Page 87 of Reclaim Me

“How are you doing?” Rae asks, pulling me out of my head. “I know spending all day, every day, catering to someone else’s needs isn’t easy.”

There’s a hint of guilt layered in between her words, and I hate it. I hate hearing it, hate the way it seems to be calling me a failure. When Will got the diagnosis, I swore to Rae that I would take care of him. I told her she didn’t need to worry, but every time I hear that guilt, it feels like she is worrying, that she’s concerned that I’m cracking under the pressure.

I am, but I won’t tell her that.

“I’m fine, Rae. Finally got all my equipment delivered, so I can start working out again.”

The equipment got here a week ago, and everything is still in boxes on the porch, but I don’t mention that. I also don’t mention that the urge to work out left me a long time ago, that ordering the equipment was a Hail Mary meant to jump-start the desire again, but now all the shit is on the porch, and the money is gone from my already dwindling bank account, and I can’t bring myself to touch it, which just makes me feel worse.

“Good!” I can hear the smile in her voice, and it makes me smile. It’s the first time I’ve smiled since we last talked. She’s the only bright spot in all of this, and our conversations are few and far between, which means I spend a lot of time in the bleak reality of her childhood home that feels like a hospice wing.

“Did you make it to the studio yet?”

“Just got here,” she breathes, the smile in her voice fading right along with the one on my face. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“I’ll wait by the phone.”

Rae giggles, but I’m serious. My phone has become a lifeline, one that only operates correctly when she’s the one on the other end.

“Bye, silly. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sunshine.”

After we hang up, I close my eyes, intending to rest for a second before going to check on Will, but ending up falling asleep. When I wake up, the house is eerily quiet, silent in a way that makes my blood run cold. My heart drops as I rise from my spot on the couch and creep down the hallway toward the bedroom to confirm what I already know to be true.

I know this silence.

I felt the weight of it sit like a brick on my chest when I came in from getting the mail and found my mom dead in the living room. Her eyes were still open, gazing out the window, wide and unseeing. I had to close them. God, I hope I don’t have to close Will’s too.

Tears have already gathered in my eyes, and my heart is pounding with fear and anticipated grief as I push the door open. Will is still. He’s so fucking still, and his eyes are closed. If it wasn’t for the absence of the rising and falling of his chest, he’d look like he was sleeping.

“Will?” I call his name even though I know he won’t answer, and my voice breaks when I’m met with silence. My knees give out, and I hit the floor hard, which leaves me with no choice but to crawl over to him, sobbing as I put my fingers to his neck to confirm that there’s no pulse.

He’s still warm.

That’s the thought that keeps playing in my mind over and over again as I dial 911 and explain to the operator that this isn’t an emergency. It’s what’s on my mind as I open the door for the coroner and the police and go through the motions of gathering his medicine and doctor’s information and everything else they need before they take him away. It’s what’s on my mind when everyone, including Will, is gone, and I’m left with nothing else to do but call Rae and let her know.

It’s been hours since we spoke, which means she’s probably at home now. Resting. Relaxing. Unaware that her world has changed forever.

“Hey, baby,” she says, all cheer and ignorance. “What’s up?”

“Rae…”

I can’t say anything else. I don’t need to. She hears it in my voice—the truth of her loss and my failure—and she doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. She just wails. The sound is loud, long, and broken, and I slide down the wall across from the hospital bed that’s all she has left of her brother and cry with her. We cry together until Rae drops the phone and someone else picks it up, until the chorus of voices I’ve come to associate with her roommates fills my ears, and one of them, a girl named Zoila, comes on the line.

“Hunter?”

We’ve never spoken, but I recognize her voice. She’s the one always cooking for Rae. I wipe my eyes, trying to pull myself together. “Yeah?”

“When did it happen?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice soft as someone else shushes Rae and murmurs that it’s going to be alright. It’s a lie, but I should be the one telling her that. I should be the one comforting her right now.

“Can you put Rae back on the phone, please?”

“She’s pretty upset,” Zoila says. “Let me calm her down and have her give you a call back.”

---