Page 63 of Fractured

“I’m sure.” Then we were on the road. Not one word was spoken, and I barely had any thoughts at all in my head on the way. I had thought I’d be thinking of all the things I’d say, how to answer the painful questions he might ask, but I completely blanked.

I stood in front of the hospital doors, the cold air from the air conditioning blowing over me every time someone walked in or out. Random beeps from machines accosted my ears. Not willing to put it off any longer, I took a deep breath and headed in, straight for the elevator. Atticus took my hand without ever glancing my way. He was the silent support I needed right now, and I was so thankful they had wanted to come.

Inside the elevator, Ambrose stood at my back, and Atticus crowded my side as if he could protect me from any threat that might enter behind us. Luckily, we were alone.

Getting off on the fourth floor opened up a whole set of feelings I hadn’t expected. I mean, I had expected them, but not at this moment.

Heart racing fear.

Overwhelming anguish.

All-consuming defeat.

I made it only a few feet down the hallway before I stopped in my tracks. Atticus and Ambrose stopped with me but didn’t say a word, as if they knew I needed to work this out on my own.

Patients and nurses passed me, sending me curious glances. Their faces were washed out, giving them a sinister appearance, and I recoiled from them. Now that I was literally steps away from seeing Drake, I had second doubts and they were driving all rational thought from my head. I was right back where I was the day he ambushed me at my place.

Questions consumed me, and just like before, I had the need to flee. To hide from things I didn’t know. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Atticus pulled me over to a waiting room from where I think I’d started pacing. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute.”

“I’d said that out loud?” I gripped the sides of my head. I really was going crazy. And Drake was the trigger, or at the very least one of them.

But why?

I couldn’t remember what happened, but I wanted to. Didn’t I? What would speaking to Drake really do? He was suffering just as much as I was, maybe more. The man was asking for such a small thing.

And yet, the will it took to take those last few steps were hindered by fractured memories of that day.

Lauren singing as she made breakfast.

Break.

Setting my school books on the table.

Break.

Swinging at the park.

Break.

Sirens.

Flashing lights.

Ambulances.

Cops.

“Lilith.” Ambrose picked me up from where I had sat down and settled me in his lap. When had I sat down?

And when had I started sobbing?

“Shh, it’s okay. We can go back home. I knew this was a bad idea anyway. It’s too much pressure,” he whispered into my hair. “Why don’t we go home, and you can write him a letter. I’ll hand deliver it myself, okay?”

I cried harder. Why was I such a coward?

Couldn’t I react like a normal person for once in my life and help him? Maybe even help myself in the process?

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