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EMERY.
I still haven't let the tears fall. I don't want to cry just yet. Wait until there is nobody around and then I'll let loose.
But for now, I will focus on this rock. A rock buried beneath some flowers with a landscape painted on it. Why the fuck do people do that? They paint rocks and leave them places, what's the point?
People walk past me, entering the hospital with no more than a glance at me. I'm crouched over, holding my sides so no one can see the stains on my shirt. I can hardly handle my own thoughts, I don't need people's judgmental stares too.
I am so focused on the rock that I can hardly see or hear Cole beside me calling my name until his nudges me, rather aggressively in the shoulder. "Emery." He calls again, but this time
I actually look up. I still have my sides covered. I probably look sick, my arms clasped around my waist as if I'm trying to relieve the stomach pains, but I'm not having any stomach pains. It's my heart that aches.
Cole sits down beside me, leaning over so he can look at me and keep my focus. I'm probably acting crazy. Maybe because I am crazy.
I don't want to speak to him, I just want to go somewhere and sleep off everything. I want to shower this filth off and scrub the blood from my shirt until it's no more. "Why aren't you inside? Tell me what happened."
"It's nothing." I say, shaking my head. "My mom..." I try to explain, but I don't need to tell him anything. He doesn't need to know anything. "Will you take me somewhere... a hotel... or..." I'm slow when I speak, my voice low and quiet.
Cole lifts his eyebrows into a worried expression, letting out a small breath as he stares off in front of him. "Did your uh..." he shakes his head, falling silent. It takes him a moment to speak again, "I'll take you to a hotel." He finally agrees, placing his hand on my back to guide me up.
His eyes go wide when he sees the bloodstains on my shirt and in a quick motion he lifts my shirt to show my skin but I pull it down instantly. "Cole-"
"Fuck, sorry... okay." He whispers, shaking his head as he heads down the sidewalk instantly, me behind him. He's worried, I get it. His first instinct was to lift my shirt and check for wounds or some shit. His brain is probably racing with questions, but I'm glad he isn't asking them.
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COLE.
What the fuck happened? That's all I want to ask right now in this silent car ride to a hotel. But I've asked that way too many times and she still hasn't given me an answer. I get she doesn't want to tell me, but it's getting to the point that if she doesn't I might lose my entire fucking mind.
Bloodstains?
Bigger bruises on her face than before?
The bloodstains seem to be old but they are bloodstains nonetheless. The dark red has already seeped deep into her shirt, with little flakes clinging onto the fabric. I'm convinced that if you tried to fold the thing, the blood would make it difficult. She'll definitely have to throw the shirt away.
Another question that I keep trying to force to the back of my brain is: whose blood is it? It could be her's, but she seems perfectly fine at the moment. There's no way she could be so conscious if it was her own blood and there's no way for it to be completely dried if she had an open wound under her blouse. I'm assuming it's someone else's. But whose is the question. Her mother's?
I can't help but fear that maybe it was her father who did this. I know, you don't assume something so big unless if you are certain, but she hardly ever wants to go home, and just minutes ago she was about to explain something that happened to her mom.
When I was younger, I never wanted to go home either. I kept myself busy back in New Hampshire so I didn't have to deal with my father's angry shouts. It all adds up perfectly.
It's all too familiar. I've been at a hospital with bruises all over my face and abdomen, nervous to death about my mother's safety. There's not much a twelve year old kid can do to stop their drunk ass father from harming their mother.
My mother had insisted it was an intruder and she made me promise her to keep my mouth shut. I never understood why she did this, but I agreed, not only to please my mother, but because I loved my dad. He's my father after all.
After that my dad had thrown away every bottle of beer and alcohol he could find and instead invested himself into a news paper to keep his racing mind off of the drink. After that he has neglected us, telling us he'd rather sit here and focus on his newspaper than go anywhere.
Now he's a fat lazy bum, either on his chair in the living room, in his bed, or on a dining room chair. My mother had to go out and get a job. She delivers UPS packages.
Once Lilly passed away, I was so devastated. The anger of my father's ignorance towards me and my mother seemed to be the way I coped with her death. One day I took my father's newspaper and burned it in the fireplace right in front of him.
He hit me.
He wasn't drunk, but he hit me with so much rage until he broke down crying in front of me. My mother was standing outside of the living room, wide eyes and a wet soapy spatula in her hand. "I spend so much time focusing on something other than the damned bottle and this is what you do?" He sobbed onto my shoulder. I was shocked, so shocked that I couldn't even push him off of me. It was the only contact I had from my father in a few years. It made me uneasy, but I couldn't help but pat his back. "All I can think about is alcohol, Cole. And that was my only distraction."
"You'll get another paper tomorrow morning." I mumbled, flinching as my dad quickly picked his head up. I was worried he was going to strike me again.
"You're right... I'm... I'm sorry." He muttered quietly, placing his hand on the spot where my skin had turned a bright red, due to the blood rushing to my temple where he hit me. "I'm so sorry."
And he walked up the stairs to the bedroom and locked the door.
I thought you got over addictions after a while but my father has never gotten over it. With the haunting urge to grab a drink, and the guilt of destroying our family lingering over his shoulders, I think he went insane. The only thing keeping him from entertaining his crazy thoughts was to focus on that newspaper. The same newspaper that I burned in front of him out of anger. I will never do that again.
The next day he was back with his nose in his paper and my mother was discussing moving to New York to get away from all this trauma in the house. She said she already talked to her manager about switching to New York and my father had only nodded, giving her a small glance. "That sounds good Kelly." He had said and I could tell he really liked the idea of moving out of here just as much as my mother and I did.
Another person that could've caused this dreadful day is Chris.
I sent him to jail and for my own satisfaction I'd like to believe that he's sitting in a cell right now, writing down dashes with a small rock on the wall for every day that passes.
I park into one of the many vacant parking spots to the hotel. Due to it being the afternoon, everyone who is staying here is probably off sight seeing or having fun around the city. Emery, with a frown on her face and dull blue eyes, reaches for the door handle and I reach for mine. "You don't have to go in with me." She says, shaking her head.
"I want to." I reply, opening my door and hopping out before she can tell me no. Sure, she wants to be alone but leaving someone, who is clearly going through something, alone frightens me. What if she tries to off herself like Lilly did?
I couldn't handle that. No matter what relationship we are in. Even though I'd like to be more, we still are friends.Which I'm still upset about, but that is something to deal with another time.
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𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎
How do you like Cole's backstory so far?
I have a terrible headache today and I have a math test this morning :( wish me luck...
Chapter forty four: Jan. 25, 2021