Page 9 of Fixing Emilee

“Don’t lie, Levi. I can tell you have something to ask or say. If we are going to get better, we can’t keep stuff from each other,” I say around a mouthful of my papa’s homemade gravy.

“Mom and Dad don’t think that you need to know, but I want you to know what has happened since you were in the hospital.” He has lived with our grandparents since he was a year old. So, therefore, he calls them mom and dad. I wonder if there will ever come a time that our relationship is good enough I feel comfortable calling them that.

“Okay. Give me all the gossip,” I say, smiling, hoping to help with the serious look he has on his face.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that Christian and Vanessa were caught on the cameras at school, putting the papers up. They’ve been suspended for three days,” he says cautiously.

“Three days. Is that the best the school could do? That pisses me off. What about everything else they did?” My stomach rolls, and I start to lose my appetite.

“I know Mom and Dad aren’t happy about it either. They have a meeting with the school about it all on Monday. I’m sure Park….”

My blood turns cold, my heart starts to race, and my eyes begin to sting. “Don’t, Levi. Don’t fucking finish that sentence. Please, I don’t… I can’t hear about him. Please.” My hands start to shake so severely that the fork rattles on the plate.

He leans forward, grabs the plate, and sets it on the floor. Holding my hands, he rubs his thumbs over the back of them. “I’m sorry, sissy. I won’t. Just breathe. It’ll be okay.”

That’s the thing, it won’t be okay. I can’t get any air into my lungs, they are burning, and the room is spinning. “Dad! Dad!” I hear Levi scream, but I can’t see him anymore. I hear the foot of the chair getting slammed from the living room and my papa running into my room.

“What’s wrong, son?”

“I don’t know. She won’t breathe. Help me.”

“Emilee, listen to me, sweetie. I need you to breathe. Come on. Focus on my voice.” My face is turned, and my papa’s face comes into view. He takes my hand and places it on his chest. “Come on, breathe with me. In.” I feel his chest move, and my chest moves as well. Finally, some air comes through my nose. “And out.” I release my breath. We repeat the process until my lungs don’t burn anymore, and I can see everything clearly.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask.

“A panic attack. Mr. Gold warned us it could happen and taught us how to handle it. What were you guys talking about, Levi?”

“Um…” I know he doesn’t want to say his name.

“Him. P… p … p.” I start to say his name but can’t.

“Oh, it’s okay, Emilee, no need to say it.” Looking at Levi, he says, “Let’s not bring that subject up until she brings it up first, okay?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sissy.”

Needing some time alone, I dismissively tell him, “It’s okay, bubba. Really, I’m fine. Papa, may I take a shower now?”

“Yes, sweetie. Remember, I’ll knock on the door when you have five minutes left. I need to clean your stitches when you’re done.” They leave my room, taking my half-eaten food with them. I push what just happened to the back of my mind as I gather my clothes and head to the bathroom. I suddenly feel exhausted, and all I want is to get clean. Then go to sleep for the night.

I flip on the light for the bathroom, and just like when I entered the living room, I wait for something to happen. However, unlike the other rooms, this one is different. Only one wall can be decorated in the small space, and it used to be white. Now that wall is covered in wallpaper. Not just any wallpaper, but one with different sized blue butterflies. The floors have also been changed, they were brown hardwood to match the rest of the floors, but now they are white tiles. Why is everything different? Remembering my time limit, I know I don’t have time to focus on the differences, but instead, I start the shower. Standing under the hot water, I let it seep into my tight muscles, relaxing me even more.

“Five minutes,” My papa’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Yes, sir,” I say, grabbing my body wash and actually getting clean. Once I’m dressed, I head to my room to get the bandages the doctor sent home with me. I removed the old ones before I got in the shower, but I consciously decided not to look at my arms. Since I took an unexpected nap when I got home, I haven’t unpacked anything. I pull the clothes and items from the hospital bag, placing them on my bed to deal with later. The bandages are in the middle of everything. Pulling them out, I see my phone.

It’s been off since I’ve had it back. When papa left the day he brought it, I stuck it in the table drawer and forgot all about it until I was packing up to leave. The lecture about having a phone behind their backs never came. All that was said was if I kept up with my shorter list of chores, I wouldn’t have to worry about paying for the minutes each month. Dread settles in my stomach at the thought of turning it on. There will undoubtedly be many messages, comments, and phone calls that have come through while it’s been off, but I can’t run from this. Just like I can’t run from the fact that I will eventually have to see the trio of soul destroyers. The panic attack I had just suffered makes me hesitate to press the power button. Am I strong enough to deal with that right now? Fuck it. Picking up the phone, I hold the button down and watch the screen light up. I lay it on my bed, face down, and head out into the living room.

“I know you hate this. So, I put on your favorite movie, hoping it will help distract you,” Papa says, pointing to the tv sitting in front of him. On the screen is John Wayne’s movieEl Dorado.

“Thank you,” I say, sitting down, focusing on the movie. I hate that someone has to see the long, red, and jagged marks down my arms. I would do this myself if I could one-handed, but sadly I can’t. Guilt crashes into me, and my eyes fill with tears. Sensing my mood change, Papa leans down and kisses my forehead.

It only takes a couple of minutes from start to finish. But the whole time, we can hear the sound of my phone alerting me to the multiple notifications coming in. I let out a long sigh. This is going to suck. “You know whatever those messages say, they are just words, right? They hold no control over your happiness, and you don’t even have to read them. Delete them all and forget they even existed in the first place. If you need one of us to do it for you, we will,” Papa offers.

Levi walks into the living room and says, “I’ll do it, sissy, or I can sit with you while you do it. You’re not alone in this anymore.” Looking at him, I can’t help but get the warm feeling of being loved by someone. He visited me in the hospital the third day I was there. During our conversation, he confessed to feeling invisible as well. With our grandparents working all the time, Adam working and being with Carly, and me being lost in my own problems, no one noticed that he was being left alone. I cried when he told me because I never wanted anyone to feel like I had.

Standing up, I bend over and kiss my papa’s shiny head once he is settled in the seat I just vacated. “Thank you for the offer, but I think this is something I have to face myself.” Stopping in front of him, I pull Levi in for a hug. “If I need you, I will call you. I promise.”

While in the hospital, Levi and Adam replaced all the things I broke in my fit of rage last Sunday. I cry when I put a mixed cd into the new stereo sitting on my dresser, and the song “Best I Can" by Art of Dying comes on. I turn the volume down low and stand there listening to the lyrics. Levi played this song to me in the hospital, and I fell in love instantly, adopting it as my anthem. Picking up the phone, I don’t look at it until I’m sitting on my bed. Leaning back on the headboard, the screen lights up with another incoming message. I type in my password, close my eyes, count to thirteen, and take deep breaths like Papa had me do earlier. When I feel calm, I open the messaging app, scroll down to the texts that came in on Tuesday, and hit delete. I know that anything from that day will not be good, and it’s my choice to read or delete them. Making my way through all the messages takes a minute, but then all I’m left with are the most recent ones. They were sent the day after I was in the hospital, Wednesday. All from unknown numbers, but the messages are so sweet and caring that they have me tearing up again.

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