Author Notes: Updated and edited on 11th July 2019. We're more than half-way there! (Apologies for the late trigger warning)
TW: heavy mentions of mental illness and su*c*de.
Chapter 24:
Pandora's Truth
Noah and I visit Stacy Saturday morning with a bouquet of mixed flowers that I know she likes. I know the steps to her room, uncomfortably familiar now as dread follows my every turn. The stench of cleaning products, antiseptic and plastic filters the back of my mind. Noah squeezes my hand as we approach the room, and the nerves disappear, but not entirely.
Upon my arrival, Stacy's nurse takes her blood pressure and writes down the results. Some of the beds are empty, making the room look bigger and inviting. The nurse gives my aunt a smile as she pushes away the curtain separating the neighbour's bed. "Everything is looking much better today. I think you'll be fine to go home. I'll organise someone to come down with a wheelchair. You can then make your way down to the information desk I told you about and collect your medication."
My aunt breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes into the hospital bed. She plucks at her loose green jumper that she wears over the hospital gown; her plastered leg marked with colourful ink lies still on the bed. "Oh, good," she says. "I was starting to miss my T.V."
We step into her line of vision, and her smile widens. "It's a good thing then, because I'm sure the T.V is missing you too."
"Hey, honey." I fall into her open arms and sigh into her neck. I miss Stacy, and I'm happy she chose today to ask if I could see her. After all that has happened these past few weeks, seeing her put my mind back into perspective.
"I didn't know you were coming this early," she says as I give her room to breathe. The nurse goes to the other occupied bed in the room, and Noah steps up beside me. Stacy's eyes widen as she flickers to me. "Or that you were bringing a friend."
I take his hand in mine. "This is Noah."
Stacy's eyes widen for a second before her smile spreads across her face. "Nice to officially meet you."
"The pleasure is mine." Noah passes her the bouquet. "These are for you. Lillian said you like anything with colour."
Stacy inhales the flowers, leaving a wistful sigh in the end. "They're beautiful, thank you. I'll have to put them straight into the vase when I get home. I'm hoping a taxi ride won't cost us too much."
"No need," Noah says. "I can take you back home myself."
Stacy looks at Noah carefully. "Are you sure? If you have plans today—"
"We're sure," I interrupt. "I asked Noah when he offered to take me here."
Stacy grins. "Well, thank you."
Noah squeezes my shoulder before stepping away. "I'll be back. I need to find the toilets." His ears turn pink. "I've been holding it since we got in the car."
"Go," both Stacy and I say, and we laugh in unison when Noah leaves.
"You didn't tell me he was English." I take a seat next to Stacy as she moves herself up on the arched bed. "Are both of his parents from England?"
"They both sound like it to me," I reply, trying to remember my last encounter with them. "His mum sounds laid back the most."
Her face lights up. "Have you met anyone else in his family?"
I think of the family portrait in Noah's home, and the two happy little boys standing beside their parents. "No, just his parents." I let myself smile. "It's a shame Noah couldn't meet Mum and Dad. I think they would've loved him."
"Oh." Stacy's voice lowers. "Lilly, honey, they would have loved him for sure."
I reach for my phone—and slide my hand down my jeans instead. It is the first time I've spoken about them without feeling like I want to cry, and it almost tastes bittersweet. But having to open up about them to Noah, to Nicole, to the rest of the group if they ask, loosened an emotional barrier around my heart.
Something in Stacy's eyes changed from loving to worry.
I lean forward to reach for her hand. "Are you okay? Should I not talk about them?"
She shakes her head. "The fact that you're talking about them makes what I'm about to say so much easier."
There's a part of me that wants to retreat back inside that emotional barrier.
She squeeze my hand tighter. "What do you remember from that night?"
Her question holds me still. Eventually, I swallow, hard. "They were coming back from the shops and a drunk driver hit them. I don't remember much. Why?"
It takes Stacy awhile before she can utter a proper sentence. "I loved your mum." A smile lights her face but it only makes my heart sink. "She was my best friend and my greatest idol and the worlds best sister. She was strong and independent, and anytime I needed her, she'd be there. Even if she couldn't do the same for herself."
She forces her smile to stay up, but it falls within the filling silence.
"Aunty." I move closer to her. "What happened?"
Seconds past until she takes a deep breath, and says calmly, "When your mum was in her twenties, she was working as an assistant in nursing for the elderly. She loved her job, honey. Appreciated everyone there. Until one day, she was involved in a fight with a woman. I wasn't sure what the fight was about, all I knew was that she got injured and had to be taken to hospital.
"Later that month, an elderly man had gone mad, and your mum was involved. It messed her up. She was later diagnosed with severe anxiety, and had to leave work because of it."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. Never could I imagine Mum having to go through those circumstances, or developing anxiety because of it.
It broke my heart.
"Did anyone help her?" I ask, sitting closer to her on the bed. "She wouldn't have gone through that alone."
Stacy nods, smiling wistfully. "Oh, by that stage she met your dad, and he was head-over-heals in love with her. He understood what happened, why she reacted the way she did. He helped her get through the worst, even when I..."
Her hand begin shaking in mine. Overcome with the need to protect her, I hold both of her hands. "It's okay. Take your time."
"I didn't know much about mental illness, or the affects they had on you back then." Her eyes glistens with tears. "She had that for almost three years. When your dad wasn't around, she would come to me saying she felt scared and on edge. She asked for me to help her—but instead of being there, I had told her to grow up and fight it. Because that's what I thought was the best; a harsh reminder that when times get tough, you pick yourself up and you keep going. And that it's all inside your head. I'd tell her, 'Just be thankful you don't have cancer'. We were raised that way.
"And then she had you." My heart squeezes. "And...I've never seen someone look so blessed. Both of your parents were. I wasn't sure how she was going to cope with the stress and anxiety, but I saw how she functioned with you, the happiness in her eyes when she had you. I was sure your mum was healthy again, and when she asked me to be your Godmother, I was thrilled. I promised her that I wouldn't let her down.
"But over the years, her anxiety kept coming back. And it was weird how it clung to her for weeks, and then disappear for months at a time. For a long time, she'd always fret over the smallest stuff, from fights with me, your dad, her love for you. Until she stopped."
My throat feels clogged up. "How did she do that?"
A tear fell down her face, but she keeps her gaze steady with mine. "By pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. And when she went out that night, she had no intentions to come back."
"What?" The shock tosses around inside my body. My chest heaves, and my nose pricks up. "She...killed herself?"
"Your dad stopped her. He took her to the hospital when they got into a car crash."
She's speaking through her tears, mumbling them out too fast for me to comprehend them properly. Stabbing pain clenches around my heart, and I feel the pieces breaking like they did on their funeral.
I don't remember seeing my parents leave. Stacy was with me. We were at the house, the sun was out. I told her about the gifts I made them. She was baking something sweet with music playing in the background. She was there. They weren't. They weren't...
"After the funeral, I made a promise to her, and to you; that I wouldn't let neither of you down. When I noticed you were distant, I thought you were going be like her. I was so scared that I'd lose you too because of the depression. So I made sure you went to see someone and you took your medication. I gave you your space. I didn't push you to do anything. And you were coping."
Stacy is trying to grab my hands back. I hadn't realised I let them go in the first place.
"When you told me you wanted to go to school, I was so proud," she says, and my vision blurs. But I can't hide them. They fall fast, making wet patches on the white bed sheets. "I told myself that it'll be better having you do this on your own."
"Why tell me this now?"
"I wouldn't be telling you this if I thought you couldn't handle it, and I was right." She stretched her arms out, desperation clouding the heartbreak on her face. "Come here, honey."
I fall into her open arms like a child clenching to her mother, and she cries quietly in my hair. Opening up like that, telling me the darkest details about my mother, must have been hard for her to do. It kills me that I couldn't have done anything to have helped.
Because Stacy had to watch her sister be haunted by demons and take care of her child dealing with her own, and no one was taking care of her.
"I believe going to school was a good choice," she mumbles into my hair. "You were ready. Now look at you; you're much more capable in handling yourself. I'm so proud of you." She kisses my forward. "I'm so proud."
Those magic words.
That's all I ever hoped to hear.
We stay like this for a while, both in our own thoughts, that I don't hear footsteps strolling behind me until Stacy wipes her eyes and quietly chuckles. "Did you manage to find the bathroom?"
"Yeah, eventually." Hearing Noah's voice forces me to wipe my tears away. He steps up to the end of the bed, face full of compassion. I wonder what he heard. "The directions here are really confusing."
Stacy flattens her hands against the bed, and I move to stand. "It's a good thing you made it back safely. Hospitals are like mazes when you're not sure where to go."
Noah laughs and I grin up at him. Then he looks my way; a rampage of emotion flutters in his gaze, making my heart sore. It's not just compassion, but also understanding and...love.
Moments after, a man in a nursing uniform comes into the room with a wheelchair for Stacy. After making sure her bags are full with her stuff and she hasn't forgotten about anything, including the flowers, we follow Stacy and the nurse down to the information room to collect her medication.
"Someone will contact you in five weeks to see how you're leg is doing, but you should be out of the plaster by then," the lady behind the counter says. "Take these whenever you feel discomfort. And you've spoken to your doctor about crutches?"
Stacy nodded. "Already sorted."
"Perfect." She passes her papers. "You'll need to sign these and then you can go."
While Stacy fills out the forms, Noah and I sit on the waiting chairs. He hasn't let go of my hand, and I haven't said anything to him since we left the room. I feel like I should. Maybe I can ask him what he heard, or tell him what I'm thinking—anything to let him know that his presence is comforting and wanted.
I turn to him, words of gratitude on the tip of my tongue. All he does is squeeze my hand and says, "You don't have to say anything. I know, and I'm here."
My dad was there for my mum, and look what happened.
A determination settles within me as I take Stacy in. Besides the leg, she looks as normal as any other day I've seen her. But I know the patience she had to endure now. I know the suffering that had caused her to behave the way she had.
Noah's thumb massages my own, and the reassurance only makes what I'm going to do more permanent.
I can't let history repeat itself.
Not anymore.