Abby

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Everyone but Jennie left at some point. Jace to wherever Jace went, Aaron to hockey practice, Jason to work for a few hours. Abby had been napping, the pain and the concussion wearing her down. She woke up after a few hours and saw her mother reading bedside.

"Mom." She said. Her mother looked up.

"Hi, sweetie. You were out cold for a few hours. How do you feel?" She asked as she tucked Abby's hair behind her ears. A tear slid down Abby's cheek. Her mother smiled, happy to have had this day. And then to have had this moment alone. Abby slid over making room for her mother, and she slid into the bed next to her. Abby lay her head on her mother's lap while Jennie played with her hair. Jennie soaked every moment in. This was how it was supposed to be.

"I feel sad." Abby said, finally answering her mother's question. Her mother thought that was very appropriate. Abby had a lot to be sad about. "I miss Sierra." She said. Jennie was pretty sure this was the tip of the iceberg. "What's wrong with me?" She asked. "A few hours ago, I was top of the world. We all sat here together playing cards, laughing... and now I feel like I want die, and drugs are the only thing that will make me feel better." Jennie knew she'd been feeling this way. She'd shared it with Sean who had told Aaron despite her request that he didn't. And then she'd shared it with her dad, which was bizarre in that they hadn't been getting along, more so than Abby with her mom.

"I think, you've just had way too much happen in such a short amount of time. I think it's overwhelming, and you don't know how to process it, so when reality seeps in, your brain reverts to addiction for the immediate respite." Abby laughed.

"Look at my mom with a PhD in psychology." Jennie smiled.

"Honestly, I read a lot of books about addition. Teens with addictions."

"So where does this all end? Does it tell you in your books?" Abby asked. Jennie felt it was okay to be real.

"Sobriety or death." She said. Abby held on to her mother a little tighter. When Abby didn't reply, Jennie pushed gently. "Which one are you aiming for?" She asked, maintaining contact so she'd know it was okay to answer.

"Death would be so much easier." Abby admitted. Jennie knew that was true. But that it was the depression talking.

"Would you have said that a few hours ago when we were all playing cards together?" She asked.

"No." Abby admitted. "But that's not real life. Between school and sports, Aaron isn't even around a lot. And I have school, and you and dad have work... It's like holding onto the edge of a cliff for eleven hours a day, and having someone offer a hand for a few hours, and then dropping you again." Her mother played with her hair, allowing her to continue. "And I know everyone has to work, and I'd never want Aaron to give up sports, but school. It just pulls me under. And everything is so complicated now." Jennie didn't give advice. She didn't take a side. She just lent an ear. "And I know it's all my fault. I know that. Which just makes it that much harder to hold on." The last sentence released the tears again, and Abby cried herself to sleep on her mother's lap.