“Cameron has a severe concussion.” The doctor explains to us, “When we discharged him, I told him he needs to take it easy and make sure he is taking his medication. He should not have been at school.”
The doctor is agitated, and it shows with his tone as he reprimands Cameron’s dad, who stands there listening intently. I feel a tinge of guilt since Cameron only came to school today because he wanted to make sure I was comfortable at school after all the bombshells that were dropped this past week and weekend.
“Can we see him?” I say, finding my voice.
“Family only,” the doctor says sternly.
“She is,” Cameron’s dad responds with zero hesitation.
When we arrive at his room, we walk in to see him sitting up and smiling. Relief and annoyance fill me as he shifts his stunning smile to me.
“Hey,” He says.
The audacity of this man to scare me and then smile at me like everything is hunky-dory.
“I didn’t-” He says taken aback but the strong word. “John, I will ask you to answer this question without denying her feelings. What she witnessed was hatred, whether you meant for that or not, it’s what she received.” Dr. Bricks interrupts. Dad drops his head, ashamed. He rubs the back of his neck before he looks up and offers me an answer. “When I was drunk, I was possessive and mean. You were a distraction for your mother, from me. Before she would leave for work, she would remind me of what to do like I was some unprepared child. I resented you because you meant I couldn’t have fun. I could tell that she didn’t trust me with you, early on it was probably just made up in my head but alcohol alters your ability to think coherently. They were all made up of drunken assessments because it’s where my mind went, I was projecting my own thoughts as hers and it
“Mom?” “Hmmm,” she responds, letting me know she is listening, though she doesn’t look at me. After the therapy session, we wound up at the ice cream shop. Only talking when we ordered what we wanted. She has said nothing at all since leaving the office. I’m getting worried that witnessing dad like that might have scared us both. “Are you” I pause, watching her closely “Are you ok?” She sighs as she sticks the spoon in her cup of ice cream. Leaning forward, she sets it down and stares at it before turning her attention to me. “Yeah,” she says in a whisper. She clears her throat. “That was a pretty heavy session, wasn’t it?” she offers, her smile not meeting her eyes. “Dad seemed so broken,” I mumble. “Well, it takes a broken man to do those things,” she reminds me and I nod in agreement. “I don’t think I ever considered that he might be broken,” I admit. “I really jus
*Cameron POV* When I was naive, and not on what feels like militant bed rest, I used to think the best birthday gift in the world would be to sleep all day, get breakfast in bed. Maybe play some video games, go for a jog and probably buy myself a birthday present because no one ever really cared about what I wanted. They just cared that it was expensive. Now, as a fresh young man, brand new to the realm of adulthood, I loathe the idea of being in bed a second longer. Spending my 18th birthday like this is a real freaking downer. I’ve literally been force-fed food every turn I make for days. One minute it's grandma, the next it’s my dad. Faith sneaks me sweet little treats that she bakes, and gosh do I love her, but she’s a terrible baker. I mean, absolutely atrocious. “Cameron.” My dad says standing a
“Well then, I will find a job and buy us a double-wide to live in,” Dad smirks. I choke on my laugh when her face falls, and she grows pale. “Fine. I’ll sign them and go to John.” She says. It’s blatantly obvious that she is trying to get a rise out of my father, but the only reaction she gets is a bark of laughter from Faith. “My dad?” Faith is trying to contain her laughter while my mother grows red with anger. “I’m sorry. You think he wants you after you tried to destroy him by getting him addicted to drugs?” “Woah, what!” I look at my mom as she stands looking guilty. Now it’s my Father’s turn to turn red with anger. “You gave him drugs?” My father says, his voice rising as it echoes through the house.”
Each blip on the monitor is a reminder that she is still here, still fighting. It’s been a whirlwind since we arrived. Flurries of medical personnel bustle in and out checking vitals, changing liquids, offering water for Faith, dad, and me. She had a stroke, that’s what the doctor said. He said extreme stress brought it on. I rode here with her in the ambulance. I just knew she would wake up if I left her alone for even a minute, and I couldn’t miss that. Yet she still hasn’t opened her eyes or even squeezed my hand. I know she will recover. It doesn’t take a medical genius to know that she is just too amazing to leave me. She would never do that to me. Faith walks up behind me and snakes her hands over my shoulder, hugging my back and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, how are you doing?” she whispers. The heat of her breath tickles my ears as I turn slightly to see her face. She looks exhausted and stunning. How
“How’s Edith?” Noah asks as he walks up to Faith and me. It’s been a few days since her stroke and there still isn’t much change. Though she woke up, she still looks like she is not completely there and it’s slowly killing me inside. “She’s hanging on.” Faith answers for me, entwining our hands and offering me a supportive smile. “Well, that’s good to hear,” Noah says, trying to make conversation as he sits at our lunch table. I like Noah. He seems to be a genuine guy who thinks the world of his two best friends. Who doesn’t respect a guy who can put up with two polar opposite girls at the same time? Ever since the time we all hung out in Faith and Mia’s living room, he and I have had a new mutual respect for one another. One that I am certain will grow into a wonderful friendship. Which is refreshing since I really only have Faith. Being the popular guy comes with a lot of things, one of them being lots of acquaintances but no
The arcade is bustling and the sounds of the games surrounding me remind me just how alive and vibrant this place is. I sit at one of the tables towards the back with a now cold pepperoni pizza as I watch everyone move around me. A young girl is crying because she lost the game while her older brother chuckles and tries to console her. The boy to the left sits at the table drinking his soda while being engrossed in some random comic strip in his hand. I look to the center of the store and I swear I can see her. Standing there in front of a young boy who looks just like me. I blink back the burn of tears, letting the memory play itself out before me as if it’s a movie of my life. “Oh, my sweet little Izzy. I promise the machines are clean,” she assures me with a sweet smile. & year old me just smiles in excitement. “Shouldn’t I be at school?” ten-year-old me asked her. “Not today. Today we are celebrating yo
*Faith POV* The car idles as I sit and stare at the garage door. A stray tear slowly weaves its way down my cheek as I swipe at it furiously. I hate feeling like this. My therapist keeps telling me that healing is a process and even when I ‘heal’ I’ll still have moments when I’m not ok. And today I’m not ok. I feel emotionally drained, and all I want to do is sleep for days. I hate these scars that make me feel so ugly and imperfect. I have done so well compartmentalizing all my shit so I could help and be there for Cameron. And it felt amazing to do that. I regret nothing. But now I’m being bowled over by my own insecurities and internal pain and I feel so alone. I have people I can call who would be here in a moment for me. But I feel terrible for bothering them with my sob stories. Mia called me the moment I left Cameron his food to ask if we could reschedule our girls-only night. Of course, I said yes. She is in love and happy