Clay noticed I was there and watched me as I came to his side. His eyes were heavy and clouded with the sedative. The white of his bandaged wrists stood out against the blue hospital blanket. He was deathly pale and he looked at me with an unreadable emotion as I gently took his hand in mine.
“Maggie,” he said. His voice sounded as if he had been chewing broken glass. My name rolled roughly off his tongue. I carefully sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” I replied, trying hard to smile.
Clay closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did this to you. I’m just so, so sorry.” I didn’t say anything, just leaned over and pressed my mouth to his cheek. His skin was cold on my lips.
“Your parents are on their way here,” I told him, and he only nodded. The nurse must have already told him.
“They’re going to put me away,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I know” was all I could reply. Clay opened his eyes and I could see a spark of the old Clay there, hidden in their depths.
“They’re going to take me away from you. That’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen,” he told me flatly. I could see him struggling under the weight of his sedation.
He reached out to touch my face, but his fingers fell back to the bed before they could make contact. “You look so sad. I did this to you. I hate myself for making you feel this way. I ruin everything. I always have,” he said, his voice deadened by the drugs.
I shook my head. “No! Don’t say that. It’s not true.” Clay closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, almost as if it were too painful to look at me.
“I can’t keep doing this to you,” he whispered, covering his face with his hands. I needed to put an end to his bitter self-loathing. I just didn’t know how.
“Just stop this, Clay. You need to worry about getting better. Nothing else,” I said with more conviction than I felt. I reached up and pulled his hands down. “Please, just get better,” I begged.
He covered my hand with his and held it to his face. “I love you, Maggie. Forever. I was being selfish, only thinking about myself. I should have put you first, always,” he agonized, showing more feeling than he had since I’d walked in. I didn’t say anything more. I pulled myself up onto his bed and spooned my body against his and held him until Nurse Burke returned.
As I was forced to leave his side, I turned back to look at him one more time. Who knew when I’d get to see him again? His eyes met mine and he looked completely and utterly shattered—broken. His expression was haunting.
And was burned into my mind.
Once back out in the waiting room I was greeted by a very angry Mrs. Reed. Mr. Reed stood behind her, looking bland and uninterested as if he’d rather be in a meeting at work than a hospital waiting room. Regardless of the fact that his son had been admitted there for trying to take his own life.
Mrs. Reed took two steps and leaned in uncomfortably close to my face. “What did you do to him?” she hissed.
I reeled back in surprise. Was she for real? I almost laughed at the absolute absurdity of her question. To think this self-important bitch could actually stand there and place the blame for Clay’s condition squarely on my shoulders, especially when the root of so many of his problems rested solely with the two narcissistic people standing in front of me.
“Does this amuse you? And here I thought you and my son werein love. When in reality you’re that little gold-digging mooch I knew you were. Did you talk him into leaving town with you? Have him take you on some whirlwind vacation withourmoney?” she spat at me with all the venom she could muster.
This time I did laugh. “Oh, yeah, because the Motel Six is livin’ large,” I said sarcastically. Mrs. Reed looked as if she wanted to slap me as her hand tensed by her side.
“My son is a very sick boy. He doesn’t need to be led astray by a selfish little bitch like you.” The hatred in her voice startled me. What in the world had I done to garner such strong dislike from this woman?
Yet if I thought about it, I knew Mrs. Reed’s problem was that she wanted to place blame anywhere and everywhere but where it belonged—with herself and her husband. She couldn’t see her own failings as a parent, so instead I became the bad guy.
Well, screw that!
So I got right back in her nasty, smug face and poked my finger in the middle of her chest. “Back off, Mrs. Reed. Your son is lying in a hospital bed after slitting his wrists because thetwo of youhave been more concerned with how this could make you look than involving yourselves with what’s going on withyour son.” Mrs. Reed’s face turned crimson and her jaw clenched. And I wasn’t even close to being done speaking my mind.
“Maybe if you spent more time being actual parents, he wouldn’t be where he is now. In an ICU! After attempting suicide! I love your son. More than anything. And because I love him, I can recognize that the best thing for him is to get help, even though that means he will go away. I love him enough to realize my desire to be with him isnotnecessarily what’s best for him. And I hope you can remember that he isyourson. Your own flesh and blood! And that what he needs, more than anything, is love and support.Notjudgment and condemnation. And he sure as hell doesn’t need you pressing bogus charges against him! So,for once,maybe you can do whatheneeds rather that whatyouwant.”
My anger fizzled and all I felt was bone-weary sadness. I wanted to keep throwing my rage at these two horrible people, but I just felt depressed. Being pissed off wouldn’t change what had happened or help Clay.
Mrs. Reed pulled herself up as straight as her spine would let her. Her red face and icy eyes looked like she was about to rip into me again when Nurse Burke interrupted.
“Are you Mr. and Mrs. Reed?”
“Yes, I’m Samantha Reed and this is Clayton’s father, Nicholas. Where is my son?” she demanded. Nurse Burke’s no-nonsense expression never faltered. She was probably used to dealing with pain-in-the-ass people all day long.
“I’ll take you to see him. But I have to let you know that it is extremely important that he not be agitated. He is in a very delicate state right now, and needs nothing but calm. The staff psychiatrist, Dr. Lang, is waiting for you to discuss possible options for continued treatment. So, if you’ll follow me...”
