The Reflections Of Our Tears

Part Five

Isabella.

-

The soft chattering was all that kept me awake while I waited, waited for something to change.  Although there was only one thing that could change, and that wasn’t the state of the white tiles on the floor or the yellowing ceiling panels.  Hospitals always freaked me out.  They reminded me of – well – yeah.  And especially under these circumstances. 

     Right as I ran back into the cafeteria, I watched Oliver take a fist to the nose.  The lights seemed to just burst out of illumination as he was released to fall to the ground hard.  His head bounced off of the floor the same way a golf ball would.  Everything after that was sort of a blur.  As I made my way over to Oliver through the crowd of would-be concerned people, I passed Ty.  And, like the coward I was, I did nothing but stare at the floor until the paramedics came.  I had begged them to let me accompany Oliver to the hospital, but to no avail.  I would have to wait until after school.  Which I resentfully did.

     And there I sat.  Right next to Oliver.  I watched his chest move up and down, not realizing until that point how stressed out he usually looked. 

     No matter how much I tried not to think about it, my mind kept wandering back to what Ty said before he hit Oliver.  Personal punching bag.  Oliver had never once mentioned his mother hurting him physically.  Almost subconsciously, however, I found my eyes scanning his exposed skin for hints that it might be true.  Sure enough, after shifting the sheet out of the way a bit, I saw four small, but very prominent bruises side by side on his arm. They were about the size of someone’s fingertips.

     My throat sank into my stomach just as Oliver’s eyes opened.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.  Nice, Izzy.  Attack him the second he came to after receiving a blow to the head.

     “I didn’t want you to worry,” he whispered. “I’m fine.  It’s only physical.”

     “You should call the police,” I replied softly.  Oliver merely shook his head.  “I’m going to get your nurse.”

     I left the room and headed down the hallway, mind spinning.  Oliver still kept so much from me.  Did he not trust me?  My thoughts were quickly interrupted by an official-looking person walking by.

     “Excuse me,” I said, “my friend woke up and probably needs some meds or something.” Medical terminology and other general medical knowledge wasn’t really my strong point.  After telling the nurse Oliver’s name, I continued on my way, managing to lap the entire hospital twice before deciding I had to go back to his room.  On my way back, a wave of nausea hit me like a rock to the head.  I pushed it aside, however, because Oliver was alone.  I was all he had.

     I knocked on the door but entered quickly, expecting him to be the only one in there.  What froze me in my tracks wasn’t the presence of another person, but that the other person was his mother.

     “…any idea how much this will cost…”

     “…completely irresponsible…”

     “…worthless idiot…”

     These were all phrases I heard her use before I fake-coughed loud enough to get their attention.  Exchanging a glance with Oliver, the only thing I noticed were his eyes.  They looked the same as they had the day I met him; dull and numb.  Recently he’d been looking brighter, as if things were changing.  But I knew now that was all an act.  It was an act for me.  I saw the truth in the scars on his wrists, in the bruises on his arm, in the depths of his stormy eyes, in the side of him I had to see in secret because he wouldn’t show me.

     “Who’s this?” Oliver’s mother demanded.  Oliver sat in silence.

     “I’m Isabella,” I said, more coldly than I intended.  Glancing back at the bruises on Oliver’s arm, I realized that I hated this woman.  The feeling rose up inside me as quickly as vinegar poured into a container of baking soda.  There were only two people on this planet I truly hated.  One was Ty Robinson, for obvious reasons.  The other?  Oliver Bronx’s mom.

Oliver.

-

Once Isabella showed up, my mother left pretty fast.  I assumed she thought she’d paid enough attention to me for the month, although she didn’t waste the opportunity to shoot me another dirty look before slamming the door behind her.

     “What did she want?” Isabella asked dryly.

     “Nothing, forget it,” I replied, brushing it off.  Dwelling was pointless, as I’d long ago learned, and there was no point in making Isabella even more worried.

     “No, Oliver.  I’m not going to let this go.  You need to stop brushing all this stuff off; it’s going to kill you.  Stop shutting me out, and let me help you!”  Isabella’s voice got louder as she went on.  She sounded almost angry.  “If you need help, you just have to ask!  You don’t have to go through this by yourself, I can help you.  You can move into my house, you can come to my therapy sessions with me, just stop thinking you can handle all this by yourself!  Just let me in.”

     I felt myself getting angry as she spoke.  What significance did she hold in my life anyways?  Some company on Christmas Day?  “So that what?”  I said.  “So that you can take pity on me some more?  You only hang around because you feel bad for me and my underprivileged teenage life, am I right?  Well guess what, Izzy, I’m just fine.  I don’t need your charity, and I definitely don’t need some girl telling me what I should and shouldn’t talk about!”

     My mind was warped and mangled with anger, humiliation, and regret, but I couldn’t do anything about it (namely walk away dramatically) because I was stuck in a hospital bed with ice on my head.  I averted my eyes from Isabella, embarrassed and sad and hoping she would leave before I started feeling guilty.  When I looked back, all I saw was the back of her head as she opened and shut the door behind her.

     Thankfully, the nurse came in, welcoming a distraction.  “Well, Oliver, you’ve been stable for the past few hours and you aren’t showing any signs of head trauma, so you’re free to go!  Your mother signed your discharge forms earlier.”  This surprised me, but I didn’t question it, thanking the nurse and leaving the pristine death house with nowhere to go, yet again.

     I wandered alone, my iPod attempting to drown the thoughts crashing like waves against the inside of my skull, but it could never completely shut out my imploding and over-used mind.

     She pitied me; that’s what this entire relationship was.  It was built on the false idea of support with the underlying truth of charity.  I was sick of it.  All my life I was treated as one of two cases. One being a charity-case, and two being a basket-case.  And I was pretty sure Isabella thought me both.  I wasn’t quite sure what the point was anymore.  She had been my only friend, and that fell through pretty quickly. 

The nurse had said I didn’t sustain any serious head injuries.  But what if I tried again?  Once more, I found myself standing on my bridge in the dark, waves crashing under me like liquid poetry.  A strange calm swept over me and this time, I was prepared to fall.