“Good.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait.” There’s a pause, and I feel like an asshole for thinking about this. Let alone asking. “Sledge, do you know what happened to the Camaro?” He clears his throat, and I brace myself for some bad news. Maybe Harry and Priscilla destroyed it. In an attempt to cover up their crime. “After the initial investigation, the police released your pops.”
Relief washes over me. Maybe I’m worried about the wrong thing here, but man, am I happy that they didn’t take. There’s a beat of silence before he asks about Ronnie. I fill him in on everything. The conversation is long and painful. As always, my best friend listens without interrupting, just holding space for my trauma without any judgment. I move from the sofa seat to the bed during our phone call, it feels like we've been talking for hours before we end it with our usual. “I’ll catch you on the flipside.” Then once again, I’m alone.
I lean into the pillow, my eyes fixed on the white hospital ceiling, feeling the weight of emotions heavy on my chest. It’s suffocating, as if an elephant is sitting on me. My skin feels foreign to me now… even the smell of it has forever changed. What used to be mine now has a permanent stench of flowers. A constant reminder of Priscilla’s touch. Everyone tells me I should sleep, but I can’t. I wonder if that’s how she feels. I wonder if she believes this is all just a dream and we’re still bound in the basement. My heart sinks as my mind drifts to Ronnie straddling Harry, her body covered in crimson. The fear that almost kept me frozen in place… I almost failed her again.
The sterile smell of the hospital room only serves to accentuate the acrid memories of the basement. I close my eyes, attempting to block out the memories, but the stillness only brings forth the darkness of that dreadful place more vividly. I wonder if this is how she feels?
How the fuck do two broken people begin to rebuild? Each piece is so shattered and disjointed that it’s like trying to piece together a million shards of glass without a blueprint.
Knock,knock…
An unexpected sound shatters the silence, jolting me back to reality. I glance towards the door, my heart pounding. “Come in,” I manage to croak out, my voice stringy from disuse. The door creaks open slowly, and behind it stands Max. His eyes are soft as he clears his throat and closes the door, then turns to me.
“I’m sure I'm the last person you want to see right now, but I feel that there is something I have to say.” He drags a hand down his face, not bothering to hide the pain evident in his features. All I do is stare at him in confusion. What could be more important than him being there for Ronnie?Why is he here?Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait long, as he quickly adds, “I should have done this long ago. If anything, this situation has shown me how fragile life is. May I ?” Max motions to the recliner that sits by the window.
“Sit down.”
He nods and walks towards the grey recliner. He sits, shifting in the seat, nervous. Once again, he clears his throat, and with a long sigh, he begins. “The night we met after the Halloween party. I saw you both kissing.” My blood runs cold. He holds his hand up, asking me to listen with a silent gesture. “I hated you every minute after. Even now, I hate you.” Max breathes deeply. My fists involuntarily clench, my nails digging into the wound. “She doesn’t know that I know. I thought that maybe I could love her so much that it would overpower whatever she feels for you.”
My jaw ticks. I really want to be angry. Yet, all I feel is pity for the man in front of me. Still not understanding where all of this is going or even coming from, he must notice my utter bewilderment, so he keeps talking. “Then all of this happened…” He chokes on his words, maybe tears. “And I felt like absolute shit because I was thankful that at least you were there. She wasn’t alone, and given the state she is in…”
Max pinches the bridge of his nose, moving his gaze to the window. “I can only imagine what happened there. Does it make me a bad person that I’m fucking grateful that you were there because, otherwise, she would have been broken beyond repair?Fuck, she’s broken as it is.” His voice trails off, leaving the roomawash with a formidable silence that somehow manages to be louder than any words could have been.
I sit there, blood boiling beneath my skin as I grapple with the ugly truth of his confessions. He had envied me, hated me for the love I had shared with her, taunting me throughout the years with their relationship. I battle with my emotions, even now, Max is still the better man. “I’m not saying this to absolve myself or to gain sympathy,” he continues, his voice so low it barely reaches me. “I just wanted you to know. I regret a lot of things, but I’m grateful that you were there for her. Sheflinched. Flinched!” he emphasized. “I went to reach for her, and she flinched.” His face distorts with a pained expression. “She’s ended things with me, and as much as I want to, I can’t hold her through this. Sheneedsyou. That basement has her, and you’re the only one who understands what she’s going through. You can pull her out. Bring her back to her.”
Max’s eyes turn back to me, glinting with an indescribable emotion. “And that’s why I’m here,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now. “To ask you to take care of my heart. Because I can’t.” He clenches his hands and takes a deep breath before rising to his feet. I’m lost for words, fuck even breathing. I just sit here and listen, something I’ve only been good at when it comes to Ronnie or Nix. No one else mattered enough to get me to listen, and here I am.
Listening to his grief. His plea. “I love her enough to let her go. I’m sorry that it took this long.” To say I’m shocked is an understatement. For a second, I contemplate letting him wallow in his self-pity, in this act of sacrifice, but one look at his apologetic gaze and my lips move to say, “I got her.”
I look away quickly, from the corner of my eye, I see Max nod before opening the door and leaving. The air finally returns to my lungs as the door shuts behind him. My thoughts drift back to her. Once again, I open and close my hands, the nails digging into my skin. My hand jerks in protest, but I close them tighter. Before I can process the movements of my own body, I'm on my feet and on my way out the door. My heart leads me down the hall, four doors down from my room, and with a small knock to announce my presence, I open the door. Stormygreys meet mine. My eyes absorb every detail of her: the gauntness in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, the lifelessness that seems to have taken over the vibrancy that once was Ronnie. Her lips curl into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, nor deep enough for the dimple in her chin to show. There’s a nurse and a doctor in her room with a machine that has a small screen. Ronnie lies on her back, her legs open wide beneath the blanket. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Can I come in?”
Ronnie nods. “You came just in time.”
I smile at her as I step inside the cold room, closing the door behind me. Making sure I don’t move too close. This is the first time we have seen each other since our escape. The last thing I want to do is scare her or stress her. So I stand closer to the screen, watching it flicker on.
“I’m Dr. DeSilva, and I’ll be performing the ultrasound today,” the young doctor fills me, and I can once again feel my eyes well up with tears. Fuck, at this point, I’ll be needing an IV bag for dehydration.
“Sit Iz.” Ronnie motions to the recliner beside her, and I collapse into it, bringing my thumb to my mouth so I can bite on my nail. It’s been so long since I’ve done this… I guess old habits are truly hard to kill. The room grows quiet besides the sound of blood rushing through my ears. When the lights turn off, Ronnie's hand finds mine, and my pulse takes off. My lips press together as the doctor talks Ronnie through the procedure. My girl tenses as the probe is inserted, until the moment the little screen flickers with life, she stops.
“That’s it,” she chokes out, her voice heavy with emotion.
“That’s it,” Dr. DeSilva simply agrees, explaining everything she’s seeing with clear detail. It’s not much, but we have a gestational age and heartbeat.
It’s been a while since we were left alone, with the confirmation of the pregnancy. I just held Ronnie in the comfortable silence between us, the darkness shielding us as it did back in that basement. “I have blood under my fingernails, my hair is knotted, and I can smell the blood,” Ronnie whispers hoarsely. It sounds like her, just more distant. The words dig into me, ferocious claws that rip open unseen wounds. I look down at my own hands. A pang of sorrow stabs through me as I nod. “What do youneed from me?”
She shrugs. “Can you help me erase him?” she asks quietly, not lifting her gaze to meet mine as she sits up on the hospital bed, motionless, the blue gown hanging off her slim shoulder, exposing the sun tattoo she has on the top portion of her arm. Her hair is longer now, the red almost disappearing.
“I don’t know… but I want to try,” I say, answering the real question behind those words.Can I help her?I'm not sure. I'm certain that a part of Ronnie died in that basement. Could I help that part come back to life? I don’t know, but I'm willing to try. And if I can’t, I will breathe life into new parts and make her whole again. She nods, approving, her gaze moves to her matted red ends. “I smell like the basement .”
“I’ll start the shower for you,” I say, jumping to my feet and moving towards the small bathroom inside her room within seconds. From behind me, I hear the bed shift as Ronnie gets out. Turning on the faucet, I wait for her as she nervously walks up to the bathroom and undoes her gown, letting it fall to the ground, the fabric pooling beneath her. She takes small, careful steps towards me, her hands holding something at her side.Scissors. My breath catches in my throat. “Ronnie?”
Ronnie takes in a deep breath, opening her hand to show me. “I want to cut it.”
I give her a puzzled look, my brows pulling together. “Cut it.” She nods, nervously biting her lip with a small hum. “I don’t want to see the same woman who was in that basement. I want to cut it.” With that, she saunters over in front of the mirror, not waiting for an answer. The warm water from the shower fills the space with steam, creating condensation. Ronnie lets out a small sigh before she turns to me, her grey eyes brimming with tears. “Please.”
The sound of her voice, so low and pained, sends a dagger into my heart. Without any words or hesitation, I accept her private request, grab the scissors from her hand, and wait. Her hand glides down the mirror, giving her a small glimpse of herself, and her lip curls into a small smirk as she nods, giving me permission. In silence, I cut the red tips, or at least what’s left. Once Ronnie is satisfied with thelength, I stop. We remain in place for what feels like eternity. Seeing my butterfly break free from the cocoon, it’s a small step to reclaim herself…, but it’s enough for now. I break the silence, my voice a croak from lack of use, “The water is going to get cold.”
