“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” My mobility is in the gutter, but still, do I really need someone living here? I’m not helpless! I can get around... for the most part.
Sometimes.
On occasion.
“I can’t be here all the time.” Her fists clench. “This is the second agency we’ve been through and the ninth caregiver we’ve had.” Nine? Holy shit how did I lose track? They aren’t going to allow anyone else to come here. Not with your history. I need some help, and you’re making this fucking impossible.”
Impossible. Please. Everyone else around me is making my life impossible. I just want to be left alone. No one understands this. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want help. I just want to be left the fuck alone. “Grey, do you know how worried I am? I’m so stressed out. What if something happens and you get hurt and can’t reach a phone? I can’t focus on anything else but you in this house, rotting away with no one to help you!”
She could move back in. Even as the words dance along my brain, I don’t say them. That’s not fair to her. Alyssa has her own life now, and I’m so proud of what she’s accomplished. Teaching’s her dream, and this is her second year at the elementary school in this district. For the first couple of weeks after my surgery she took time off to help me. I can’t ask her to waste any more of her time here.
I can’t look at her anymore, but unfortunately, that means my eyes slide to the asshole sitting on my couch, who’s been silently stewing since Alyssa came here to scream at me.Dick.
Maybe that’s not fair. As far as men go, Landon is... passable. I guess. Passable enough. He’s a bit short for a hockey player, let alone a goalie. Short in hockey terms anyway. Six foot one in any other context isn’t short at all.
Now he’s glaring at me. I want to give him the finger, but he’s pissed on her behalf so I can’t be too mad. I like that he’s protective.
I just hate that he’s protecting her from me. That’s always been my job. I protected her and our mother from our abusive shithead father. I had to; the law certainly wouldn’t. Then when Alyssa got pregnant at sixteen. Then when our mother got sick. I was the shield around her for so long. I’ve always been the one holding everyone together. It’s weird having someone else carry that weight.
Some days it’s hard not to remember the fear on her little face when our father would come home after a bad day of work. I know we both can’t unhear the screams, the fighting, the flashbacks that come when we don’t want them to. The fear of knowing that if the worst did happen, no one would believe or save us.
That’s what happens when your father’s the chief of police in your small town. No one ever believes monsters are among them, walking around dressed in everyday uniforms and masquerading as heroes.
My father died in the line of duty, and while our hometown in North Carolina mourned his loss, at home, we celebrated his absence. I was only thirteen.
When he died it was like we all collectively took a deep breath.
After his death I threw myself into hockey, vowing that one day I’d make enough money to give my mother and sister and eventually her daughter the easiest life I could manage. Hockey has always been my salvation, my passion, and my entire life.
Now it’s just nothing. It’s just this thing I used to do. It’s rotting me from the inside out. I breathe hockey, and now it’s choking the air from my lungs.
“Greyson?”
“Sorry, what?”
She sighs, and I don’t know. I can handle her mad, but guilt twists my guts a little. “I said I’m giving you one more shot. This time, no more chances.” I want her here. I almost say it, but I bite it back.
The truth is this isn’t the first time I’ve struggled with her moving out. Last summer she moved in with Landon, and it was hard because for so long it had just been Lianna, her, and me.
I’ve always been her protector and big brother. I love having her here. She may be younger but she’s one of my best friends, and there’s been this emptiness in my life since they moved out.
I can’t help but let that selfishness fester. I don’t want to do anything. I barely want to eat most days or have the energy to shower. A difficult task with my knee as it is.
I don’t want strangers here. I want my little sister and niece.
It’s not fair, I know this.
I’m not really a social guy on the best of days. I don’t truststrangers. I don’t want a fuckin’ babysitter. All these caregivers... They treat me like a zoo exhibit. They steal. They take photos of me to sell for gossip sites. They peek and pry and fuck everything up. It’s like walking on eggshells in my own home. Something I haven’t done since my father was alive.
Was I an asshole to Colleen? Yes. Her stealing was the last straw. I haven’t told Alyssa about the one before her, who took pictures of me in the shower to do god knows what with. I caught him, I threatened to break his fingers if he didn’t delete them, and then I fired him.
Then there was the one before that, who stole the money I gave her for shopping. I didn’t turn them in. I just hoped I scared them enough to rethink their choices going forward.
I know I need help; it’s hard to get around. I haven’t gone to PT since the initial frequent visits after my surgery, because I never left feeling better. Most times I just left feeling worse.
I’m caught between wanting to get better and wanting to rot here in my own home until I die.
I just want to be alone, but also not. It’s weird. “I don’t need a babysitter!”
