Page 379 of Releasing 10
I’LL DO IT
Lizzie
JANUARY 1, 2004
DEVASTATED, ISLUMPED ON THE PLASTIC CHAIR ON ONE SIDE OF MY MOTHER’S BEDside, while my father sat on the other.
With his head bowed and his elbows resting on the side of Mam’s hospital bed, Dad cradled her frail hand to his cheek.
My mother looked lifeless, while my father looked truly defeated.
“Your mother fights so hard to be here,” Dad said, nuzzling her hand with more affection than I’d ever seen him express. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he spoke. “And every day you don’t get better, you push her closer to the grave.”
“I’m sorry,” I managed to croak out, body trembling violently. “I’ll do better, Dad, I promise.”
“Promises have to be kept to mean something,” my father told me, keeping his attention trained on my mother’s sleeping face. He didn’t sound angry anymore. Just worn down. “What happened with young Biggs?”
“I hurt him,” I admitted, breathing through my nose, as I willed my heart to kick-start in my chest and prayed for a miracle to rewire my fucked-up mind. “And he broke up with me.”
“Well, I can’t say I blame the lad.” Dad sighed. “You’ve certainly broken my heart and soul—and your mother’s, too.”
Yeah, I understood that now.
I was seeing the damage up close, and it waskillingme.
“Dad.” Knees bopping restlessly, I pushed my hands through my hair and expelled a quivering breath. “I think I need some help.”
“You’re damn right you do,” he replied, reaching up to brush Mam’s hair off her face. “Because your behavior is killing my wife.”
Pain.
Guilt.
Shame.
The full force of my emotions punched me so hard in the chest that I momentarily lost the ability to breathe.
“Dad,” I wheezed, feeling lightheaded now. “I think you should send me away.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” my father replied. “When your mother is out of the woods.”
“No, Dad,” I choked out, drowning in my emotions as every part of me shook. “I really think I need to go away now.”
“What are you saying, Elizabeth?”
“I don’t feel right in the head,” I cried, covering my face with my hands. “And I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”
“You want to go back to the hospital?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
“I just want to stop hurting people,” I replied, crying quietly into my hands. “I want to bemeagain, Dad.”
“Do you mean that?”
