She needs to let go.
"Believe me, Grace, you don't want to be fighting on my side," I begin, my tongue heavy. "People who fight alongside me never survive. I'm not doing this to hurt you. Hurting you has never been my intention and I swear by that. I'm only protecting you."
The tears well in her eyes and she shakes her head sadly. "No," she murmurs. Squeezing her eyes shut she holds back the tears but by doing so one escapes. She wipes it away before I have the chance to. Then she stares up at me and I can't look away. Even when she's furious at me she's beautiful. "You're only protecting yourself."
Then she lets me go. She lets me go and walks away from me towards her brother who is taking in the view of the waterfall by the wooden rail.
She pulls him in for a side hug and he hugs her back.
I am protecting her. I'm protecting Connor, too.
They deserve a future. A far better one than I'll ever give them.
Gracie Mae
“Mom, wake up.” I grab ahold of her shoulders and shake her again. Her bones digging into my palms.
Steven, the social worker assigned to Connor, is making his once a week visit today and I need mom to wake the fuck up and look somewhat presentable. Enough to fool Steven to give me another week.
“Mom!” I shake her shoulders harder and I swear I hear her bones rattling. “Wake up! Wake up!” I’m practically screaming, my voice bouncing off the walls.
Still, she doesn’t stir. My heart beats wildly in my chest as dread hits the pit of my stomach. With shaking fingers I press them against the pulse point at her throat.
I wait with bated breath for a pulse.
One second goes by.
Followed by two and three.
And by the time I count to forty-five I release my trembling fingers from her neck and run to my bedroom.
Throwing open my door it bangs off the wall leaving an indent from the knob crashing into it. However, I don’t have the time to care because I’m diving underneath my bed andgrabbing the locked box I keep there. Grabbing the key I keep underneath my throw rug I fumble with opening the box. After another try I open it and find what I’m looking for.
Narcan.
My last one.
Fuck.
Dashing out of my room I go to mom who still isn’t breathing.
Removing the Narcan from its packaging I insert the applicator into her nostril spraying the entire container. I then wait for her to start breathing but she doesn’t. Damn it. Titling her head back I breathe into her and then begin chest compressions. After a minute of chest compressions I breathe into her again starting another round.
“Come on, mom! Wake up! Wake up!” I cry out in between chest compressions.
She’s so thin and her bones so brittle that I hear a crack in her ribs. It’s inevitable given her condition but I hate the sound it makes under my palm. I hate the fact that I’m hurting her.
Round after round of rescue breathing and chest compressions I feel my arms beginning to grow weak. And I’m afraid, terribly afraid that this will be the time that she won’t recover.
And if she doesn’t recover. . .
If she doesn’t what will happen to Connor?
“Please, mom,” I beg of her, hoping that someone she can hear me. Hoping that somewhere in that heart of hers she cares. “Wake up!”
In the middle of chest compressions, my eyes blurred with tears, she comes to life beneath me.
She draws in a huge breath that’s loud and ragged. And then she begins to choke. Quickly I move her on her side and she immediately throws up on the rug I had replaced last month.
