Page 56 of Inside Silence
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Wow. That’s rather…curt.
* * *
Half an hour.
* * *
At least I hope the paperwork will be ready by then. The urge to add something is too great and I quickly add a message.
* * *
Totally fine if you don’t have time.
* * *
This time her message is instantaneous.
* * *
I’ll be there.
* * *
Yeah, definitely curt. I’m trying to think back whether I did or said something to piss her off, or if she is just preoccupied with work. Of course, I’m sure that’s what it is.
See? There goes my mind again. Jesus Christ, I make myself sick.
I’m dressed in borrowed scrubs, the clothes I’d been wearing Friday cut and bloodied in a plastic bag, with my discharge papers in hand when Savvy walks into the room. My concern is instantly spiked; she does not look good.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” are her first words to me.
When I don’t immediately clue in to what she’s talking about she adds, “That my father was part of it, why didn’t you tell me?”
Oh, I know what she is referring to now, talk about coming out of left field. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I don’t even know how she found out, because I wouldn’t have brought it up. For what? It would only hurt her, probably even more now than back then.
But however she found out, she’s looking for answers.
“When, then or now?”
“Does it matter?” She sounds aggravated.
“I think it does. I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice back then. Plus, what would’ve been the purpose? It’s not like it would’ve changed the outcome, and I didn’t want to hurt you more than you would be already, which I knew you would be had you known. I guess I did have a choice this time, but the question would remain the same; to what purpose? It wouldn’t change anything about the fifteen years behind us. All it could do was hurt the future of your relationship with your father.”
The stubborn set of her chin is in stark contrast with the tears she is furiously trying to blink from her eyes.
“I’m not about hurting anyone, Savvy,” I add.
“I see that,” she shares. “But both you and my dad are so hung up on doing what you think is best for me, protecting me, but neither of you bothers to stop and ask me. You see it as something noble, when in reality it makes me feel incompetent, insignificant, and small.”
Her words are a rude awakening; a bucket of ice water to my ego.
Hers is a perspective I would never have considered, which only goes to show how much my protective instincts are about me, and much less about her.
“Are you ready?”
The nurse interrupts when she pushes a wheelchair into the room.
