I came-to a few minutes ago to a nurse taking my blood pressure. As soon as she sees me open my eyes, she smiles and says softly, “Hello, dear. Sorry to wake you.”
Her sweet, mature face is almost too much to bear. My eyes sweep the room. Panic sets in. Sitting up quickly, I ask in a hoarse voice, “The man who was here, where is he?”
Her face falls. “What man, dear?”
No. No!
My hands begin to shake. “The man who brought me here.”
Her face doesn’t show any sign of recognition. Pointing to the chair Rock sat in while I fell asleep, I almost shriek, “He was in that chair! I need to know where he is! It’s important!”
She steps away from me, clearly uncomfortable with my actions and raised voice. She says quietly but firmly, “Now, dear, you need to calm down. I’m sure we can find out where he went.”
My heart rate spikes on the machine. The beeping noise drills into my skull.
Hyperventilating, I rip at the IVs taped on top of my hand and in my inner elbow. Pulling the plastic clean out of my skin, I move to stand when the nurse yells out, “I’ve got a code red! I need hands!”
I stand on the mattress when two large men come into my room. Holding my hands out, I utter, “I just need to find my friend. That’s all.”
One of the men comes closer, nodding. His gentle eyes pull me in. “Okay, honey. Get down from the bed and we’ll go for a little walk around, alright?”
My shoulders slump in relief. Thank God, he understands.
Taking his hand, he helps me off the bed. And just when I smile up at him, something jabs me in the thigh. Snapping my head around, the other man pulls the syringe from my thigh and nods to the other man.
Son of a bitch!
The effects of the drug work fast. My vision blurs. Feeling lightheaded, my hold on his hand weakens, and I slur, “You tricked me.”
The man holds me tightly, and the last thing I remember is him whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
***
I wake with a start, the vision of the safe house going up in flames fresh in my mind.
My father stands from the chair he was sitting in, and Mom—frazzled and tired looking —rushes over to the bed, clearly distressed. Putting her knee on the bed, she crawls over the covers to me and hugs me ferociously.
This is so unlike my mom that it startles me.
I hear all the time that daughters are usually close with their moms, but I never was. My dad kept me so close to him that Mom got tucked away in a corner. Feeling her body shake against mine, I wrap my arms around her, and breathe in her familiar scent. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay.”
Her voice cracks, “I was so worried. My baby all alone and scared.” She squeezes me tighter. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her hugs. She repeats on a whisper, “All alone and scared.”
I hold her and stroke her hair while I keep my eyes on dad. My brain, needing someone to blame, picks him. The easiest target.
Releasing Mom, I pull back from the hug as Dad approaches. Holding a hand out, I say, “Don’t.”
He stops mid-step, and I watch his face fall. My normally handsome Dad now looks exhausted. Fisting the sheets of the bed, I tell him through gritted teeth, “You should’ve told me. I would’ve never found out if Nox hadn’t given in and told me.”
Dad’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, Lily girl.”
My eyes match his tear-for-tear. I sniffle through quivering lips, “It won’t bring him back to me.” Suddenly furious, I lean forward and hiss, “I deserve to be happy. And I was happy with him!”
Understanding dawns on my father’s face. Mom grips my hand tightly.
Dad responds quietly, “Oh, Lily. I didn’t realize you’d—oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”
The anger melts away. Dipping my chin, I whisper, “He was it for me. We were meant to find each other.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dad opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Mom squeezes my hand again. “Tell me what you need, honey. Anything. I want to help.”
The anger returns with a vengeance. “You think a cup of cocoa will fix this?” My parents wear matching expressions of sadness. It just peeves me off even further. I screech, “You think a sandwich or a fucking cookie will fix this?”
Mom starts, “Baby, I-”
Looking away, I order, “Out.” Mom stops talking. I repeat, “Get out.”
We sit in silence for a minute before my parents, obviously hurt, stand to leave. When I hear them move towards the door, I call out, “I want Terah. Bring me Terah.”
I need my sister.
***
Seven hours later…