Page 159 of Tiny Fractures

My face falls. “You’re going to tell him what I just told you, aren’t you?” I bury my face in my hands. This is going to kill him.

“I’m going to have to. Ronan, there are a lot of people who love you. I need you to hang on just a little bit longer, okay? We will get you out of this, I promise. Will you give me a chance to help you?” she asks.

I consider her for what feels like an eternity before I nod.

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do before you go to sleep tonight: picture something that feels good to you. Focus on just that, nothing else. Hold that feeling inside you tightly, let it consume you, let it get you to tomorrow when I see you again.”

I nod again before she walks me into the waiting room where my dad is on the phone, I assume, with Penny. He ends the conversation when I limp out on my crutches and Doctor Seivert requests him into her office while I take a seat in one of the chairs, knowing she’s about to shatter his world by telling him that his son has expressed suicidal ideations.

I close my eyes, listening to water trickling in the little tabletop fountain in the reception area, and I picture the one good thing that will allow me to make it through tonight and into the next day. The one thing that has come into my life at exactly the time I needed her the most and arguably the worst time for her—Cat. I picture her beautiful hazel eyes, her perfect face, her smile that stops a room full of people, and her gorgeous body. I recollect the way her lips feel on mine, her warm hands, her soft skin when I caress her. And I know I need to see her again, that today will not be the end for me.

My dad steps into the waiting room half an hour later. He’s pale and there is so much concern in his eyes. I feel like shit for putting him through this, adding more weight onto his shoulders, and the guilt inside me grows. But he strides toward me as I get up off the chair and, with one swift motion, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly against him.

“I love you, Ran,” he says, his voice thick and full of emotion. “I love you so much.”

At first, I want to push away, to escape his hold on me. I’m not really used to any physical affection from my parents. My mom never hugged me and my dad wasn’t around enough to do it. And it’s always confusing as hell when Cat’s mom hugs me. Really, the only person who ever holds me like that is Cat. But then my body relaxes and I let my dad hold me, allow him to be my dad, permit myself to feel his love. It’s surprisingly comforting.

We don’t talk on our way home, and when we finally arrive, my dad immediately makes his way upstairs to the bathroom where I know he’s removing any medication from the cabinet, probably hiding it somewhere I can’t find it. He’s taking precautions, as he should.

I skip dinner and head to my room, switching my jeans for black sweats and my hoodie for a white t-shirt before I get into bed. My body is sapped of what little energy keeps me moving during the day. My mind and body hurt, my knee is sore, and I’m tired of using crutches, of being handicapped, of having to depend on everyone for almost everything. I grab my phone, swiping to unlock it. I text Cat before my eyes shut, despite me fighting it, and sleep overcomes me.

Me: I love you. You are everything.

***

I jerk awake, my heart pounding in my chest as beads of sweat cool my forehead and neck. My damp shirt clings to my heaving chest and I attempt furiously to catch my breath, to orient myself, to make sense of my surroundings, all the while assessing the threat level like I have all of my life.

It’s pitch-black in my room, but I can sense my dad sitting on the edge of my bed, his hand on my arm. He’s talking to me, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. The sound of my blood rushing through my head drowns out everything around me. I had another nightmare and my dad obviously woke me from it. I close my eyes and swallow hard, willing my heart rate to come down.

“You’re okay, buddy. You’re safe,” my dad keeps repeating to me in a soothing voice, like he does every night. Steve stands in the doorway to our shared bathroom, his expression weary, and I can tell he was in a deep sleep before my night terror woke him up, too. I wonder what I say or do that is so noisy that my dad and brother—both in their separate rooms—wake up. Do I cry out? Do I scream? Neither of them has ever told me and I haven’t asked.

“What time is it?” I finally mumble.

“It’s two-thirty,” my dad answers.

I fall back onto my pillow and roll to my side, my back to my dad.

“Do you need anything?” he asks, his hand on my shoulder now.

I shake my head. “I’m okay, Dad. Sorry about that. You should go back to sleep.”

He sighs, then squeezes my shoulder before he gets up and walks back to his bedroom just down the hall.

“I love you, little brother,” I hear Steve say before he gets back into his own bed, too.

I grab my phone from under my pillow. Cat responded to my message from earlier in the evening.

Cat: I love you more than words could ever say. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

My racing mind calms as I picture her again. I hold on to that feeling that consumes me whenever I so much as think of Cat and I let myself drift back to sleep.

Wednesday, October 27th

Ronan

I get up at four after another nightmare, which thankfully didn’t disturb Steve or my dad for once. My sleep has been fractured for weeks now, riddled with nightmares so vivid that even once I open my eyes, I could swear I see my mother’s outline and feel the blood running down my face. I still need a couple of minutes to regulate my breathing and calm my frantic heart. Even the anti-anxiety medication does nothing to combat the dreams; it just makes me drowsier.

I shower and get dressed as quietly as possible with these stupid crutches before slowly making my way downstairs. But my dad must have heard me move around because he’s in the kitchen, making coffee, when I finally arrive downstairs.

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