I wince when I see bare knuckles sinking into Sabin’s cheekbone, and I scream his name again. James pushes past me and goes after Sabin, but I don’t see what happens because Chris goes flying back against the wall. Thecrackfrom his head slamming against brick scares me to the core, and for a brief second on impact, we make eye contact.
I am too terrified to make a sound, but I get to him as he drops onto the sidewalk. “Oh God, Chris.”
The hit he took is serious enough to jolt everyone apart, and the guy in the hat signals his friend to make fast tracks out of here. Sabin manages to take a parting shot at his victim, driving a fist into his stomach, before they run off.
“Christopher, look at me! Look at me!” I might be crying. I can’t tell. I can’t tell what’s happening, where anyone else is.
The only thing I see is that Chris has lost consciousness, and Sabin is now kneeling beside us.
“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fuck!” he hollers. “He always gets the brunt of it. He always does. Fuck, make it stop. He always takes everything. Oh God, oh God…” Sabin is panting and nearly drowning on his words.
I have never heard this kind of mayhem and chaos from him, and it rips my heart in half.
“Chrissy, please wake up. Please wake up. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Why can’t you just let me take the hit for you? Please. Just once? Just once.” He is pounding his fists on the pavement now, slamming his skin into concrete, as he begs for redemption that I cannot give him.
I roll back on my knees and look before me. Two people I love are before me, and both are in substantial agony.
I don’t know who needs me more or who to help first.
There were sirens. Police cars and an ambulance. There was the emergency room and a very nice doctor. I don’t remember all of it because I was in a panic for most of the time. In the end, the only thing that matters is that Christopher woke up when the EMTs arrived and that he was discharged from the hospital with a concussion.
That was five days ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to Sabin since. He won’t take my calls.
Chris drove down to the ranch the other day and tried to talk to him, but Sabin kicked him out.
The kids left with Zach for their ski trip, so Chris and I are alone in the house.
The kids.I have to laugh that I’ve started calling them this, as though Chris and I have somehow become parents to the brood. I suppose in some ways we have.
I’m trying to be respectful that Sabin wants space right now because I believe in privacy and one’s need to be alone during certain times. It’s not easy though. Among other things, his mood fluctuations are concerning, but I’m hoping that he’s sorting some of this shit out. Maybe I need space from him, too. It hurts to acknowledge that, but he and I are in an upheaval that I don’t know what to do with.
I’m trying to focus on Chris—on Chris and me—but I’m feeling guilty while doing so, like I’m somehow abandoning Sabin…or betraying him. It doesn’t feel right to talk to Chris about this, whateverthiseven is, because…it’s fucked up.
I can’t stand this.
I’ve kept busy with writing. My boss is having me do a few pieces on San Diego, and it’s been easy enough to pour myself into detailing the various places I’ve visited here.
So, I write. And I watch the ocean from the deck. And I try not to think.
I just wait. Because Sabin will call. I know he will.
And the image of Christopher’s head slamming into brick and the sound and the expression of pain on his face will all fade.
It’s cloudy this morning, but the gray sky makes for a dramatic visual over the ocean.
“You cold?” Chris comes outside with a blanket.
“A little.” I sit forward and let him drape the blanket around me.
“You doing all right?” He looks worried.
“Yeah. Just feels weird that everyone is gone.”
“And that Sabin is MIA?”
I nod. “It’s why you encouraged the ski trip, isn’t it? You wanted them to clear out.”
“Yeah,” he admits.
