“I’m gonna check out your ribs, too,” I warn her before moving my hands lower.
She winces at the touch, but nothing is broken. If it were anyone else, I’d be concerned, but with her condition and what she’s just been through, I unfortunately expected nothing less.
I shift my focus back to the gash on her face. “This is pretty deep…”
My heart sinks when I realize there’s a good chance Océane will need to go to the hospital.
“I’m not sure if this will need stitches or not.” I stand. “Stay here. Do you have any clean washcloths?”
“No.”
Shit.
“Okay.”
The most important thing is to clean this thing so it doesn’t get infected. I look around, feeling despair claw at me from the state of this apartment. And from the messy state of Océane’s hair, I can tell she hasn’t showered in days. Her thick, waist-length chestnut locks are drawn back into a braid, but it looks like there’s matting in the back of her head.
“I’m going to need to get you to your sink so I can clean this.”
Océane attempts to stand but crumbles with a cry. I clench my jaw and consider my options. My sister is so small that helping her to the sink wouldn’t be an issue for me, but I’m likely going to hurt her in the process.
And with that gash…
“I’m going to call an ambulance,” I say, my tone firm, though I’m anything but certain.
There’s no way I can bring her to the hospital via public transportation, and there’s also no way I’m leaving her alone to go get my car at home.
Océane seems to be thinking the same thing as me, because she doesn’t argue.
I make the call and grab her pillow and blankets from her bed to make her more comfortable while we wait. Like the rest of the apartment, the bed is filthy. I don’t know when she cleaned her sheets last, but from the state of them, it must have been much too long ago.
I sit next to Océane and hug my knees to my chest. She looks at me with a frown, the pain still visible in her eyes.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she starts, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m really not in the mood for a lecture.”
“A lecture?” I scoff, gesturing to the hovel of her living space. “Océane, we’re way past a lecture here. I’m not mad about this. I’m worried. I’m really worried.”
The part about not being mad is a lie. Truthfully, I am mad.
But not at my sister.
I’m pissed off at myself.
I should have realized something was going on with Océane. Ever since she’s moved into this solo apartment to get away from her toxic roommate, she’s always insisted on visiting me or Will, never the other way around.
And the way she hesitated before saying goodbye on the phone the other night…
How did none of that raise any alarm bells in my mind? She’s got fibromyalgia, for crying out loud. It doesn’t make sense that she’d never let us come to her, especially on bad flare up days.
Guilt gnaws at my insides. I’ve been way too focused on my issues at home. On my growing sense of disconnect from Karan. Meanwhile, my baby sister’s been in crisis, and I didn’t realize.
I can’t blame Will, either. He only recently started to take a more active role in Océane’s life; he doesn’t know her like I do. For all intents and purposes, I’m more of a mother to her than our real mother ever was.
It’s all on me.
Océane doesn’t say anything. She’s aware that telling me not to worry would be in vain. Instead, she pinches her small lips together and lets a tear fall.
“How long has it been like this?” I ask her as a dark thought begins to take shape in my mind.
