Page 7 of The Secrets that Surround Us

Fiona

Six Weeks Later

Shit, my stomach feels like it’s going against me. Hugging the toilet, I unload everything that I’ve tried to eat this morning into it.

“Are you okay, Fee?” my mother asks as she leans against the doorframe of the bathroom door. Her eyes widen a bit when she gets a look at me. I know I must look like shit. I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been puking my guts out for the last week.

Sweat drips down my back as Isit up. “Ugh, not sure. It feels like something is trying to kill me.” Groaning, I reach for some toilet paper to wipe my mouth.

My mother grabs a washcloth from underneath the sink, and I watch as she holds it under the cool water. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

She dabs the towel against my forehead. My eyes flutter closed with how good the cool water feels against my skin. I’m not sure how much more I can take of this.

My stomach churns when I feel sick once again. Pushing my mother out of the way, I lunge toward the toilet and retch into it. Which turns into dry heaving since I have nothing left in my stomach. Once I’m able to calm myself, I lean back against the cool bathtub, embracing the cool feel against my skin. No one really talks about how throwing up can make you hot all over.

“About a week off and on,” I reply dismissively.

Her eyes narrow at me when she asks her next question. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s just a stomach bug.” Waving her off I turn away and grab the washcloth to wipe the back of my neck myself.

She eyes me suspiciously. “It seems more than a stomach bug.”

“Mom. I’ll take care of it.” I lower my voice so she knows she needs to drop it, but unfortunately, she doesn’t take the hint.

“Well, if you were taking care of it, you would’ve been feeling better a week ago.”

“I can’t afford to go to the doctor. Besides, it’s a virus. There is nothing they can do.”

Reaching for my arm, my mom goes to pull me up off the ground. Her voice holds a hint of annoyance. “A week is too long. I’m taking you in now. It could be serious.”

I try to move out of her grasp, but she squeezes my arm hard, hurting me. She pulls me up from the ground, as she mocks. “Besides, you don’t want to miss out on any more jobs, right?”

My parents never thought my photography business was a serious job, just a phase that I was going through. Working in the church is what they really want me to do, so that I can find a respectable husband. What they don’t seem to understand is that isn’t in any part of my plans.

I roll my shoulders back. Damn it, she has a point. “Fine. I’ll go to urgent care. Just give me a minute.”

My mother releases my arm, and I try to stand on my own, but the room spins. It takes all my might to stay upward, putting my hands out to find support, but apparently, I’m unsuccessful. A sharp pain rings through my head when darkness takes over.

“Fiona.” My lashes flutter when I hear my name being called.

Opening my eyes seems harder than you would think, but when I’m finally able to, my mother is standing next to my bed but a few feet away as she’s trying to keep her distance. As she stares at me, her forehead is etched with concern. Her eyes well up with tears, but I can tell she’s holding them back. My gaze drifts to where my father is standing, right behind my mother. His arms are crossed over his chest, his mouth turned downward. Crap, he looks angry. I try to think what he could be so angry about. I’m the one who is sick, and what appears to be a hospital room.

“Where am I? What happened?" I croak out. Smacking my lips together, I try to create some saliva to help coat my dry throat.

My mother opens her mouth to answer, but my father answers first in a sharp tone. “You passed out in the bathroom. Your mother thought it was best to call the ambulance.”

It’s obvious he didn’t agree with my mother to call for help. Him not caring enough hits me right in the chest. His anger shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been letting him down for years now.

My mistakes get worse and worse as the years go by in his mind.

Trying to figure out what is going on, I gather my strength to sit up in the hospital bed, which proves to be harder than I thought. My mother sees me struggling and goes to help me but he stops her. “Mary. Don’t you dare.”

Bouncing my gaze between them, I’m not sure what to say, when he continues with a tone filled with anger, “She can do it all on her own. Just like she does everything else.”

Her eyes soften a bit as she pleads with me to understand that she’s listening to my father. But I’m not sure what I’m trying to understand. “Can someone tell me why I’m here?”

Before either of my parents can answer, we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. A nurse and doctor, who both must be in their sixties walk in, seeming to not sense the tension in the room. Both have a smile plastered on their faces, but the doctor is the first one to speak while the nurse goes to check my I.V. “Good to see that you’re up, Ms. Adams. How are you feeling?”

---