Page 13 of Stables

Each slow step sends spasms through me.

Great. The bottle I need is on top of the refrigerator.

Why do I put stuff up there when I’m too dang short to reach it without a stool?

Her sniffles transform into wails and she flops herself onto her diapered butt in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I can’t raise my arms.

Anything higher than my boobs feels like someone is squeezing my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Panic makes my heart race.

I hate this helplessness. Paisley needs me, and I’m failing.

Wait. The broom might work.

Awkwardly holding it by the bristles, I manage to knock the bottle off of the top.

But I miss when I try to catch it.

“No, no, no.” Crap. Of course it’s glass.

At least it didn’t shatter, just cracked enough that the red liquid oozes in a semicircle around it.

“No-no!” Paisley mimics my cries, smacking her knees.

I want to join her and cry.

Her flushed red cheeks bunch and she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hand.

I hate seeing her uncomfortable.

“Mommy’s going to get you a cool washcloth, okay?” Hobbling over to the sink, I soak and wring out a small dish towel.

Draping it over her shoulders sends her over the edge and she erupts in a full-bellied scream.

A knot forms in my throat.

I’m not even sure if I can carry her.

“Let’s go take a bath.” Cooling her down should buy me some time to figure out what in the heck to do next.

The burn of tears streaks my own cheeks. “Do you want the bubbles? We can do them. Come on.” I try to coax her.

Can I drag her if she doesn’t cooperate?

Should I call Libby? She’s my only friend that stuck around after I hooked up with Matt.

It’s like the rest knew he was bad news, but they didn’t want to tell me.

I guess they didn’t care as much as I thought they would.

Libby’s already done so much for me.

I need to do this.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to tug Paisley up and limp with her down the hall to the bathroom. The stabbing pain in my chest isn’t getting any better.

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