

  “Let’s go out to eat tonight. Come back to the brownies and have a movie night.”

  “Want to put on pajamas, too? We could go out to eat in our pajamas.”

  I knew my mother was trying the best she could to cheer me up. To get my mind off things. But all day yesterday had spiraled into my Saturday, and I still sat up in my room. By the window. Hoping someone might come over and give me information on how Clint was doing. His father, even if he yelled it at me. His stepmother, even if I had to pull it out of her. Hell, even the police officers, even if they had more questions for me to answer.

  I’d take any update I could get.

  I sighed, gazing out over the dirt we had for a front lawn. The rain drizzled down, creating a sheen of mist over everything as clouds rolled above. The sun hadn’t peeked through once. So, apparently, it and I were on the same wavelength. The weather matched my mood perfectly, and I found myself brooding at my windowsill.

  Until a knock came at my door.

  “Hey there, sweetie.”

  I sighed. “Hey, Mom.”

  “I brought you some lunch. Leftovers from last night.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You mind if I eat in here with you? The breadsticks look tempting.”

  “You can have them, if you want.”

  I heard her sit on my bed, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t hungry. Even though eggplant parmesan was my favorite. I wanted to be at the hospital with Clint. By his side, assuring him I’d be there for him. I’d made him a promise. I’d told him I wouldn't leave his side. And yet I couldn’t get past his fucking father.

  At Clint’s side was the only place I wanted to be.

  And his father didn’t give a shit about that.

  Mom cleared her throat. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “You want to come downstairs and watch Judge Judy with me?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “It’ll give you a chance to yell at the television for a while.”

  I shrugged. “Not really in a yelling mood.”

  She sighed. “Sweetheart, I know you’re worried about him. But—”

  “Mom, please. I just…”

  I heard her stand up before her hand came down against my back. I closed my eyes, feeling my empty tear ducts try to churn out more salted tears. But there were no more for me to cry. My pillow had soaked all of them up last night. They burned without recompense as Mom rubbed my back, trying her best to continue distracting me.

  I was tired of the distractions, though.

  I wanted to know how Clint was doing.

  “I made him a promise.”

  “I know you did, sweetie.”

  I sighed. “And I’m not there, like I promised.”

  “I’m sure he’s a smart boy and has figured out why you aren’t there. Especially if he doesn’t have a good relationship with his father.”

  “I just don’t get it. All I want to do is be there, and his father’s being a—”

  Mom sat down, wrapping her arms around me. She pulled me against her and I felt my frustration growing. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I mean, why they fuck did his dad have to be such an absolute asshole? I’d confided in Mom with just about everything. The first time I ever met his father. What he did. The bruises Clint came to school with. The life he really led with his father behind those massive mansion doors.

  Her party tricks were wearing thin as my worry for Clint grew.

  “Maybe he’s not at the hospital anymore,” I murmured.

  Mom kissed the top of my head. “At any rate, it’s best if you stay here and wait for an update. The last thing you need to be doing is storming in there and getting yourself into trouble. Especially after already dealing with the police.”

  “It wasn’t his fault, Mom.”

  “And I believe you. Bu, until things cool down, you know I’m right.”

  I hated that fact, too.

  The doorbell rang downstairs and I scoffed. I didn’t give a shit who it was, but I wanted them to leave. Mom kissed me one more time, then ventured downstairs. I heard her whistling to herself, like the sunshine poured out of her ass in that very moment. I rolled my eyes. I hunkered back down by the windowsill and watched the misty rainfall coat my window.

  Until I heard familiar voices racing up the stairs.

  “Hey! Girlie!”

  “Your mom said you’re up here!”

  “Get dressed, we’re heading out.”

  I whipped around at the sound of Allison and Michael’s voices. They barged into my room, all smiles and dressed to the nines. Well, not really. But Michael stood there in a pair of khaki pants with a polo shirt tucked in and Allison was in one of her bright ensembles.

  I furrowed my brow. “What are you guys doing here?”

  Allison rolled her eyes. “Does that matter? Come on. Get cleaned up. We’re heading out.”

  I stood. “Where are we going?”

  Michael grinned. “Pretty sure there’s someone in a hospital waiting to see you.”

  My eyes bulged before I started rushing around my room. I threw clothes around while Allison giggled at me, then I stumbled out of my pajamas. I heard Michael leave the room, leaving me to undress as Allison tossed me my clothes. And after I’d pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I rushed to the bathroom.

  “Give me five minutes!”

  I brushed my teeth and splashed some water in my face. I ran a brush through my hair before piling it on top of my head in a bun. I grabbed my chapstick and charged out of the bedroom, tucking it into my back pocket.

  I found Allison and Michael at the bottom of the steps with my cell phone.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  I leapt down the steps, taking my phone from him. And as I tucked it away in my bra, I looked over at my mother. She smiled at me, blowing me a kiss as I stood there with my two best friends. My heart went out to her. I rushed over to her, giving her a massive hug before I pressed a kiss against her cheek.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  She patted my back. “I love you, too. Now, get going. I want to know how that boy’s doing, too.”

  We rushed out toward Michael’s car and hopped in. I crawled in back, anxious to get out of this driveway and on the road. I knew Mom had called Michael and Allison. Probably to try and pull me out of my funk.

  But had she called the hospital as well?

  I licked my lips. “Does anyone at the hospital know we’re coming?”

  Michael shrugged. “Does it matter? They can’t expect you to just sit on your hands and wait without hearing a word. You were at the crash site.”

  Allison nodded. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. You saved him. You’re the one that found him. You deserve to know what’s going on with him.”

  “He’s got a bastard of a father, but that shouldn't stop him from updating you on his son’s condition.”

  “If anything, he should be thanking you. Because you're the reason Clint is still alive.”

  I nodded slowly. “Thank you guys so much.”

  Allison reached back, taking my hand. “That’s what friends are for.”

  I sniffled. “I take it Michael filled you in?”

  She nodded. “On everything. Especially once you didn’t show up at school yesterday.”

  �
�I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just—”

  She squeezed my hand. “No need to apologize, crazytown. I’m not upset. I’m just glad you guys are okay.”

  “Even Clint?”

  Michael nodded. “Even Clint.”

  Allison had the bright idea of picking up fast food and sneaking it into the hospital for Clint. Which shocked me, because that was something she’d do for me. Was it possible they were finally considering Clint part of our group? A friend, even? I hoped so, in the pit of my soul. Allison stuffed the food into her purse after we were done eating, and even managed to prop up a soda in one of her pockets so it wouldn't tip over.

  And after sneaking through the hospital corridors, we finally found Clint’s room.

  “Holy sh—”

  I held up my hand, stopping Michael’s sentence in its tracks. Clint was fast asleep, and no one was in his room. This couldn't have been planned any better. My eyes ran along him as I slowly walked into his room. His ICU room.

  “Oh, Clint,” I whispered.

  I walked over to his bedside with my hands trembling. He was in rough shape. Even rougher than I remembered. Both of his eyes were blackened, along with his jaw. His nose had been set, so he had a brace around it, taped down to his face, which had red marks where it wasn’t bruised. He had his right arm in a sling, and his neck was braced. Unable to move. He had tubes running in and out of his nose. In and out of his hands. His arms. Even from underneath the covers.

  My lip quivered as I sat in a chair beside his bed.

  I reached out for his hand, placing mine against his. I settled it softly, feeling how cold he was to the touch. The second I touched him, his eyes popped open. I yanked my hand back, but only partially. Because he moved with lightning speed, wrapping his hand around my wrist.

  “Rae?”

  I looked over at Michael and Allison as they stood at the foot of his bed, beckoning for me to talk to the boy.

  “I can’t move my neck. Please tell me that’s you.”

  Tears rushed my eyes as I stood up. I slowly maneuvered myself into his view, listening as he breathed a sigh of relief. I sniffled and smiled, gazing into his bloodshot eyes.