Текст книги "Finding Me "
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“I am fixing me. In Delaware.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“It’s true. I’ve learned so much about myself in the last year. I mean, I won’t lie and tell you it’s all been sunshine and rainbows. There have been some really difficult and really lonely times, but I’ve also learned a lot about myself.”
“Are you done learning?”
“Not yet,” I answer quietly, watching her brush away a couple of tears.
“I really believed in you and Max.”
I smile at her, not wanting to confirm that I had too.
“I love you, Harper.”
“I love you too, Abs.” I squeeze her hand again. “Go Google about your bedroom issues. Just be careful of what links you click on,” I tease.
“This week is going to go by too fast,” she says, ignoring my joke.
“They say that time always does.” I drop her fingers and softly run my hand over her belly before climbing out of the car.
“Harper?”
I turn, ducking down to the gap of the open door.
“I still believe.”
“You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.”
–Rabindranath Tagore
“Why do they hate us?” Kendall groans, crawling on the couch beside me.
“What is that?” My voice is barely audible from where I’ve buried my head beneath the covers.
“Max and Landon,” Kendall whines, burying her face so her cheek’s beside mine.
“I think I drank too much,” I admit.
“We did.”
Eventually the noise drowns out, and Kendall’s steady breathing comforts me into finding sleep again.
“I warned you guys to stop.” Jameson’s voice taunts, and I choose to ignore it, hoping that Kendall will tell him to shut up. When she doesn’t, I nestle further against the pillow, preparing to search for more comforting sleep until cold air slices across my skin as our blanket is whipped off with a harsh tug.
My entire body seems to feel the burn, causing my eyes to begrudgingly open to ensure I’m wearing something more than just underwear. I am, but barely—just a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top with a built in bra that presses against my chest in a particularly uncomfortable fashion.
“What am I wearing?”
“You guys decided to switch clothes. There was a lot of giggling, and I think Mindi has your shirt from last night,” Jameson answers, folding the blanket.
“You guys look like you hurt.” My eyes shift to see Wes sitting on the far side of the couch, looking at us in amusement.
“What are you guys doing?” Kendall grumbles quietly because I know, like me, her head is aching too badly to yell at them.
“I told you guys to take it easy last night, especially since you drank too much the night before.” Jameson looks to Kendall. “We have that dinner tonight for my work. You’ve got to rehydrate.”
Kendall groans in response, and Jameson sets down two mugs of coffee. The scent alone makes my stomach roll and I shake my head in protest.
“I don’t even remember coming home.”
“What can you remember?” Jameson asks me, his tone suspicious. I open my eyes to see Kendall staring at me, the look of pain in her eyes recedes, replaced with curiosity and thought as her eyebrows and forehead scrunch.
I lift my eyebrows, imploring her to tell me if she can recall us doing anything we’re going to regret. Her shoulders raise and her head gently shakes and then quickly stops as she winces.
Jameson laughs, and I’m pretty certain it’s filled with more relief than humor. “What happened?” I ask.
Jameson shakes his head, his eyebrows raised. “All kinds of shit.”
“Make him fess up,” I whine, looking to Kendall.
“Jameson.” Her one word is filled with enough of a threat that he looks a little nervous.
“Wait, how would you even know what happened? We went to the bachelorette party last night.” I glance at Kendall’s neck, noticing proof of our night when I see a beaded necklace covered in every unnatural shade of penis. I tug on one of them, and Kendall looks down and laughs painfully before removing it.
“Yeah, how would you know?” she fires.
“You guys called and invited us out,” Jameson answers.
“Who’s us?” I ask.
“What happened?” Kendall growls.
“Savannah danced on a bar,” Wes adds randomly.
“I remember that!” I cry, too loud for my own ears.
I recall glimpses of her wearing a small black dress that she was thrilled to be able to fit in again with a killer pair of heels that really had nearly killed her a couple of times in our travels the previous night. My visions of her cloud, and a curly blond-haired guy with eyes so dark they were almost creepy, appears. I was dancing with him. Flashes of Max shoving him and yelling at me, accusing me of being easy, and me in turn yelling at him for dating a whore fade as I cover my face with both hands and groan.
“What?” Kendall asks.
“I’m staying with Mindi.”
“Nah, you were drunk. It’s no big deal,” Wes assures me. I look at Jameson who doesn’t look nearly as convinced.
“Oh my, God! Nate!” Kendall gasps.
“Nate what?” I ask skeptically.
“Nate and Max,” she says, placing her hand on my arm. The gesture brings a new flash of memories of her pulling me back as I tried to stand between the two of them during a heated exchange.
“I’m staying with Mindi,” I repeat.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, her eyes still raised to the ceiling in thought.
“No, it’s really not. And you guys are going out tonight. I’m going to go stay with Mindi and Kyle. Things need to calm down.” I shiver against the cool air blowing through a vent on the far side of the couch and move to sit up, determined to get some more appropriate clothes on that don’t reveal most of my cleavage.
Heavy footfalls enter the living room and Landon and Max appear. Landon looks from Kendall and me to Jameson as Max avoids looking at any of us.
“Alright,” Wes begins. “So last night we experienced some unforeseen hurdles. But that’s okay. It’s not a big deal. It’s a new day.”
Max walks away.
I’m packing my bags. I know Kendall doesn’t agree with my decision to move to Mindi’s, but I feel certain that once she removes her emotions from the situation, she’ll realize that it’s for the best. My stomach’s still feeling queasy from last night’s festivities, and I’ve received too many text messages from my other sisters to be certain that last night things got ugly.
I shove a pair of jeans in my suitcase with little regard to the way that they’re wadded up and zip my first bag, then turn to my second when Max appears. In his hands he slides his cell phone from one palm to the other. His face looks guarded and angry. I turn away from him and grab a heel, not certain that I have the other and not caring at this point.
“Sarah wants to see you.”
My hands stop, eyes still trained on the contents of my suitcase.
“They’re coming over tonight and want to see you.”
I slowly turn so I’m mostly facing him, looking for some sort of sign as to what my answer ought to be. He remains completely impassive.
“I think it’s best that I go to Mindi’s. We agreed that if things got awkward I’d go.”
“No, we agreed that I’d go.”
“I never agreed to that. This is your house.”
“She wants to see you. If you still want to leave tomorrow, you can.”
“I don’t want things to be weird.”
“What do you expect them to be like, Harper?”
I cringe, going back to Harper is something I suppose I should have expected, but as much as it hurt to be called Ace, because of the familiarity, being called Harper is a thousand times worse.
When I don’t respond, he nods a couple of times and turns back up to his room, leaving me in the empty living room with way too many thoughts.
“It’s so good to see you!” Sarah cries affectionately, wrapping me in a full-body hug.
I hug her back gingerly. Even knowing Sarah wants to see me, I still feel uncertain about spending time with her when I know how fiercely she loves all of the Millers. Hell, I’m nervous simply to see any of the three, let alone hang out with all of them—together.
“How are you?” she asks, pulling back and looking at me. “I don’t know if I just forgot how beautiful you are or if you somehow got even prettier.”
I shake my head dismissively. “I’ve been well. How are you? I can’t believe how big the boys are!”
“I know, right? Well, we aren’t really telling people yet, but … we have another one on the way!” she whispers conspiratorially followed by a quiet squeal as her eyes round with excitement and her smile grows so wide, I can see all of her teeth.
“Congratulations!” I wrap my arms around her once again, feeling her hands constrict even tighter with this hug.
Over her shoulder I see Max look to Hank for verification and see Hank nod sheepishly. “Congrats, man.” Max grins as he reaches forward and slaps him on the shoulder. “You guys are going to have an entire basketball team.”
“You look amazing! How are you feeling?” I ask. My hands are both still clutched tightly within hers.
“I feel great! This has been without a doubt the easiest pregnancy. No morning sickness, barely any fatigue, I think it must be a girl!”
Hank nods proudly. “The first girl Miller to be born into the family rather than married into it in four generations. We need to celebrate,” he announces.
Surprisingly, it’s Sarah who suggests that we go out to a bar. Still feeling the effects of last night, I feel grateful that she’ll be sticking to water as well.
We pile into Hank and Sarah’s rental SUV with Max sitting in the front beside Hank to provide him with some brief directions to a bar that ends up being more along the lines of a sports bar than a dancing one, much to my relief. Inside, the air is a bit too cool, and it’s filled with the scent of beer, but it beats the memory of the hot and sweaty bodies of last night.
The place is fairly desolate. Even though it’s a Saturday, we’re here too early for many others, but there’s a couple of older women at the bar that are lost in conversation and a dozen or so guys sitting at tables with large mugs of beer, watching screens showing different sporting events. A few of them are laughing through conversations that look easy. Two girls that look about my age are playing pool. Their attention turns to Max as we gather around a table.
“Let’s play pool! Girls against boys!” Sarah cries, standing from the chair she had just claimed. “You guys are so going down!” she taunts.
Hank laughs and shakes his head. “We’ll see who’s going down tonight.”
I turn around as he winks at her and hope they won’t spend the entire night making out. That will only expand the awkwardness. I catch sight of Max striding over to the bar. He leans against it and is instantly greeted by the bartender, a woman, of course. She’s older than us, but tries to disguise it with wearing her hair a bright blond with dark chunks that are seen through the pigtails she has hanging over each shoulder. Her tight black T-shirt goes so low it reveals the red lace of her bra cups. Classy.
She smiles at him, obviously flirting, and I’m sure it’s for more than a tip.
“Please tell me you know how to play pool,” Sarah pleads, interrupting my visual stalking session.
I try hiding my emotions with a quick smile. “No, I was depending on you with your big talk.”
“He misses you, you know,” Sarah says solemnly. Her eyes move to the bar where the bartender is now giggling a reply to Max.
“He looks pretty distracted and entertained.” Grabbing a hair tie around my wrist, I pull my hair into a quick knot.
Sarah looks at me with obvious surprise and opens her mouth to say something, but Hank arrives before she can, delivering a tray of pool balls. I begin racking them as Hank and Sarah engage in another make out session. All of my focus is trained on organizing the balls in the pattern I know from watching Kyle play at my house growing up, which buys me time to avoid looking at them.
“That bartender seems pretty interested in your man.”
I look up to see one of the girls that was playing pool standing a few feet from me with a pool cue between her hands, the end of it rests between her heels.
I know what she’s doing—she’s fishing to see if Max is my boyfriend or if he’s free game.
“We’re just friends,” I assure her, watching as her face noticeably lights up.
“Thanks,” she says with genuine appreciation, as if this fact is in some way a gift to her.
“Max, get your ass over here!” Hank yells. My eyes turn back to him and watch as he drains a shot and then hands a bill to the bartender before heading over to us with three more shots in his hands.
He hands one to Hank and offers me another that I refuse with a shake of my head accompanied with a small smile.
“Don’t want to have a good time, Ace?” He says my name with contempt, the entire sentence lined with anger.
“I need all the help I can, and that isn’t going to help,” I reply, trying to convey that I come in peace.
“Alright, I’m breaking!” Sarah calls, heading to the front of the table while Max tilts his head back and swallows one of the two shots.
The crack of the balls diverts my attention, filling me with hope when several of the balls splinter across the felt.
My hopes are crushed within a few brief moments. We’ve somehow managed to sink in three balls, by luck in its truest form, but Max stands at the side of the table, lining up the shot he just announced for the eight ball.
“Maybe we’ll have a better shot at darts?” I suggest, turning to look at Sarah after watching the ball effortlessly fall into the hole.
“Maybe you’d have a better chance if you weren’t staring at every guy in here.” Max’s jaw is clenched, and the veins are more prominent in his forearms from gripping the pool cue too tightly. “What would your boyfriend think?”
“Boyfriend?” The word bursts through my mouth like a bad taste.
“Don’t play the innocent, naive card with me.”
“Max,” Sarah says, stepping beside me.
I don’t turn to look at her, my focus remains on Max’s eyes that are narrowed slits of anger.
“Don’t protect her! She doesn’t need anyone to protect her. Just ask!”
“Max, you need to—”
“What? What do I need to do Sarah?” Max clips.
“Max,” Hank warns, taking a step forward.
“What? You want to throw down over this? Over her?” Max yells belligerently. “Believe me, it’s not worth it!”
It’s? I’m an it? Not only am I an it, but I’m not worth it. I work to maintain my composure while his words burn through me, leaving fresh imprints of failure and pain. I watch him take a few steps back, still holding his pool cue in clenched fists.
“It’s not worth it,” he repeats, shaking his head and then turning and disappearing into the crowd that has somehow formed in the brief time that we played.
I take a deep breath, regretting my decision to stay and come out with them. Nothing could be more embarrassing and awkward right now then having to turn and face his family.
“I’m sorry…” I begin, turning so that I can excuse myself.
“Ace, he’s being an ass,” Sarah says, looking over my shoulder, still watching Max. “Why don’t you and I go home? Hank and Max can blow off some steam and can take a cab back to Max’s.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine! You stay and have fun! I want you to be able to visit with him.”
“Ace, I want to see you. Please let me go with you?”
“I know that you hardly ever get free time, and even less soon,” I protest, glancing at her still flat stomach. “If you want to stay, I promise my feelings won’t be hurt.”
“Let’s go,” she says, gripping my hand with a grin.
Hank kisses her and wraps an arm around my shoulder, squeezing it gently before turning to look for Max.
The discomfort from the bar quickly fades as Sarah and I laugh over a pint of ice cream that we picked up on our way back to the house. Somehow, the topic of Aunt Louise and the book that she had given to me at the wedding last fall comes up, and we giggle and share excerpts from the story until our sides hurt. Then we discuss how things have been going with me in Delaware. I tell her about school and the lab. I tell her about Fitz and learning about myself. I’m tempted to tell her a little about Danny, but I don’t. I avoid bringing both him and Kitty up.
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
–Lao Tzu
A loud gasp has me sitting up to see Sarah on the edge of the sofa, her arm clutching her stomach, eyes closed in pain.
“Sarah?” My heart races as I scramble from the couch to kneel beside her.
“Sarah, are you okay?”
“I don’t know. My stomach hurts really bad,” she says quietly.
“Can you compare the pain to something for me?” I ask, hearing my dad’s voice in my head, repeating the same question to me and my sisters each time we got hurt.
“It just hurts. Like really bad cramps.” She folds her torso to her lap, and I stand up and place a hand on her shoulder, trying to remain calm.
“Okay, it’s probably nothing, but why don’t we go to the hospital just to make sure everything’s okay.” Guilt fills me again, and I’m not sure if it’s just the residual guilt that I’ve been feeling lately for being here, or because I know I’m lying to her. “I’ll go get Hank.”
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says quietly.
“Can you wait? They’ll probably want to do a urine sample?”
She slowly stands up and shakes her head and disappears down the hall.
I race up the stairs, still in the clothes I wore all day and bare feet, and knock on Max’s door several times. When I don’t hear a response I swing the door open and find it empty. I notice that things are different; I know it instinctually, but I don’t take the time to look around. I sprint down the stairs to go see if Kendall or Landon are home yet and am met with Sarah screaming my name before I reach the main floor.
I take the corner to the hall so fast my shoulder hits the drywall, sending a dull pain through my left arm that I actually appreciate because it distracts my fears from drowning me. When I reach the bathroom door, I call her name softly.
She doesn’t respond but I can hear her crying. Without a second thought, I turn the handle and see Sarah staring at the toilet, her hands covering her mouth as tears pour from her eyes.
I take a couple of steps in to see what I think I already knew I would find. Blood is everywhere.
“I lost her, didn’t I?” Sarah whispers.
“Let’s go to the hospital.” I open the vanity below the sink and rummage through a pile of assorted beauty and hygiene products until I find a bag of pads. I hand her one and step outside, leaving the door propped open in case she asks for some sort of help.
Since my father died, I’ve been working with death in one form or another. Dissecting different organs, speaking to families of the deceased, writing and reading reports about them. There are instances and stories that have affected me more than others, leading me to my nightmares or haunting my thoughts, sometimes for days. However, this death is much more personal. I know Sarah and although I don’t know her baby, my heart hurts severely and traces direct paths to my dad and to Kitty’s illness.
“My pants, they’re all bloody.”
“I’ll get you some others to wear.” I place my hand on her back and guide her to the living room, trying to focus on what I need to do. I pull out a pair of loose fitting sweats and hand them to her.
While she goes to change, I find my phone and call Max. I leave a message on his voicemail, pleading with him to call me and send a follow up text, telling him we’re heading to the hospital.
I grab our purses and Kendall’s keys from the kitchen table and find Sarah staring at the toilet in the bathroom.
“Are you ready?” I instantly kick myself for the question. I can recall when my aunt had come to ask me if I was ready before my father’s funeral. Ready? How can you ever be ready?
Her eyes are swollen with pain, but she nods again and leans into me as we head to the rental car.
The ER is a popular place to be on Saturday night at midnight. We wait for over an hour before finally being taken back into a room.
While the nurse begins going over the typical medical questions with Sarah, my phone rings. I take a step to the side so I can still offer some support and flick my finger to accept the call when I see that it’s Max, finally returning my call.
“Ace?” I hear Hank before the phone is to my ear.
“Yeah.” My throat constricts.
“What’s going on? Is she okay? Is it the baby?”
“We just got checked in,” I reply, blinking rapidly to keep tears from forming.
“Shit!” he hisses.
I swallow back my own emotions as Hank’s pain amplifies my own. “Are you at Saint Andrew’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Can she talk?”
“She’s answering some questions with the nurse.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll be there in just a few. Tell her I love her.”
I step beside Sarah again, gripping the hand she extends to me as she answers about her pain scale.
“Alright, someone will be right in with you from imaging and we’ll see what’s going on.”
We sit in silence for a while, the familiar scents of saline and antiseptic filling the air. Neither of us speaks. I think we’re both too afraid that we might admit the truth of the situation.
“Sarah?” A tech asks, pulling the curtain open with a large smile that makes my frown deepen in response. “We’re going to take you down to imaging. Your friend can wait here. We’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”
“No! No, I want her to come with me.” Sarah’s hand constricts around mine.
The tech nods and lifts the rails of Sarah’s bed. I hold her hand as she’s wheeled through a maze of hallways, through a set of doors, and into a white-tiled room with an ultrasound machine.
My fingers are white and ache from the grip Sarah has on them, but I can’t manage to move or say anything about it. Instead, I turn my attention to see a new tech with scrubs covered in brightly colored ice cream cones.
“Okay, Sarah, how far along do you believe you are?”
“Nine weeks,” Sarah replies in a hoarse whisper.
The technician nods and sets to work without bothering to introduce herself. She drapes a sheet over Sarah’s legs and lower abdomen then pulls Sarah’s hospital gown up to reveal her stomach.
Without further instruction, she squeezes some goop on Sarah’s stomach and begins rolling over her skin. She rolls until she finds a large pocket of black. I’ve studied very little with ultrasounds, but I know enough about imaging to know that black is never a good sign in this case.
“Okay, Sarah, this is your uterus,” The tech explains, pointing to the pocket of black that she just finished measuring.
“Okay…” I watch Sarah’s eyes search the screen, obviously oblivious to what she’s viewing.
“It appears your uterus is enlarged, showing a recent pregnancy, but I don’t see any signs of a fetus.”
Sarah sobs in reply, her head falling back to the bed.
The tech proceeds to do a transvaginal ultrasound, explaining that she can see more details with the procedure, but it, too, shows no sign of a baby.
I know the sharp twisting pain all too well and hate seeing it spread across Sarah’s face. I bend over the now lowered rail to try and comfort her in some way. We lock hands together for several long moments before another technician comes to wheel us back through the labyrinth to Sarah’s ER room.
The moment we enter, Hank engulfs Sarah. His long body bending over the rail as though it’s not even there, swallowing my arm that’s still wrapped with Sarah’s. Their embrace brings a level of comfort to me, seeing the support that Hank provides her with, like he’s trying to leach every ounce of sadness from her.
Releasing my grip, I work to extricate my hand without interrupting their moment, but Sarah’s hand clamps onto mine before I can pull away.
“Please don’t go,” she begs as a fresh set of tears roll down both of our cheeks.
I nod and return to where I was standing moments ago.
Due to the bars closing, a new crowd of patients are brought in. We stand and wait for what feels like days. Sarah cries and grieves, vocalizing her concerns that she may have caused the tragedy.
“No.” The word is firm and sounds much stronger than I feel as I take a step closer to her, stopping her words and thoughts from being completed. Sometimes words need to be said aloud to accept them and clear your conscience; other ones should never be spoken, because once they’re out, they can never be erased. “You didn’t do this. It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. Nothing.”
Hank gallantly stops her when she starts fretting about things and how they’ll tell their boys. Her mind’s locked on to thoughts of loss and sadness, and I’m grateful again that Hank is here, because my own thoughts barrel down the same path, and I don’t know that I can stop them. A movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to Max leaning against the far wall, staring at me. He’s been here the entire time, standing silent as a shadow.
When Sarah starts to cry so hard her words are indiscernible I have to look away, not just because of her obvious pain, but also from seeing the amount of love that Hank responds with. It is evident in the conviction of his words and it’s etched across every feature of his face, but the way his upper body curves over her, shielding and supporting her from what can be a very cruel world, leaves me no doubts of his love.
A doctor finally appears and begins discussing what we already know: Sarah had a miscarriage. He goes on to explain the need to test her hormone levels over the next few weeks to ensure that they return to normal and what to expect.
As the doctor wraps up, I quietly excuse myself, desperate to get away for a moment to try and clear the memories from my mind.
I walk down an empty hall outside of the ER with my arms raised, both palms resting on the top of my head as I soundlessly place one foot in front of the other.
I find a vending machine with a small bank of chairs and wander over to them. Resting my back against the wall so I’m between the chairs and the vending machine, I slowly sink to tiled floor with my knees pressed tightly against my chest. My eyes squeeze shut and I cover them with the heels of my hands.
Thoughts flood my mind, the same thoughts that have been haunting me all year: What would my life be like right now if I hadn’t run? If my dad hadn’t died? Where would I be? What would my relationship with my mom be like? All of the thoughts and images that I work tirelessly to stifle hurt individually, yet they hurt even more together because they all keep ending at the same point tonight, reminding me of Kitty because we’ve discussed each of these hurdles with some level of detail.
Lost in thought, I jump when a hand rests on my knee.
“Why don’t we go home? You need to get some rest.” Max is squatted down in front of me, looking as tired as I feel. “They just released Sarah. She wanted me to thank you. Hank’s taking her to our mom’s so she can be with the boys.”
“She’s gone?” I stand up, nearly knocking Max over in the process. I’ve failed her.
“Let’s go home,” he repeats.
We set off down the long hall that I had wandered down. Max places his hand on my lower back as we approach an intersection of hallways. I don’t verbalize my objection. Instead, I take a few steps to increase the gap between us as we continue toward the waiting room.
“I didn’t figure Kendall would mind if they borrowed her car to drive back to the house to get their rig,” Max says.
She wouldn’t of course, but this news sets me into a panic that I don’t have the energy to fight.
When we reach the doors to the parking lot, the air is filled with a damp mist, and I slow my steps to allow Max to lead me to where he parked. His hand brushes against me again, making my body go rigid.
“Don’t touch me!” I hiss in warning, pulling away and glaring at his offending hand.
“Ace…”
“No, Max!” I cry, shaking my head in frustration.
He surrenders with a heavy sigh, and I wait for him to walk a few paces before following him.
Although my arms and legs are covered in goose bumps, I roll down the passenger window. I need the fresh air and small allowance of additional space.
When he pulls into the driveway, I wait for him to get out and unlock the door before I follow. I need to create a physical barrier between us right now because my emotions feel so raw and overpowering, I’m concerned I won’t be able to suppress them, and I don’t know what that will entail. I don’t know if I will scream, or throw things, or what. I’ve never lost control, at least not with pain and anger. I’ve lost control in love before—Max had evoked those feelings from me—and tonight, I fear he may be my undoing, and I’m not ready for it.
Max either understands my need to be alone, or is in need of his own solitude and goes straight up the stairs to his room. The isolation triggers something inside of me that has me gripping my cell phone and heading to the backyard with determination in each of my steps. As much as I want to be alone right now, I don’t want to be alone with myself.
The phone rings four times before she answers in a hoarse, sleep-ridden voice.
“Are you dying?” I demand.
“Harper?” Kitty asks.
“Answer me. Are. You. Dying?” The words come out spaced, not because I’m trying to emphasize them, but because I can’t lace them all together again.
“Yes, Harper, I’m dying.”
“Why?” I whisper as my body tingles with chills, and tears fill my eyes before instantly running over my lower lids.
“Why is another person that you care for leaving you?”
I don’t respond. My throat feels so constricted that I don’t think I physically can.
“The only inevitable fact of life is that we’re going to die. If they don’t leave us, we leave them. It’s reality.”
I hate her words more than anything I’ve ever heard.
I hang up.
I don’t know how long I’ve been on my hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom tile when Max grabs my wrist. My hands feel slimy and raw from repeatedly dunking them in the bleach, and my lungs ache from the stench.
“It’s clean,” he says as I pull my hand from his.
“It’s clean!” he repeats, grabbing my arm again. His voice is calm and filled with concern, and for some reason it only makes anger replace my pain.
“I’m not done.” I try to pull away again, but this time his grasp tightens.
“You’re done.” He grabs the sponge from my hand and drops it into the bucket of bleach with a splash.
Scowling, I turn my back to him and move to grab the sponge again. His arm wraps around my middle and lifts me, pulling me from the bathroom.
