Page 84 of Jagged Line Paradise

Find happy.

I glance over at the door that Megan shut behind her on her way out and wonder if Andrés is back yet with coffee. I could use some caffeine to get me through today, to get me through…all of this.

I look down at my mother, her skin yellowing from jaundice, sallow, thin, looking weaker and frailer than I’ve ever seen her. She did this to herself with her drinking, I know that. I know she was a bad mom. I know she was neglectful, callous, and cold. I know she’s right; that if it weren’t for Andrés, no one would have known I’d gone missing when I was taken. I know in so many ways that shedeservesthis.

But I don’t want to think that anyone deserves this kind of death. I’ve been watching her waste away for months, each day a little worse than the last, and it all has just been so tragic. Death would be a reprieve for her, it would be peace for her.

It would be peace for me.

I hate the thought that flutters across my mind.

It would bringpeace.

It’s a thought that won’t leave once it’s entered.

Am I a bad person?

My fingers tremble, anxiety pulsing from my heartbeat and rippling through me, shaking my limbs, making me feel unsteady. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes fill with tears.

I quickly put her hand down on the bed and I’m thankful she seems to be drifting back to sleep. “I’ll be back, Mom,” I tell her before walking for the door.

I open it and quickly close it behind me, suck in a ragged breath, trying to choke back tears of shame that threaten to fall in sobs. I cover my mouth with my hand as I press my back to the door, glad that no one is near enough to witness my breakdown.

I glance right, then left, my eyes automatically searching for Andrés. The most spectacular relief I’ve ever felt washes over me when I see him stride toward me from the end of the hall. He’s just so damn perfect and put-together in his black button-up and gray slacks. His sunglasses are hanging from the V of his open collar and he’s just so casually cool striding forward with a cup of coffee in each hand.

I look down at myself in my sloppy clothes and for some stupid reason, that’s what does me in. That’s what snaps inside and makes me cry, not that my mother is dying, but the realization that finding happy—knowing that happy is with him—is unattainable. I’m just the poor, sloppy girl he left behind and moved on from. And he’ll move on again, especially now that he’s fucked me and gotten me out of his head.

I see the moment that he notices me standing there in the hallway, not inside the room where he left me. He stops dead in his tracks. I watch as his perfect face falls at the sight of me; I watch as he sets both cups of coffee on the desk at the nurses’ station, but I turn away as he rushes toward me.

In moments, his hands are on my shoulders, spinning me toward him, and I can’t look up at him. I can’t meet the eyes of this man who has hurt me more than he could ever know; this man who is leagues above me, in every way; this man I don’t deserve, but who doesn’t deserve me, either. But I can’t avoid his pull as he tugs me into his arms, pulling me tight against his chest, though I sob into my hands.

“I’m here, sunshine,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

It’s strange how time moves simultaneously quicker and slower in a hospital. There’s constant noise and movement—from the beeping monitors to the nurses popping in and out every so often. At the same time, there’s strange silence and an eerie sense of being imprisoned—I know I could leave, walk out the front door if I wanted, but I’m also trapped here, tethered to my ailing mother who faces her death in this very room.

The sky is turning my favorite shades of orange, yellow, and pink outside the fourth-floor window and it reminds me how long this day has been, though it’s also flown right on by.

Andrés is still here.

He’s been here with me all day, sitting innocuously in the cushioned chair nestled in the corner. I’ve tried several times to get him to leave, though I’ve been unsuccessful. I know he has better things to do than to be here with me, but he refuses to leave. He’s been absolutely insistent on staying however long I stay. As night approaches, I have to imagine he’ll give up and go soon, not that I want him to.

I want him here. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want here more than him, though it doesn’t help me understandwhyhe stays.

I turn from the window I’ve been staring out from for a while and cross the space to stand in front of him. He’s got one leg hitched up over the armrest, almost sitting sideways in the chair, as he casually stares down at his phone. I reach out playfully, tapping the side of his dangling foot to get his attention.

I give him a small smile. “It’s like you’ve got a whole world there in your phone.”

He puts it down on the windowsill behind him, giving me a grin. “It is. Though it’s been a while since I’ve had this much free time to scroll aimlessly.” He puts his leg down and sits up, patting his lap. “Come here. Relax. You’ve been pacing for a while.” My heart flutters at the invitation to sit with him, but I hesitate. He reaches out his hand. “Lonnie, please.”

I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling so nervous with him, especially after what we did last night. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling anxious—because he knows me rather intimately now. Though, if I’m honest, I’ve always felt like he knew me intimately. He’s known me better and for longer than nearly everyone else in my life. Besides, I’m exhausted. I want to sit and the comfort he’s offering is too enticing to pass up.

I move forward, turn, and slowly lower to sit sideways over his thighs, pressing my back against the inside of the armrest as his arms quickly close around me. We both exhale at the same time, and he smiles at me before he leans his head against mine. My stomach flutters as he pulls me closer.

“Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t really know. I’m…I guess I’m feeling confused.”

“Yeah?” He lifts his hand to my hair, stroking down the side of my face, and it makes my whole body shiver.

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