“See,” I whisper, pulling her hand to my mouth to cover it with kisses. “There’s an upside to being taken care of.”
After turning the water off and help her onto the waiting bathmat, I pay the same careful attention to getting her dry. Although I check her stomach and abdomen a dozen times, there’s little to show for the pain she’s in. Dull colours that might blossom into grey and purple bruises.
Once she’s in her own pair of loose pants and a hoodie, I sit behind her on the bed, combing the tangles out of her long hair, then blowing it dry.
By the time I finish, there’s a knock at the door from the front office secretary, holding the medication. I thank her and read the instructions through three times over before I hand across the painkillers, watching her swallow.
“Do you want me to check with the main office?” I ask. “Get them to call your parents?”
A worried expression crosses her face, there and gone. “Could you pour me a glass of wine? It’s in the bottom drawer.”
I pull it out, frowning at the array of bottles. “The instructions say to limit alcohol consumption. It might cause excessive drowsiness.”
“That’s the hope.” When I still don’t move, she adds, “Besides, I’ve got a babysitter if something goes terribly wrong.”
I pour her a glass and my mind swings back to the Sunday night, the day after I moved in next door. She’d been drinking then, too. The night she gave me the tiniest scrap of her confession.
As I watch her take large sips, I wonder what she might confess if she’s in that state again. I’ve smelt wine on her breath since, but never seen her under the influence the way she was that night.
Then I think of her scars, the ones I see on her outside, the ones I know she holds within her, and feel a rush of shame.
Yes, it would be nice to have my answers, once and for all. But I don’t want them at the cost of breaking her apart. She’s too fragile.
Someone else should take care of her. Someone without these competing forces within them.
“Would you rather I called your parents?”
“No!”
Her face is utterly shocked, the last few mouthfuls of wine slopping violently over the edge of the glass so the room fills with the sour tang.
“But somebody needs to. You were assaulted on school property. There’ll be an investigation. Joseph might be charged.”
“No.” She shakes her head, her frown growing until the deep lines on her forehead make her look a hundred years old. “They don’t need to find out about this. It was a silly argument in the common room.”
“Your doctor prescribed codeine. Arguments don’t generally require opiates.” Her agitation spikes my blood pressure until my eyes bulge. “They should be here, anyway. You’re hurt. I’m sure they’d want to know that.”
“They’re overseas,” she babbles, eyes shifting from mine, jolting from one item to another in the room with increasing restlessness. She looks like she’s lying. “Dad’s scouting a new client in London. They’ll just feel bad they can’t make it.”
“So let them feel bad.”
She drains the last of her glass and reaches for the bottle, even though the move clearly causes her pain.
I should take it away from her but she’s a grown arse adult. She’s also freaked in a way I haven’t seen before. Even when I popped back into her life out of nowhere, she took it in her stride. Fearful but accepting. Immediately negotiating.
Who doesn’t want their parents when they’re hurt?
The only answer I produce is the children of uncaring monsters. That’s who.
A new Esme puzzle piece pops into my head, with no clue how it fits into the overall picture. Still, it makes my heart thrum with sadness. In that instant, I miss my mother so much it aches.
“Joseph will be excluded,” I say, finding my place in the conversation again. “They’re going to find out.”
But she shakes her head, more slowly this time, the wine and painkillers having an effect. “His dad’s a legacy. The board would never vote to expel him. At best, they’ll add an extra line on his tab as a suggested donation.”
She seems convinced but I’m less certain. “I don’t think so. Schools have to take this kind of thing seriously.”
“Which is why no one at all has come to check on me.”
