Blair
Mom was discharged from the hospital two days after I returned to the trailer. It’s been a week, but we’re getting by with her at home. The real problem is how we’ll afford the medication the doctors prescribed for her autoimmune disease. It will be tough on us.
At least rent is paid on the trailer through the end of the year. I found out when I moved back. Devlin’s parting gift, I guess.
It gives us a little over a month to figure something out.
More than anything in the last week, I hate the sickening ache in my chest, the one that stuck to my ribs like a burr after the fight with Devlin. It didn’t sink in until I was standing outside the blue trailer how things had come to a screeching halt.
Regret slithers in my gut every day for the horrible things I said to him. He hid his reaction, but I must have cut him to use his awful parents against him. I’m no less of a monster than the one I accused him of being.
Seeing Devlin at school is torture on the days he decides to show up. He hasn’t gone back to tormenting me, at least. The cops haven’t shown up to cart me away, either. I’m beginning to let my hackles drop, no longer fearing my arrest at any second.
Through English and lunch I feel Devlin’s unwavering gaze boring into me. Part of me wishes—hopes—he’ll storm across the cafeteria and fight for me, rather than just letting me go.
Am I really so easy to toss away?
I must be, because my own father did it.
But Devlin and I haven’t returned to hating each other. Instead, we’re stuck in a weird, gut-wrenching limbo that hurts so much I can hardly breathe.
I have to, though. The thing I’m good at is being a survivor, and I need to be one now more than ever. For my future…for Mom.
When I make instant ramen for dinner, my stomach turns. It never bothered me before when it was the staple thing I ate for dinner on nights Mom worked late at the diner. Now, the salty chicken-scented broth tingles my nostrils and sends a wave of nausea through me.
I grip the sides of the cheap pink formica counter, breathing steadily to quell my roiling stomach.
The chicken flavor instant ramen is my favorite.
So why?
Maybe my dose of the high life has teased my taste buds too much. Bitter anguish wells up. So what if Devlin had good food to eat?
I chide the weakness, hardening myself back into the person I’ve honed myself into ever since Dad ditched us. Scrunching up my face, I take a big bite of steaming noodles, waving my hand in front of my mouth when it’s too hot.
“Ow, ow,” I whimper.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Mom comes out of the hall.
“Nothing,” I tell her in a garbled voice. Grimacing, I swallow the mouthful. “You should be in bed, resting. The doctor stressed how important it is to keep yourself relaxed so you don’t have a flare up.”
The terrifying beep of her heart rate monitor in the hospital haunts the back of my mind with a dissonant echo when the inflammation around her heart threw warning alarms to alert the nurse on call when I visited last week on Thanksgiving.
She touches my hair. “It’s okay. I feel fine.”
I take my ramen to the couch and prop my feet on the coffee table. “In that case, want to read with me?”
“Of course.” Mom sits next to me, tucking her feet beneath her. She gives me an affectionate smile that soothes some of the pain hollowing my chest.
* * *
It’s only two days later when Mom gives me another scare. Blood drains from my face as I enter the trailer and find her slumped on the couch, holding her head.
“Mom? Mom! What is it—what’s wrong?” I rush to her side, taking one of her hands.
She winces. “Headache. It still won’t go away.”
Shit. She’s had this headache for over a day, after she went out to find a job while I was at school. Mom gestures to the