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He took a seat between the bed and the window on her right side. Her eyes were closed and she made no movement as if she heard him enter and take a seat.
He was torn about what to do, how to announce himself. Say hi and his name. Grab her hand and let her feel him. Sit silently until she opened her eyes. She could be sleeping. He didn’t want to disturb her.
The yearning to touch her won. He slid his hand under hers, and she finished the rest, gliding her fingers through his.
So she knew who had sat down.
In his deepest, darkest moments, he hadn’t wanted anyone around him. In the treatment center, they encouraged you to talk shit through, to embrace life any way you could. He preferred to be holed up in his room. The silence, unlike some of the other people there, had been comforting to him. He never had silence anywhere else. Just loud thoughts and horrible memories that forced him to silence it all with drugs.
The silence in this room felt like those moments in the treatment center. Calming. Soothing. Like a new beginning was stretching before him.
She didn’t say anything, so he didn’t either. They sat there in the dark, holding hands, letting the silence surround them.
20
The bed had been raised by the push of a button. It helped her sit up. The railing gave her the strength to twist and turn until her feet hit the floor. The nurse, every time she had to go to the bathroom, assisted her like she couldn’t do it on her own. Sadly, she couldn’t. Her limbs from head to toe felt weak. Insignificant and weak.
Four days had passed. Four days of feeling useless and fragile. She couldn’t remember a time anyone called her fragile. Shy and reserved—definitely in her youth. Thoughtful and patient—when opening her yoga studio. Impulsive and energetic—that one-night stand with a guy whose name she couldn’t even remember. She had never told anyone about that, not even Melanie, her best friend.
But no one had ever called her fragile.
If she couldn’t walk to the bathroom on her own, then how would she ever leave this place? Of course, the doctor already said physical therapy would be on the list of recovery. She didn’t need someone else telling her what to do. She knew what to do to make her body strong and healthy once again. Her body was her temple and she listened to it faithfully.
Corey sat down next to her and grabbed her right hand, linking fingers with her. He didn’t say anything, something she was so grateful for. He showed up every day, spending time with her—as her other family members did. But unlike her family, she felt like he understood what she was going through more than them. She and Corey didn’t speak much. No idle chit-chat. No encouragement she’d get through this. No talking about what happened that day. He sat with her, held her hand, and let her know he was there for her. She liked it best when he visited because his quiet strength was what got her through the days more than her parents’ vocal words of love and comfort.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why her parents—and brothers—optimistic words didn’t help. Why Corey’s silent presence made her feel more secure and sure of herself.
Would she ever be the same person again? Would she even be able to hold Amelie in her arms without faltering?
Corey hadn’t brought Amelie to see her, and she understood why. Not a place for a toddler. Amelie would want to crawl all over her and Genevieve wasn’t strong enough for that. Would she ever be? She was lucky she only broke an arm and not both of her legs.
“I used to be able to do a tree pose. You have to stand on one leg with your arms above your head. I don’t even think I can walk to the bathroom on my own now.”
Voicing her weakness for the first time didn’t feel as cathartic as she thought it would. It made her insides clench with dread. Her stomach balled into a tight knot and she felt like throwing up.
“I never rolled out of bed without shooting up first. I needed that rush before I could start the day. I needed the memories of my past to disappear.”
She sought out his gaze, though slowly. To give herself time to absorb what he just confessed. When their eyes locked, the heartache she saw wasn’t as debilitating as she thought it’d be. Because the raw pain she heard in his voice at his confession had felt much stronger than she was witnessing.
“Now I get up every day without even thinking about getting high. Amelie doesn’t give me a chance to. Her sweet giggles and happy talking is the rush I need to get out of bed. When I first entered treatment, it was…it was pure hell. But I did it. On my own. I survived. On my own. I took one day at a time and made it right here where I am now. On my own.”
He reached up and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes, savoring the soft touch. It’d been too long since she felt such a touch. He held her hand, but never anything else.
“I didn’t have anyone by my side to help me. I had to choose to get better on my own.” His lips touched hers briefly. “You’re not alone, Genevieve. While I know this is your version of hell, you’re not alone. You have to take it one day at a time. I’ll be right by your side. Even when I’m not literally by your side, I’m there. You just imagine my hand in yours, holding you, giving you the strength you need. Because as much as I thought I was alone in my moments of weakness, in those darkest hours, I wasn’t truly alone.”
She opened her eyes. Corey swiped a finger under her eye, brushing away a tear she hadn’t felt escape.
“My mom was there, holding my hand, giving me the strength to be stronger than I was acting. She’s always been my cheerleader. For too long I had ignored her. But in that tiny room, surrounded in silence, for the first time, I heard her. It’s amazing what you can hear in the silence.”
Her lips curved upward. “How do you understand me so well?”
One shoulder lifted and sank, his lips tilted up in their own sweet grin. “I wish I had an elegant answer for that.”
Corey pointed toward the bathroom. “You can stand up and walk on your own with my hand in yours. For real or metaphorically. Either way, you’re never going to be alone.”
“I really do need to pee.”
They both chuckled, erasing the seriousness but not the moment.
