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Nina’s pale, thin arms float lifelessly on the top of murky bath water. Her snow-white hair fans like snakes around her.
Her head is submerged.
“Nina!” Tristan lunges to the bathtub and pulls her out. Water splashes everywhere.
Her body hits the floor like dead weight, limb by limb. Her eyes are closed, her lips blue.
“Oh my God.” Tristan climbs on top of her and begins performing CPR.
I watch the scene in front of me, unable to move, unable to speak.
I am about to pull him off of her when Nina suddenly jerks. Water spurts out of her mouth, and she begins coughing.
* * *
Hours later, we would learn that Nina suffered severe ABI, or anoxic brain injury, from her attempted suicide. The doctor estimated her brain had been deprived of oxygen for over five minutes when we arrived, therefore killing many of her brain cells and disabling her.
If we had shown up a few minutes later, there would have been no hope.
After she was released from ICU, Tristan requested Nina’s medical records be sealed, which the hospital easily agreed to, considering how much the family had been through already with losing their only son. The doctor prescribed her a slew of medications, including Risperidone, a strong antipsychotic, to ease Nina’s temporary fits of agitation while confined in bed.
Tristan told the well-meaning citizens of Rock Hill that Nina had a stroke. No one questioned it, again because of the stress and trauma she was living daily already.
Tristan confessed to me, drunk one night, that he wished she had died.
I do too, I said.
16
Lavinia
Although I was attacked by the woman I am supposed to be babysitting, Tristan did not give me the rest of the day off. Instead, he drugged his wife and retreated to his office—like he always does.
I have no idea where Meredith went, or if she’s even still in the house. Mariana also disappeared after the attack. I’ve passed her twice in the hall. Both times, she was cleaning, her earbuds in, a hard expression on her face. Both times, she didn’t so much as glance in my direction.
No one has asked if I’m okay. Everyone in this house is wrapped up in their own little self-loathing world.
It makes me sick.
Whatever drugs Mariana and Tristan gave Nina after she attacked me has knocked her out the entire day. I haven’t even been able to feed her, which bothers me. She needs to drink and eat.
She needs so much more than this household offers her.
* * *
It is now just after two o’clock in the morning. I can’t sleep. Outside the window is a clear black night. A full moon hangs low in the sky, washing a silver glow over the mountains.
From my place in the recliner, I stare at Nina, the outline of her body on the bed barely visible in the dark room. For hours, I’ve been anticipating her to wake, but she remains unconscious. I’ve even checked her breathing a few times.
I am fully prepared for whatever might happen when she wakes. I’ve imagined every scenario possible for when she sees me again, and I’ve decided that if Nina wants to use me as a punching bag, I will let her. Because while Tristan translates Nina’s outburst to be something negative, I see it as a huge breakthrough.
From what I’ve learned, this is the first time she has shown significant emotion since the stroke. Perhaps this means she’s making progress in her recovery. Maybe soon she’ll start talking again.
The thought fills me with such joy. I want that for her. I want her to get better so that she can get up and walk out of this house and away from her deadbeat husband andallthe women in his life.
I sigh, leaning my head against the headrest.
My stomach growls. I’ve barely eaten today. I’ve had no appetite. But now my head feels woozy, my body fatigued.
