Chapter Sixteen: The Saddest Goodbye
I arrive in front of a hospital. Why would she send me to one? Does she work here? No, she wouldn't work in a hospital. My mother can barely hold puke down her throat at the mention of blood. And she's not too happy about being a receptionist because she says it's too boring to sit there and be on a computer all day. What about her fiancé? Maybe he's a doctor, a nurse, a surgeon?
I walk inside, not allowing my craving questions to devour me in thoughts. The room looks nice; chairs are lined around the walls with people waiting, a small flat screen television hangs from the wall, the carpet is a maroon color, a small play area that is cut off with a small white gate stands in the corner of the room with toys and a few children. The wall next to the play area has a rainbow painted on it and a few children holding hands.
I walk up to the receptionist desk, the woman behind it is very old. Her hair is white and she's skinny; it almost makes me want to gag. "May I help you?" she questions politely.
"Yes, I'm looking for a woman named Lauren Whestly or she might have put it under her––"
"She's in room 43b dearie. Use the elevator up to the fourth floor, take a right and the room should be around the corner,” she says with a smile.
I nod, mouthing "thank you" to her and going on my way. I press the button to the elevator and it opens, exposing a few people who get out and scatter around. I walk inside while a couple others step with me and we wait for our stops. The questions finally break through my mind, swarming around me. Is she hurt? Why is she here? What's happening?
The door opens to the fourth floor and I pace myself around the corner where some people sit in chairs, some of them bending their heads down like they're crying and they don't want anyone to see their eyes filled with tears. Once I get closer, I realize one of them is my mother.
Her head lifts up as she sees me. "I'm so glad you called." She stands and hugs me.
"What's happening?" I ask, looking at the others she was sitting with. A small child with—I who I am guessing is his mother—sits on one of the chairs with his head in his lap. He looks to be six years old, maybe eight at the most. He has dark blonde hair and brown eyes, similar to my father's. He's my step-brother.
The elder woman looks to be around my mother's age, about forty-seven, somewhere around there. She has blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes. And a man sits next to her who doesn't look to be crying, but I may be wrong. He has black hair and hazel eyes. He must be my mother's fiancé.
"Your father . . . he's in the room,” she says through sobs.
My mind wanders as she says "father." I slowly pace my way to the blue door, grasping the handle and turning the knob. All my troubles wash over me once I step inside, a burden weighing upon my shoulders.
I quickly look around the large room; a television stands on a dresser, the floor is white tile, a small couch is to the end of the room next to a window looking out to the parking lot in the front of the hospital, and a bed on wheels stands in the middle of the room by the wall where a computer is that tells the blood pressure of the patient.
An old man lies on the bed, his hair gone and his mouth curves up to a small smile. "There's my girl," he says. I get near him and sit by a chair that is right next to his bed.
"Hey," I say, trying hard not to cry. It's been seven years since I've seen him and this is the last time I will ever see his face in person again. Don't cry. Don't be a coward. Be strong.
"I'm not going to leave without saying goodbye to you," he whispers, a tear trickling down his cheeks.
My nose burns, my eyes water and I don't want to start crying. There is no need to cry. I need to be strong. I've been angry with him for so long, all because he cheated on my mom and he didn't want me to get in the way of his new relationship. I don't want to be angry anymore, but there is something telling me that I shouldn't give up my grudge no matter how hard my anger tries to escape. But my father is dying right in front of me, so how can I cope with it?
"Raven, are you all right?" he asks. I finally look to him and it hurts to see his face, to see the pained expression on him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" I finally say. The words come out as my throat clenches tighter, my nose keeps burning and I want to cry but I tell myself no. He should've mentioned having this cureless disease, or at least my mother should have.
"I tried to contact you that I have cancer, but I never could. Not after what happened to us." It seems that his face gets paler and paler by the second. "I never had the courage to pick up the phone and dial your number and tell you that I'm sick. I never had the strength to tell you how sorry I am for all the years I missed with you." He swallows his saliva and continues, "For all the mistakes I made."
"I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble, I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm just so sorry––" I shake my head, but still no tears escape.
"You did nothing wrong, Raven," he whispers, sniffling. "There is no need for you to give yourself sympathy for the wrongs I made." A strangled, tiny smile curves on his face as a tear comes dwindling down his wrinkled and old cheek. "I love you," he says.
"I love you, too." It's like a knife is stabbing me in the stomach; painful and useless, because there is no potential in doing it when it'll just be more excruciating to feel. "I've missed you, dad," I say, and the weight on my shoulders lift.
"I've missed you, too," he replies while his eyes slowly close and a noise from the computer on the side of his bed beeps; the line for his blood pressure is now flat and straight.
"No, no, dad come back," I whisper, but he can't hear me. Not anymore. He's gone. Like everyone else I've loved and cared about, all gone and away from me, to cause me more agony.
I put my legs on the chair and hold my knees, my head bends down to my thighs and I stay quiet. The room's quiet. All I can hear is the shuffling feet outside the door, until it opens and the nurses come inside. My body clenches itself like I'm being squeezed and I take a deep breath. I stand and walk out the door, my eyes focus on the floor. I nod to everyone, allowing them to understand that he's gone. My mom tries to hug me, but I push her away, my eyes not meeting hers or anyone else's. I hear voices, but I don't listen as I mute everyone out of my world.
I go back to the elevator as people are in it from the same floor and upstairs. My body tenses again, but I ignore it. Once the door opens, I walk back to the car.
My hands grasp the wheel, my palms turn red but I don't care. I scream as loud as I can. After so long, he dies in front of me? My own father? Why does everyone have to die? Especially those who I love most.
I get the keys out and put them in the ignition as the car turns on. I drive back to my house.
*~*~*~*~*
My mouth tastes alcohol. It feels good upon my taste buds, like the liquid is supposed to be there, it's my friend. I drink the bottle while I'm standing in the kitchen. It's hard to move around since I feel like rubber, no bones or muscle supporting my weight, so I have to hold onto the counter to hold myself up. My anger rises and I feel like I want to punch a hole through the wall. I drink the last bit of liquid in the bottle and hold it in my hand. Chucking it to the wall above a counter next to the stove where it shatters into tiny pieces, I take off my socks and step on the glass. Spots of blood drops onto the floor as I'm stepping on the shattered parts. The pain feels nice to me, like I'm meant to bleed.
I'm doing this because of all the agony that's been happening. Kenton, my father, my friends, God knows who else is going to leave me broken.
My knees find the floor and I just lie here. Tears fall from my eyes and I scream through my taut throat, but it only comes out like a squeak. "You bastard!" I yell, hitting my palms to the floor. I don't know who it's to, like it's meant for the world. "Why?" I sob. "Why did you have to go?"
I just lie here on the floor, until Periwinkle, Jessie, and Freddy come to get me off of the floor and into my bedroom.
My eyes open and I'm lying in my bed. The room is dim, with a little light coming from the bathroom; I hear voices coming from within the room and I soon realize that they’re talking in there. The door is cracked where only a bit of light shines through half of my room. All I see through my tired eyes is part of an arm and shirt that must be Periwinkles, since I notice a bracelet that she made when we were in high school. It's mixed with purple, black, and red.
"What are we going to do with her?" says Periwinkle, sounding like she's upset.
"Maybe we should try and give her what she needs; good friends who love and care for her," Freddy suggests.
"We've already tried that! What we need is to get away from her and her crazy ways," Jessie articulates.
"Guys, she's in depression and she's becoming an alcoholic. Obviously the dating service wasn't good, but the A.A meetings are going to be worse for her. Her father died today, give the girl some respect," Periwinkle defends.
My throat clenches and I feel like a tear is coming down my face. I bring my hand from underneath the blanket and wipe my cheek.
"You're right. It isn't her fault. After Kenton and her dad and us being selfish idiots, I don't blame her for being in depression. She's a good friend and she needs space, but she needs our help. I say we throw her the best damn birthday party she'll ever have!" Jessie says.
"Yeah, I agree." Freddy chuckles.
"All right, let's get started," says Periwinkle as she opens the door.
I quickly close my eyes as the light is focused on all of the room.
"Shh, don't wake up Raven. Turn off the light Freddy," Jessie whispers as the light is quickly turned off and they tiptoe out the door.