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32
Brenden
“He nearly lost his life. Can’t this shit wait?” Jon’s booming voice breaks through the fog surrounding me.
My eyelids feel so heavy that my head throbs in protest as I try to lift them, seeking out the rhythmic beeping around me.
“We’re just doing our job, sir.”
I blink, trying to focus enough to figure out who the unfamiliar voice is coming from. But the light is so bright it’s blinding. Mrs. Alder’s face comes into view, her features filled with worry, eyes wet.
“He’s awake,” she sobs, taking my hand in hers. “Hey there, sweetie. You gave us quite the scare, but you’re going to be okay.”
“A scare,” Jon scoffs, repeating his mother, and I turn my head to find him sitting on the other side of me. His features are schooled, except for the tight smile on his face. His eyes are bloodshot, his normally clean-shaven face looking gruff. “I think I aged ten years.”
I narrow my eyes, still disoriented and confused. “What?” I croak, my dry throat keeping me from speaking normally.
“Oh, here, sweetie.” Mrs. Alder places a cup in my hand. “Take a drink of water.”
A blinding pain ripples through my body as I sit up and take a sip. The memory of cold hard steel piercing my flesh creeps back in.
It wasn’t a bad dream. It was all real.
This is my life.
My vocal cords soak up the water like a thirsty plant, and I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
She takes the cup from me and sighs, a sad smile on her lips as tears threaten to spill down her face. “There are some officers here who’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened. Do you feel up to that?”
I give her a curt nod before turning my attention to the door where two officers in full uniforms step inside, stopping at the end of the hospital bed.
“Sir, the man who attacked you has been detained. We’ve spoken with several eyewitnesses who’ve given us an account of what happened, and they said it appeared you may have known your attacker. Is that correct, sir? Do you know the man who stabbed you?”
“Yes.” I sigh, a chill running through me. “He’s my father.”
“Fuck,” Jon hisses, as his mom begins to sob.
“Hey…” Lizzy squeezes my hand, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Are you okay?” Her eyes are soft as she looks into mine, so much care and concern behind them.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.
Facing my parents today isn’t going to be easy. Lizzy is going to learn some ugly shit about me today, and I’m not sure how she’ll react. But she needs to see these parts of me. My childhood and the things I’ve experienced are a big part of who I am today. We can’t build this relationship into anything real if we keep hiding pieces of ourselves.
Lizzy didn’t question it at all when I asked her to come with me today; and she has no clue what’s about to go down. Although, I’m sure my noticeable anxiety is a good indication that it isn’t going to be good. I’ve tried to tamp it down, but I feel like crawling out of my own skin. Waiting in this uncomfortable ass chair isn’t helping.
My eyes drift over to where my father is sitting, and ice runs through my veins. They didn’t allow him to change out of his prison-issued jumpsuit today like they had during the trial. His hair is grayer now, his overall appearance healthier without all the alcohol streaming through his veins. There’s more meat on his thin frame, his skin tone less ashy.
I’ve been dreading this day, flipping back and forth on my decision to speak up when given the chance. I even considered not coming at all. Bringing Lizzy was the right call. Her presence is making me feel brave. Her support is giving me strength. I feel confident I’ll be able to do and say what’s needed without breaking.
When they brought my father into the room, Lizzy tensed next to me. I couldn’t bring myself to look over at her as they reviewed his case and the crime he committed, but I didn’t need to see her face to know she was piecing everything together. Her body was trembling, her grip on my hand tightening.
She’s seen my scars, knows I don’t have a relationship with my parents. This is filling in all the gaps for her.
My mother, who’s sitting behind my father, stands up to speak on his behalf, her eyes narrowing as they meet mine for the briefest of moments.
“I wish he’d killed you.”
Her last words to me echo in my mind as I watch her walk toward the front of the room, my chest aching the same way it did back when she spoke them.
