Never Been Kissed(10)

These words work like magic. Nurses start yelling at one another, orderlies rearrange Hunter’s limbs quicker on the chair. There’s a fire underneath their asses, that fire is knowledge. They know how to help him. Why didn’t I think of that? I could’ve just checked his sugar, and given him what he needed. It’s not like I didn’t know what to do, my Mom’s a diabetic.

My knees threaten to buckle as the could-have-beens crash over me. Adrenaline has left my body and I have the shakes. I see the security guard that reamed me out before come stomping my way. I shake my head at him, teeth chattering, body quivering.

God. Hunter could have died. What about Matty? What would have happened to him? And I wanted to run away, hide in my apartment. Fuck. What a coward. I disgust myself. And all the shit that my family’s ever said about me – about being useless, a coward, fat and disgusting. I nearly proved them right today.

I look down at Matty. His dark hair and bright blue eyes stare deep into mine like he understands all the crazy thoughts in my brain. Hell, maybe he does. Is that why he asked if Hunter was tired? Is that a code word for a sugar-low or -high?

He looks up at me, grabs a hold of my hand. “My Daddy’s gonna be okay. He always says so.” For his sake, I hope Hunter wasn’t lying. He has to be okay, if only for me to kick his giant sexy ass and kill him.

I nod at Matty, sniff back a wad of snot. I wipe my cheeks hard enough to make them smart, and get him in the car. I do as the security guard told me to do. I get out of the emergency drive-up reserved for ambulances and get a space, stuffing the slip in my purse.

Matty slips his hand in mine, giving my fingers a squeeze when I should be the one doing the comforting. With some sort of sick conviction, I end up believing the kid. Hunter’s going to be okay; he’s going to be okay.



***



“YOU!” I jump in my seat in the waiting room, dislodging Matty from my chest. The little guy wakes up with a sleepy snuffle, and a jaw-cracking yawn. A lady gets up in my face, invading my personal bubble with a stench of Burberry perfume, those huge Chanel glasses that make girls look like bugs, and a Louis Vuitton bag tucked in the corner of her elbow. She’s a walking advertisement for the size of her wallet.

“You little harlot! What have you done to my boy?” If the glasses weren’t covering half her face, I could probably tell that Hunter’s her son.

“And why are you holding my grandson? Give him to me!” Her she-claws are painted in papaya or some wacky color name like that, extended out like talons when her hands try to snake around Matty’s ribcage.

I’m struck dumb. I don’t know what to say or do.

“Grandmaaaaaaaa!” Matty whines, wiggling out of her grasp while throwing his arms around my neck, choking off my oxygen supply. The kid has chosen, lady. “Sera isn’t Daddy’s girlfriend,” Matty informs his grandmother. “She’s Wendy.”

“I’m Wendy?” I ask.

“She’s Wendy?” Grandma asks, those giants glasses of hers slipping down her nose. I want to laugh at her comments. Me? A slut? Lady, if only you knew.

Matty squeezes my neck tighter and puts his head on my shoulder, dismissing his grandmother. He falls asleep within a minute, his body going lax, his breathing fading out to slow and calm. I look up at his grandmother, too tired to deal with her bullshit.

“Hunter’s still in the monitored care section of the emergency. You can go see if he’s awake, if you like.” There. Olive branch. “He was asleep last time we checked.”

“How did you find him? Where did you find him?” The words are shot off like bullets from an automatic gun. I’m too tired for this. The loss of adrenaline has left me weak and starving. So I answer, thinking this is the best way to ditch her when I’m done.

“I came home from grocery shopping. He was sitting on the ground between our apartments. He looked out of it. I brought him here once I got Matty. And now we’re here.”

“You’re not having sex with my son? The way he trades-in his women has me wondering if you’re next on his list.” I do not miss the way those glasses track my body up and down, like I’ve been put under a microscope to examine. Who the hell keeps sunglasses on when you’re inside? Pretentious much?

I should say something like it’s none of your bloody business, or to piss her off, yes, I get it three times a night, thanks for asking. I do none of these things.

“I just live next door. Thought I would help him out. Nothing else.”

The lady looks satisfied. I just want to go home.

“Well, you can leave, now. I’m here. I’ll take care of my boy.”