Mom left my room once everything was put away. She claimed she was in dire need of a soak in the tub, but I had the impression she was giving me a little space to absorb my new surroundings. I didn’t realize how much I needed the privacy until I was left alone. I sagged onto my bed, running my hands over my soft comforter. It felt surreal. Less than a month ago I had been chained to my bed, convinced I was going to die. Now I was here. It could have been a dream. I dug my fingernails into my palm, wondering if I would suddenly wake up at the sound of Judy’s footsteps coming down the stairs.
When that didn’t work I scanned my room, looking for something else I could use to test my theory. My eyes paused at the pair of scissors sitting on my nightstand table. We had used them to cut all the tags off my stuff. Reaching across my bed, I grabbed the scissors and pushed the tip into my palm. The metal dug into my hand with delicious pain. It felt good. They were too dull to draw blood. Opening the blades, I ran the sharpened edge along my palm, pressing hard until a line of blood appeared. I swiped at the thin trail of blood with my thumb. As I lay back against my mountain of pillows, I smiled, accepting that it was real. I thought the confirmation would provide some sort of comfort, but truthfully, I still had a feeling of dread in my stomach, longing for the simple life I’d lost.
I grabbed my new cell phone off my bedside table. I had no idea how to work the hundreds of different things it could supposedly do. I tried to talk Mom into returning the phone when she showed up at the hospital with it, but she was adamant about me having one. “I need to know that you’re safe,” she had implored. Then once I met Gunner, I was glad to have the phone because at least we had exchanged numbers before I left the hospital.
The other thing I had come to appreciate was the countless amount of music I had at my disposal. I stuck my earbuds in and clicked on
one of the songs Gunner preferred. Peace settled through me as the music throbbed into my eardrums. It almost felt like he was with me.
I’d been gone from the hospital for only one day, but I already missed Gunner. I felt a bit needy, but I couldn’t resist typing out a simple text to him. My finger hovered over the send button for a minute before I abruptly deleted the text. He told me he would call me.
The sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen grabbed my attention so I headed downstairs where Mom roped me into giving her a hand. Helping to prepare dinner was another first for me. Gunner would have been proud. The way Mom bustled around the kitchen was awkward initially. I stood near the counter, unsure of what I should be doing. Mom must have sensed how I was feeling. She slowed down and showed me around the kitchen before setting me at the counter to make a salad.
It took her a few minutes to show me how to cut the vegetables, but I quickly got the hang of it. She buzzed around the kitchen, preparing spaghetti and meatballs, keeping up a steady stream of conversation at the same time. She asked me questions I could answer without venturing into the bad zone. I took my time, keeping my answers neutral.
Jacob hung around in the kitchen sampling everything Mom and I were making. I laughed when she chastised him for stealing another meatball. I had missed this kind of interaction while hidden away in my basement. This was what being a family felt like. It was so perfect that my chest actually ached. How could I not feel comfortable here? Everything was going to be okay. The only thing missing was Dad. I wanted to ask about him, to get some kind of idea why he left, but it would have ruined the moment. That was a subject that could be visited at a later time. For now, this was all I could ever think to ask for.
“Jacob, carry the dishes to the table, and if you steal another meatball on your way, I’m going to whack you,” Mom threatened, brandishing a wooden spoon.
A grin spread across my face until I spotted Mom looking horrified. All the activity in the kitchen seemed to stop. Jacob was suddenly too busy studying the floor to make eye contact, and Mom acted as if she had committed a crime. At first I wondered what I had missed, but then I could feel a rush of warmth creeping up my neck, making its way to my cheeks. I could feel it coating my skin like an extra layer of clothing. The mood in the room instantly became somber. I swallowed hard, wanting to tell them it was okay. I wasn’t made of glass. I would not shatter from mere words. I guess I hadn’t proven that I was stronger than that.
This was my fault. It always came back to me and what happened. I was beginning to think we would never be able to get past it. For the briefest of moments I missed my basement room so acutely I could barely breathe. Life was easier there, more compartmentalized. At least there I was only disappointing Judy. Here I was disappointing Mom and Jacob. The thought gutted me. I didn’t want to disappoint them.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Jacob tried several times to recapture the levity from earlier, but an ominous atmosphere cloaked the room. Mom kept her eyes on her plate, picking at her food. A rock settled in the pit of my stomach. I should apologize.
After finally making it through the charade of dinner, Jacob and I began clearing the dishes, but Mom shooed us from the table. “You two go have fun.” She gave Jacob a quick hug before turning to me with outstretched arms. I didn’t mean to flinch. Really, I didn’t. I knew she wasn’t going to hit me, but instinctively, I jumped. I could see the hurt radiating in her eyes. “Be careful,” she choked out. I leaned in to allow her to hug me, but it was awkward. I had managed to keep myself as fragile as glass in their eyes.
Jacob and I remained quiet as we piled into his car. He turned up the radio and backed out of the driveway in one motion. “Well, that was awkward,” he chuckled.
I was too busy gnawing on the side of my nail to answer.
“You know none of this is your fault, right? We—well, more accurately, Mom, is having a hard time adjusting. She doesn’t want to hurt you any more than you already have been. It’s not always going to be this awkward.” He patted my knee. “So stop trying to chew your thumb off. It’s going to be cool.”
I pulled my thumb from my mouth self-consciously and stuck it under my leg to resist the temptation. “I’m not going to break,” I muttered.
“I know. If you were that fragile you wouldn’t be here. I’ve seen the pictures.”
I blanched, remembering the humiliating experience of being photographed in front of a room of people. After an extensive interview with Detective Newton at the hospital, a female police officer with a kind face and gentle demeanor arrived, stating that she needed to document my injuries. Mom remained on the side of the room, watching stoically as a nurse helped lift my clothing to reveal ten years of bumps, bruises, and scars. Mom and I never talked about my injuries after that day. Knowing that Jacob had seen the pictures made the spaghetti dinner we had eaten churn painfully in my stomach. Those pictures would last forever as proof of every bad thing I had ever done.
I couldn’t look at him. As much as I tried to resist, my hand refused to stay under my leg. By the time Jacob pulled up in front of an unfamiliar two-story brick house, I had drawn blood from my tender thumb.
“You ready?” he asked.
I shrugged. I had no clue if I was ready. I wasn’t sure I even knew what ready meant anymore. One thing seemed certain, it couldn’t be much worse than our disastrous family dinner or the car ride over.
How wrong I was, like times a million.
Jacob strolled in through the door without even knocking and led me toward the back of the house where I could hear a steady drone of voices. The closer we got, the louder it became. The noise was comforting. I hoped maybe no one would notice our arrival. It was a nice thought, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The moment we stepped out the back door to the patio, the drone of voices switched off as abruptly as a light switch. The patio was easily as big as the inside of the house, with a pool and outdoor eating area. It was dark outside so the outdoor lighting strung around the perimeter was turned on. Thirty-plus pairs of eyes pivoted toward us, all dead set on me. I shot Jacob a look of panic and scooted behind his shoulder.
“Guys, this is my sister, Mia. I’m sure some of you remember her,” Jacob introduced me. He nudged me out in the middle of a large cluster of unfamiliar faces. I hated the feeling of being on display.
A few people smiled tentatively, but the majority of them stared at me in morbid curiosity. I’d seen the same look my first few days at the hospital. I was more of a story than a person, something fascinating to gawk at. Then Gunner took me under his wing. I’d give anything to have him with me at the party.
“How about a drink?” Jacob asked, leading me toward a cooler that sat near the edge of the pool. With that everyone returned to their conversations and virtually ignored me. I sagged with relief.
Jacob handed me an ice-cold Coke. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.”
I cradled the soda, thankful to have something to occupy my hands. “Can we wait awhile?” I asked, popping the tab on the can.