This Mess We're In

by Scarlett Grove

  The bus finally arrived, and I gave the driver my confirmation number. We boarded with nothing but a diaper bag and a purse. It smelled of bodies and cleaning fluid, but the seats were big and comfortable. I took Rose out and laid her against my chest under a blanket.

  The bus pulled onto the highway and we were on our way to Ukiah. My nerves screamed on high alert, but my eyelids drooped and blinked until I let them close. I sat up in shock the moment the bus stopped. I didn’t want to miss my destination. I followed the passengers off the bus. Blank, tired faces loomed around me, frowning and desperate.

  I approached a night janitor in the bus station to ask him if he knew how far the hospital was from the station. He shrugged and went back to mopping.

  Outside in the darkness, I spotted at an all-night dinner and ducked inside for comfort. The waitress brought me a cup of coffee, and I held Rose’s sleeping form firmly to my chest while I sipped.

  “Do you know where Ukiah General Hospital is?” I asked her. Her tired eyes scanned me with pity.

  “It’s on the other side of town, sweetie.”

  “Could you call me a cab?”

  “Sure.”

  The waitress called the taxi and a few moments later, it pulled up and parked outside the diner. I left cash for the coffee and a generous tip for the phone call before going back out into the night.

  The driver had a thick North African accent and asked me where I needed to go. I told him, and the meter started running. He glanced back at me through the rearview mirror with watery brown eyes. I didn’t feel like talking. I just held Rose close to me and kissed her head.

  We arrived at the hospital to the tune of thirty-five dollars. I paid with my credit card and pulled myself out of the backseat.

  Rose woke under the glaring lights of the emergency room sign. I had no idea where to go. The taxi drove off into the night, leaving me standing alone.

  I went inside, and the smell of antiseptic and chaos filled my nose. People in various stages of emergency sat in the waiting room. Beyond the swinging doors were cries of pain, and gurneys sped from one room to the next. I spotted uniformed police officers and a skinny youth with a gushing head wound.

  I wanted to run out into the night but pressed on to ask the man at the front desk where to find my sister.

  “Regan MacKenna? Let’s see. Yes, she was brought in two hours ago. She’s been transferred to the hospital for a psych evolution. You’re her next of kin?”

  “Yes, I’m her sister.”

  “Alright, take this pass, go across the courtyard to the other building, go through the main entrance and tell the nurse’s station who you came to see.”

  I followed his directions and came to the main building of the hospital. Rose whined in my arms, and I wished to God that I owned a stroller. Her weight dragged me down until I felt I could no longer walk. My arms ached from fatigue.

  Inside the front entrance, I found the nurse’s station. I went through the same routine as before with new people. A nurse finally told me to follow her after I’d filled out a stack of paperwork with Rose whining in my exhausted arms.

  She led me to an elevator that we took to the second floor and then into a hospital ward where I was handed off to a second collection of nurses. They looked at my paperwork and squinted at me. Rose made such a fuss I knew it disturbed the nurses. I couldn’t do anything about it until I’d found a place to rest and change and feed her. It twisted my heart and made me feel desperate.

  “This way,” one said. I followed her squeaking shoes down the laminate floors until we stood outside a hospital room door.

  “Your sister is coming off a heroin trip and is having a psychotic episode. I see that you indicated she has bipolar I. That explains her behavior. Be warned, she isn’t exactly lucid. I understand you want to see her, but you might be disappointed with your reception.”

  “I won’t be surprised.”

  The nurse opened the door for me, and I went inside. Regan was sitting up in bed watching television. Her wrists were bandaged and she had an IV in her arm. Her eyes were puffy and red and her arm was restrained.

  “Claire, thank God. Get me out of here. They have me trapped.”

  “Regan. You tried to kill yourself.”

  “That was an accident. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Regan. I came down here as fast as I could so that you’d know you weren’t alone, but I can’t get you out of the hospital. You are already in a lot of trouble from the DUI and driving without a license. It’s time to get yourself straight. I’m going to help you as much as I can.”

  “I have to get out of here, they’re trying to mind control me.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning. I have to get Rose to bed.”

  “Claire, wait. Those nurses are poisoning my IV.”

  “Bye, Regan.”

  I went back to the nurse’s station while bouncing Rose in my arms to keep her quiet. They asked permission to give Regan psychiatric medication if it was suggested by the psychiatrist who would see her in the morning. I said yes and asked them to call me a cab.

  Later, in my hotel room, I tucked Rose into the bed, where she was finally able to fall back to sleep. It was almost dawn and I was wired. I made the coffee from the room’s coffee machine and watched the sun rise pink and yellow over the buildings of Ukiah, California. Another beautiful day in the land of dreams.

  The coffee was bitter but I drank it. I had no idea what I was going to do about Regan. All I knew was that it was time for her to get the help she needed.

  After the coffee, I lay down on the bed and fell asleep. It was noon before Rose stirred in bed and woke me up. I rose blurry-eyed and called home. Zoe answered with a frantic tone.

  “Hi, Zoe. Regan is okay. She’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh God! I can’t believe I was gone last night. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but taking the bus down here sucked.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Maybe. I need to find a cheap car to drive, and I need to deal with my Etsy customers.”

  “I’ll take care of your customers. Just take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll be okay. Poor Rose wasn’t happy all last night. I wish I could have left her with someone. It can’t be helped now.”

  “Should I come down?”

  “I don’t know. I should be okay for now. I’m going to see what I can do about getting Regan some help.”

  “Alright, just call me with your new number.”

  I said goodbye to Zoe and dressed Rose. There was a diner across the street. I bought a paper and went inside. I put Rose in a high chair next to the table. She happily drew with crayons on a children’s menu. I chugged coffee while trying to find a cheap car in the paper. After breakfast, I bought a cell phone and took it back to my hotel room to charge and call car dealerships. Rose toddled around the room and watched cartoons on cable. Around three in the afternoon, I got the nerve to call the DA.

  The secretary that answered the phone directed me to the department that could help me with my inquiry. After I’d explained my sister’s situation, they transferred me to the DA’s assistant. He listened to my situation and told me that Regan’s blood work was already available in the system, showing high levels of narcotics. The trial would be set for later that week. They would be asking for maximum jail time.

  My hands shook all through the conversation. I felt a numb coldness grip my body after I’d hung up the phone. I had to think about something else for a while so took a taxi to a small used-car lot and purchased the first cheap car I could find. I didn’t want to wipe out my bank account so I got a ridiculously high-interest loan that I planned to pay off as soon as possible, and drove six blocks to a big box store to get a new car seat.

  While I was there, I got Rose a cheap stroller and both of us some clothes. With the essentials in hand, I felt a thousand times better. It was time to go back to the hospital.

  When I got there, I
greeted the nurses with a happy, rosy Rose in her new stroller. I’d bought her a new doll at the store and she played happily with it while we dealt with auntie Regan.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Damien

  The day of the fight arrived too soon. I’d done all the training I could. There was no going back. No matter what, I would own the results.

  The fight was scheduled for nine at night, I and spent most of the day keeping myself loose. I’d tried to avoid thinking about the letter. My mind raced with questions.

  Finally, I picked up the phone and dialed her number. No one answered, and I didn’t leave a message. I’d try again after the fight. I had to stay focused on my goal.

  I pictured the fight in my mind, imagining myself dominating my opponent. I’d read on the Internet that this kind of visualization could help athletic potential. Being from LA, I was willing to believe in mental power stuff, so I spent all day visualizing.

  My mind slipped to Claire. I missed her so much. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to see her beautiful chestnut hair cascading around my face.

  I imagined running my hand up her skirt until I could feel the soft warmth of her inner thigh; tickling her panties until her body twitched under my fingers. I could feel my dick grow hard just thinking about it. The image of her face full of desire, wanting me, made me want to call her again.

  The vision continued with me pulling her white panties down around her ankles and dipping my face between her pale legs. My tongue pressed between her folds and found the soft pink flesh dripping and ready for me to enter.

  She gasped at my touch, and I pressed my tongue against her firm mound, flicking it until her body shuddered. I saw myself climb on top of her and push inside her hot wet core. I watched her eyes widen at the size of my cock as it thrust into her tender young flesh. I grabbed her swollen breasts and…

  My phone rang. Shit.

  “Hello?” I said, picking up the phone.

  “I star 69’d this number. Who is this?”

  “Damien Cruz, who is this?”

  “It’s Zoe MacKenna. What’s going on? Why did you call? Last I heard, you broke my sister’s heart.”

  “I sent her a letter to apologize. I wanted to know if she got it.”

  “I have no idea. She isn’t here. “

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in Ukiah. Regan crashed our car and then slit her wrists. She’s in the hospital. Claire is trying to get her some help.”

  “I can’t believe I wasn’t there for her through all this.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly on team Damien right now. But she might want to hear from you.”

  Zoe gave me Claire’s number, and I scrawled it on a piece of art paper beside a picture of lilies I’d been drawing for Claire.

  Martel came through my door and tapped his watch. The clock on the bedside table said 8 p.m. “Thanks, Zoe. I have to go. They’re waiting for me.”

  I put the phone in my pocket and followed Martel outside. I rode my bike across town to the same location as before. The night smelled hot and dry. This time I wasn’t nervous. I felt like a steel bar had been inserted in my backbone.

  My body was utterly calm. The visualizations I’d practiced played through my mind like images on a movie screen. I had this.

  We went into the same dingy bathroom, but it might as well have been the most well-equipped dressing room on the planet. I was the king of this shit. No one could stop me. I felt it coursing through my veins.

  I changed into my uniform and warmed up with my trainer. He chanted motivating mantras at me while I punched at the air and felt my body rush with endorphins.

  They announced the match, and I walked down an aisle in the middle of a mass of cheering bodies. I told myself they were cheering for me, and let the energy flow through me. I moved into the cage, keeping myself loose. My opponent entered on the opposite side.

  He looked bored and tired. He probably thought this would be an easy win. Big mistake. I threw a few punches into the air. My bruised ribs had healed along with the cut in my forehead, but I could still feel a slight tinge of pain in my ribcage. I ignored it. It was nothing.

  The sound of the crowd was like white noise. My opponent seemed not to exist. The bell rang. Bob approached me, his fists in front of his face. My eyes scanned his body, looking for a weakness.

  He took a swing that left him open. I twisted around and kicked him in the side, sending him towards the cage wall. He corrected himself and came back at me with force, sending a left jab right into my sore ribs.

  I felt it deep in my bones. The pain caused me to lose focus for a split second. He took the advantage and sent an uppercut toward my jaw. I blocked him with my right arm and swiped my leg behind his knees.

  He lost balance, but pulled me to the ground with him. He had me around the waist and neck. It had been my greatest fear in preparing for the battle. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. His grip tightened, and I could smell his sweat and hear the sound of his breathing in my ear.

  I let the momentum of his body allow me to slip from his grasp as I made myself loose and fluid, twisting and popping back on my feet. He looked at me, astonished, as he jumped back to standing. In the second he hesitated, I sent a side kick into his jaw.

  He tumbled over and crashed on his back. The referee ran over to determine if it was a knockout. Bob pulled himself to his feet, and I pressed in for a series of body shots, pushing him back against the cage wall.

  He punched at my face, connecting with my nose, sending blood spewing across the mat. His punch cost him a major opening, and I took the opportunity to hit him squarely in the jaw.

  Bob slumped against the cage wall. The bell for the first round rang and we went back to our corners. My trainer gave me water through a straw and helped stop the bleeding in my nose.

  Even with blood running down my chest, I felt good. I felt strong. I knew I could dominate Bob in the next round. He looked like he was in bad shape across the ring. His body language admitted defeat.

  The sound of the crowd cheered as the bell for round two rang out. We circled one another, checking each other with punches. Bob was noticeably slower than in the first round. I swung at him and connected with his shoulder. He twisted around and hit me in the ribs with a massive blow.

  I winced and pulled back. He sent his fist into my face and yanked me down to the ground. He had me locked with his arms and legs. I struggled against his hold, feeling myself panic. I checked his strength and could find no opening.

  The training seemed to disappear. I got my right arm free and began punching wildly into his ribs. It didn’t lessen his hold. The mental images of the fight ran through my mind, and my body responded as if on autopilot.

  Instead of flailing, I extended my right hand outward and used it to lever myself and throw off his hold. He rolled away as I jumped to my feet and kicked him hard in the face. He fell backwards holding his eye, writhing in pain.

  He seemed to want to stand and continue, but the referee called the match. He hoisted my arm in the air and the bell rang. The cheers and jeers of the crowd felt like static in my ears.

  The world moved in slow motion. I’d won the match. It was over. I left the ring flanked by my trainer and Martel. They followed me to my bathroom and spoke words in loud voices that I didn’t hear.

  I ran cold water over my face and shoved toilet paper up my nose. My chest was bloodstained, but I threw my shirt on over it anyway. They patted me on the back, with big toothy smiles. I pulled on my jeans.

  I didn’t even care what they thought. I’d owned my choices, and now I could go find her. I ignored Martel, slipped on my leather jacket, and grabbed my keys.

  Outside in the warm dry summer air, I pulled the toilet paper from my nose and sniffed, throwing the wads in the dirt. I straddled my bike, pushed the throttle, and rode off in the night.

  My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket. I didn’t answer. Martel wasn’t the person I wanted to talk to.

 
I drove through the night as the crickets chirped beyond the highway. The headlights of semis barreled down on me and passed in a sweeping gush of air and momentum. I rode that momentum like a wave until it crashed against the shore.

  I made it to Ukiah in the middle of the night. I stopped at a gas station at two in the morning on the north side of town and called the phone number Zoe had given me.

  It rang. I felt like a lovesick idiot for calling her in the middle of the night. It rang again and continued ringing until she answered.

  “Where are you?” I breathed into the phone.

  “Damien?” Her voice was ecstatic.

  “I’m in Ukiah. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Best Western off Orchard. I’m in room 75.”

  “I’m coming.”

  The drive to the hotel only took a few minutes, but it felt like eternity. I pulled into the Best Western parking lot. The neon sigh blazed its bright light down on the dark pavement below. I parked under her room number, ran to her door, and tapped my knuckles against the wood.

  “Damien,” she said, falling into my arms on the doorstep in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. “Oh, Damien.” She rested her head against my chest. The incredible perfection of her body against mine felt like I’d just had my arm reattached.

  “It’s over,” I whispered in her ear. “I won.”

  “Come inside.”

  I followed her into her small room. Rose slept in a hotel crib tucked along the wall. The only light came from the bathroom through the cracked open door.

  “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

  She took me to the bathroom and I sat on the closed toilet while she ran water in the sink. She moistened a washrag and ran it over my face. The cloth was wet and warm against my skin. She pushed my jacked over my shoulders and it fell to the floor. Her fingers gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Wetting the cloth again, she washed the bloodstains from my chest.

  I watched her wash my battle scars away with her delicate hands. My body grew hard under her gentle touch.