Page 150 of Tiny Fractures

My whole body aches—the powerful pain medication is beginning to wear off—but in this moment, I feel only the softness of her lips. It’s not a deep kiss—I can tell she’s afraid she might hurt me—but it conveys so much. When she slowly pulls back, her eyes are soft, shimmering, and it looks like she might cry again.

“I love you, too, Ran,” she says.

I swear, if I wasn’t lying down, my knees would buckle right then and there. Hearing her tell me she loves me is happiness like I’ve never known, like I had never thought was possible for me.

If only it would last….

Friday, October 8th

Ronan

I spent two more days in the ICU, where I continued to be in and out of sleep. The heavy pain medication kept me pretty sedated and groggy, even during my short awake phases. I did appreciate the way the meds took the edge off the constant pain, but I didn’t like not being completely present when Cat, Shane, my brother, or my other friends came to visit. It was similar to getting so wasted at a party that you don’t really have control over yourself anymore, which is something I had always avoided.

I did love seeing my grandparents, who showed up to the hospital with my dad the morning after I woke up. But that feeling of happiness at seeing them was quickly replaced by more guilt when I thought about the sacrifices everyone has had to make for me. My grandparents had to drop everything in Montana to somehow get to New York, which added more stress onto my aunt’s plate, who was now saddled with running my grandparents’ ranch. I also got an idea of how much school Cat missed, how little she was able to sleep and eat while I was out, how Shane wasn’t able to focus on work and his dad had to step in, how Steve wasn’t able to move up to Boston like he had originally planned, and on and on it went.

On Monday, I was moved to a step-down unit for observation and pain management. A respiratory therapist came twice a day to exercise my lungs. It was the most painful part of my day because I was forced to do deep-breathing exercises, which obviously forced the expansion of my broken ribs. It hurt like hell every single time and I usually slept for two or three hours after each session. It didn’t take long for me to comprehend the extent of my injuries, especially to my chest and knee. Any time a wrong move or deep breath caused a sharp pain to shoot through my body, I was taken back to that Saturday, to my mother standing over me and absolutely obliterating my body.

But my stamina was slowly improving day by day. I was steadily able to stay awake for longer periods of time, and the doctors began to space out the pain meds a little, which wasn’t always successful. I'd end up with excruciating pain if they waited too long.

The best part, though, was when I finally got the okay to get out of bed. I was confined to a wheelchair because I was, and still am, non-weightbearing on my right knee, and my broken hand and fucked-up shoulder and ribs didn’t allow me to move around on crutches at that point. But hey, anything was better than lying in that uncomfortable bed all day, every day, staring at the same shitty walls and ceiling. Sure, there was the TV and I had my phone, but still, being in the hospital was fucking mind-numbing. I was itching for a real shower, for my own damn clothes, for my own bed, and for uninterrupted time with Cat. I was tired of nurses and doctors bustling in and out of my room, poking me, waking me a thousand times at night to check my vitals or whatever. And I was tired of everyone tiptoeing around me.

I can tell they’re all supremely careful with what they talk about and how they phrase things. There’s a beast of an elephant in the room, and nobody talks about it. It’s fine—I don’t want to talk about it. Really, I don’t. I just wish I could go back to how things were. I mean, okay, not really. I obviously don’t want to get my ass beat again, but I want things to be normal.

My dad hardly left my side. Here and there he went home to shower, eat, or run errands while I rested. It’s weird having him around all the time, and at first we didn’t have much to talk about. Hell, we hardly knew each other. Strange that you can have a father but not really know him at all.

Once I was out of the ICU, I told my dad to sleep at home. He was staying with me at night, which couldn’t have been very comfortable, but I didn’t argue with him; he looked like it was something he needed to do for himself. But once I got moved I told him he should get rest at home, that I’d be fine. I still got a pretty good cocktail for pain. It knocked me out for most of the night and I woke up only when the nurse checked my vitals every few hours, placed a new IV line, or took blood.

Steve and Shane hung out with me the Monday morning after I left the ICU, and Steve informed me that our dad went to court to attend my mother’s arraignment, which is where everyone found out the charges. I still can't believe this is all happening. Is this really it? Is it over? Am I safe?

My dad made it to the hospital by noon. He was dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt.

“So?” Steve asked.

My dad looked from him to me and back to Steve, then sighed deeply. “They arraigned her, rattled off a bunch of charges like battery, assault, and child endangerment. They even threw in an attempted murder charge.” He glanced at me as my breath caught. “The D.A. doesn’t think it’ll stick, but he said they’re throwing the book at her. She pleaded not guilty.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Of course she would plead not guilty to any of it.

I closed my eyes as my dad continued. “The judge set her bail at seventy-five thousand, and the D.A. just called me to tell me she already posted bail. She’s out.”

I had a hard time breathing and squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying to focus on each breath, but it felt like the room was spinning. Fuck, she’s out.

In two large strides, my dad was by my side. “Hey, look at me,” he said with authority in his voice.

I opened my eyes, my breathing ragged. I was hot and cold all at the same time.

“You’re safe, okay? Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise you. She’s not allowed to be anywhere near you or me or Steve. The judge ordered her to stay away. And she doesn’t know where you are.”

“But can’t she find out?” Steve asked. “She’s a nurse, after all. Couldn’t she just check in her system or whatever?”

My dad shook his head vehemently. “No, the D.A. assured me that Ran cannot be found in the system because he’s a victim of abuse. The information is somehow made confidential, only accessible by his treating doctors and nurses and otherwise with his permission.”

“Where is she?” I had to know.

“The D.A. said he thought she might stay with her parents. I don’t know. She hasn’t seen them in forever, but that’s probably the best option for her right now. She was suspended from her job.”

He proceeded to tell us that the preliminary hearing—the hearing where the judge decides if there’s enough evidence that my mother did what the D.A. is saying she did and to hold a trial—was set for October.

I felt my stomach burn. My breathing was off, I was sweaty, and I felt like my heart was going to explode in my chest. I had just enough time to tell Steve to grab the trash can before I got violently sick.

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