Page 380 of Releasing 10
“Yeah,” I sobbed, nodding my head. “Please help me, Dad.”
“All right, all right.” I heard the sound of metal scraping on tiles moments before my father’s hand rested on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
“Dad, I’m scared,” I strangled out, chest heaving. “I’m so fucking scared of my own mind.”
“I know you are.” He continued to gently pat my shoulder. “And I’m going to get you help.”
“I just want to be okay again.”
“You will be.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Staying at the hospital helped you the last time, and it’ll help you again.”
“I’ll do it.” Sniffling, I looked up at the man who raised me. “I’ll do it your way. Whatever it takes, Dad.”
“Good girl.” Tearful, blue eyes stared back at me. “Now, go for a little walk outside, while I make some calls.”
I opened my mouth to respond, only to freeze when the door swung inward.
“Hi.” Breathless and panting, Hugh strode into my mother’s hospital room. “I came as I soon as I heard.”
“Hugh,” I strangled out, scrambling out of my chair in my rush to get to him. “Hugh!”
“I’m here, Liz,” he said, wrapping me up in his arms when I reached him. “I’m right here.”
Clenching my eyes shut, I clung to his body for all I was worth.
He didn’t push me away.
He didn’t stiffen or recoil.
He fully embraced me in this moment, allowing me to take what comfort I needed from his touch.
“Hughie,” Dad sighed, relief flashing in his eyes. “Thanks for coming, son.”
“Of course,” he replied, keeping a firm hold on me. “How is she?”
“It was touch and go for a while,” Dad explained wearily. “But she’s out of the woods. The doctors said we got her to the hospital in time.”
“That’s good,” Hugh replied in that familiar steady tone. The one that made me feel like everything would be okay. “Catherineis a fighter,” he continued to say, while he rubbed my back. “She’ll come back from this, Mike. Stronger than ever.”
“Let’s hope so, son.”
“Here.” Hugh peeled the wrapper off one of the granola bars he’d snagged from the vending machine down the hall and held it up to me. We were sitting in the visitors’ room on my mother’s ward, waiting for my father to come back from making his phone calls. “Come on, Liz,” Hugh continued to coax. “Take a bite.”
Too weary to protest my lack of hunger, I leaned in and took a small bite.
“Good job,” he praised, rubbing my knee. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
“I haven’t,” I admitted brokenly, turning to look at him. “Or at least, I don’t remember.”
Pain flashed in his whiskey eyes. “It’s okay.” Reaching up, he tucked a clump of my untamed hair behind my ear, fingers lingering on my cheek. “You’re going to feel so much better soon.”
“Yeah,” I croaked out, unable to stop myself from wincing.
Dad was making calls to have me admitted into Brickley House, a private psychiatric and rehabilitation facility on the northside of the city.
I was going away today, and I didn’t know when I’d be back.
The fear clawing its way up my throat was terrifying, and the reckless streak inside of me was demanding I run for the hills.
