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The past two days with Donnie were exactly what I needed. He made the pain bearable by showing me how much he loves me and reminding me over and over how strong I am.
I finally convinced him to go home, eat, shower, and sleep. His few days’ worth of stubble tickled my face every time we kissed. Don’t get me wrong— he’s got the sexy gruff look going on, especially when he wears his hat backward. I threatened to lock him out of my room, but he made a smart-ass comment about nothing keeping him out. That he’ll always find a way to get to me.
Always.
However, that feeling didn’t last for long. I didn’t sleep well last night because of my recurring nightmare. I dreamt about the night Dad stabbed me, and Mom reached for me, begging me to save her. When I couldn’t, she blamed me for Jo’s death and screamed that it should’ve been me instead. I thrashed in bed and fought against the nurses who were nothing but good to me as they tried to restrain me. I pulled my IV out several times, welcoming the pain that I thought I deserved. I thought about how much better off my daughter would be without me because I am completely useless.
I cry for almost losing my mother.
I cry for my father, not knowing why he did what he did.
I cry for my brother and not being able to save him from his own demons.
And I cry for me…for everything being out of my control.
Loud voices boom outside my room. The last thing I hear before darkness takes over Donnie fighting to make his way to me.
Chapter 11- Sadie
LATER THAT DAY
I wake up groggy as hell.
My dry throat needs water, and my body aches like I was jostled in a tight compartment while I slept. When I open my eyes, Telemundo is on the TV screen, the monitor continues to make that annoying beeping sound, and there are fresh roses by the windowsill. The door opens and Abuela enters the room with a cup of coffee in her hand.
She speaks in Spanish since she can’t speak English very well.
“Ah. You’re awake.” She sits in the chair beside the bed.
“How are you feeling?” She covers my hand with hers, careful not to disturb the IV.
“The doctor told me you had a rough night. You were running a fever and your blood pressure was a little higher than normal.” She watches me the way Mom used to. I glance away in shame and tears start to cloud my vision.
“Do not turn away from me,” she says in a firm tone as if she’s scolding a child. I obey and turn back to face her.
Her white hair is pulled back into a bun. Abuela has beautiful, soft long hair, just like Mom. She looks tired. Her face appears weary and her skin tired.
“Talk to me. What is going on in that head of yours?”
I always enjoy these one-on-one talks with Abuela. She never judges me for the way I feel, or for the decisions I make. And believe me, I have madeseveralstupid mistakes. She was the first person I told when I was pregnant. She was so supportive and took Sophia in after she was born as if she was her own. Looking at her now tired face, my chest burns from knowing I am the cause.
I can’t add more stress onto her even when I feel like I’m dying from the inside out.
“I’m okay, Abuela. Don’t worry so much.”
“I will always worry about you, my sweet girl.” Her eyes are shining with the threat of tears as sadness flits across her face.
Since Josiah’s death, I haven’t checked in on her and how she dealt with it all. I’ve been so wrapped up in self-pity that I had forgotten how this whole shit show affected her.
God, I’m such a bitch.
“How are you doing, Abuela?”
At my words, Abuela’s face crumples like a used tissue. She hides her face in her hands, body trembling as she quietly sobs.
I try to reach for her, but my broken arm on the same side makes it impossible to move.
“Abuela.” My voice cracks at watching her break down. Frustration builds from not being able to hold her like all the times she held me.
