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“I don’t think I am,” I whisper. “I had a nightmare about what happened.”
He smooths down my hair and kisses the top of my head. “When is your next therapy appointment? He will probably be more helpful than I will be, even though you know I’m here for you. Whatever you need, you tell me and I’ll help you. I understand you may be feeling some justifiable emotions over what happened, but you shouldn’t feel at fault for an accident that resulted from you being attacked.”
What he says makes sense, but it’s not working for me right this second.
“Are you hungry? You should eat something.” FC stands and tugs on my hand. Reluctantly, I follow after him. “Lila’s parents called me.” I look at him with worry. “They admitted they were worried she might do something like this because she called them recently and she didn’t sound quite right. They have no hard feelings, even though they are mourning their loss. They said they would let me know when the funeral is.”
“Will you go?” I ask. It is somewhat of a relief that her parents don’t blame me, but at the same time, would FC lie to make me feel better? I don’t think he would, in all honesty, but I worry nonetheless.
FC sighs as he sets a plate on the table and I sit. “I don’t know. I have no reason to go, except maybe for Sawyer, but even then, is that really a reason to go? Yeah, she’s dead and I’m sorry for her and her family, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was a shit human being.” He takes a deep breath. “I have a hard time finding compassion here. I just can’t with her. If that makes me a shit human being too, then oh well. I can live with that.”
“So, you aren’t going,” I state.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like it, does it?”
“No. Thanks for dinner.”
He nods a welcome. We’re quiet while I eat. The good news is I don’t have to worry about going straight to work tomorrow. I have an appointment with my therapist in the morning; talk about great timing. All I need to do is survive the night. FC doesn’t say much and we actually go to bed early. He holds me in his arms, pouring all his comfort from his body to mine. His body doesn’t take long to relax into a sleeping state. I, however, am terrified of falling asleep.
What if I have another dream about Lila’s death? I can’t stand to see her body again. I lie next to FC all night, and then on my own when he shifts away from me, with my eye
s wide open. My heartbeat thrums throughout my entire body, making it hard to relax. When I hear the beginnings of Sawyer’s cries, I slip out of bed to change his diaper and rock him back to sleep. There’s no sense in FC waking up when I’m already awake.
My body betrays me after I lie back down and caves to the exhaustion. Instead of seeing Lila, I’m lying flat and I’m in extreme discomfort. When I look down at myself, there’s a spike piercing my chest and holding me in place. Sticky blood coats my white T-shirt and my hands clutch the iron as if I can somehow remove myself. I gasp for air, but drown in blood. Two figures appear above me: FC and Lila. The spike appears to lengthen, but it’s only my body sliding down as I realize they hold hands.
“You can’t keep us apart now,” Lila smirks. “Enjoy your well-deserved death.”
Just as she turns to FC, grabs his face, and is about to kiss him, I jolt awake. I glance over to see FC walking out of his bathroom with a frown on his face.
“Another nightmare?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe things will get better after therapy today. The shower is ready for you.”
“Thanks.” I lie in bed for a few extra minutes, though. I watch FC move around, getting dressed, and eventually going to get Sawyer who has woken up. That’s when I decide it’s time for my own shower.
My chest aches and my fingers tingle; good signs that my anxiety is up and running this morning. FC has breakfast on the table and helps feed Sawyer when I join them in the kitchen. Small talk is doable, but I don’t really pay attention to what’s going on. My anxiety annoys me enough that I take my pill that’s supposed to calm me down during an attack and hope it works quickly and lasts all day.
Sitting in the waiting room for Mr. Tucker is hard. It feels as if everyone stares at me. As if everyone knows what I did. The relief I feel when I’m called to the back nearly has me floating on air. Mr. Tucker smiles when he sees me.
“How is Miss Idaline today?”
“Not that great.”
His smile all but disappears. “Tell me what’s going on. Have you found a job yet? Is everything going well with FC?”
“Lila died yesterday and it’s because of me.” Mr. Tucker’s eyes widen. “She came to my apartment, pissed because she realized FC wasn’t ever going to leave her and that’s partially because of me, I guess. She brought a gun and started a fight. I ended up pushing her and she fell over the balcony, landing on a wrought iron fence. It killed her immediately.”
“Oh my goodness,” Mr. Tucker says quietly.
“I’ve been having some nightmares already. Some guilt. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
“Of course not. I can definitely help you. Now, you may not go home cured, but we’ll have you better off than when you came in.”
Hopefully.
But I should have more faith in Mr. Tucker. He tackles my guilt first. The part that makes me feel better almost immediately is the fact that he acknowledges I should feel some guilt because a life was lost. It means I’m human and not immune to such emotions. What I must get through my thick skull is that I’m not truly responsible. If not for Lila’s actions, none of it would have happened and I was simply defending myself. The unfortunate and tragic part is the result of me defending myself.
