Page 90 of Still Beating

My mother quickly nods. “They’re just fine. Lily has been house-sitting for you.”

Thank God.

I’m nodding my relief when Mandy walks in with a cup of coffee. She does a double take when she notices I’m awake. “Oh, my God…”

I turn my head to the opposite side, unable to look at her.

My father clears his throat. “Bridge, let’s give them a few minutes.”

I’m still looking out the window at the dreary winter day, listening to my parents shuffle out of the room. It’s a fitting backdrop to my new nightmare. I feel the bed shift as my sister takes a seat to my left.

Mandy leans down to hug me, her cheek pressed to my covered chest. “I never wanted you to hurt yourself,” she murmurs against me.

I close my eyes, swallowing down a fresh set of tears. I never used to cry much, but now I feel like it’s all I do. “You said you never wanted to see me again, and I don’t blame you.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted youdead,” she insists, straightening with a sniffle. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“We can just add it to the growing list of fucked up things I do now.”

Mandy’s sigh reverberates through me. She hesitates before saying, “Dean was here that first night. He was a mess.”

My heart picks up speed, involuntarily.

“The doctors said he found you just in time. A few minutes longer and you’d be dead.”

Dean saved my life.

Again.

I wipe at my wet cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mandy. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

A few silent beats pass by, and I’m afraid to look at her. I’m afraid to see her wounded, scornful eyes.

The bed moves as Mandy rises to her feet, and I finally spare a small glance in her direction. She tucks her tangled hair behind her ear, twirling her coffee cup between tense fingers. “I love you, Cora, and I’m glad you’re okay, but… this doesn’t wipe the slate clean. I’m still processing everything. It’s… a lot.” She squeezes the cup, her eyes closing. “A lot of damage was done, and I’m not sure when I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

I nod, tears falling free and dampening my shoulders. “I understand,” I squeak out.

Mandy opens her eyes and pins them on me, her expression sober. “But seriously, Cor, don’t you ever pull that shit again. Get help. Find a new therapist if you need to. Join a support group. Get on medication. Just… don’t ever feel like we’d be better off without you.”

I nod again.

Mandy ducks her head. “I’m trying to understand, trying to put myself in your shoes, trying to sympathize with everything you went through that could have led to…” Her jaw tightens and she swallows. “But I’m still mad. I’m so mad at you, Cora.”

“I know,” I sniff. “You have every right to be furious with me. I’ll never be able to explain what happened because I don’t even understand it.”

Mandy nibbles her lip, glancing my way, then dips her chin. “I’m sorry I hit you. I had no right to put my hands on you.”

“I deserved it.”

“No,” she says. Then she sighs, dropping one arm to her side and taking a slow sip of her coffee. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. I’m glad you’re okay—don’t ever think otherwise.”

A watery smile breaks through. “Thanks, sis.”

She doesn’t return the smile, but her eyes aren’t flaring with hate, giving me hope that maybe there is hope for us someday. Maybe we can fix this.

Mandy takes a few steps backwards and turns to leave the room—but her feet falter. She looks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes glossing over, glowing with fresh pain. “I’m not sure if this makes it better or worse, but… I think he really loves you.”

Mandy walks out, a small cry escaping her lips, and I start sobbing into the itchy bed covers.

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