12
CLARITY
There was a point in my life when I realized my mom chose pills over me.
And it was when she left me alone in the house for an entire week at the age of twelve. Each day that passed, I lost more and more hope that she would return to me. She had. Eventually.
I love my mom—I love her to death—but I hate the way she chooses to live her life.
She was in my life physically but never mentally.
I watched as she transformed from the happy and healthy woman who would watch Christmas movies with me and Dad in the living room to a skinnier, sadder version of herself. Her cheeks sank in, her back arched, and she was never energized to do anything. I once watched from the top of my staircase as she sat on the living room couch, inhaling that white dust off the table. The dust made her nod off and act strange for hours like she wasn’t alive—like she was a zombie.
It's been about half a year since the first time I asked her to stop taking the stuff that makes her sick.
She didn't listen. Instead, she got angry that I even considered it for her.
"I miss the old you!" I dare yell at her, tears swelling my eyes as I watch her thread her fingers through her knotted head of hair. "Why am I not enough?" I question. "That stuff you take is bad for you, and you do it anyway. Why would you rather poison yourself than be here with me? I need you here , Mom!"
That's the last thing I remember saying before the back of her hand came down on my cheek.
It was the first time she ever hit me.
After that, everything was blurry: her yelling, screaming, and throwing clothes out of my closet towards my feet. The next thing I knew, Jonah was taking me in, which is why I feel like I'm in debt to him all the time.
I thought she would get better someday. Recover, maybe.
But as I now exit Olias’ car, which his friend Michael picked me up in, red and white lights illuminate the dark street, and a bed is being rolled out of my mother's house towards it; I don't think that recovery will ever be possible.
Hot tears flood my eyes instantly as the EMT people quickly race around her, pumping air into her mouth.
My eyes burn at the sight. Cold rain meets my face and mixes with my tears.
I start to run. "Mom?"
This can't be her end. I won't accept it. She can't be gone. She hasn't gotten better yet; she has to get better so I can tell her about Olias. So I can tell her I finally made an incredible friend.
She always tried to push me to make friends when she was healthy, although I've never been a social butterfly.
Getting to her rolling bed, I freeze when I see her pale, wet-looking face, then gasp. My jaw drops open as my heart seems to be scooped out of my chest.
That's my mom?
"Ma'am! You need to step away while we get her help," An EMT woman says quickly.
I shake my head as her hands come to my shoulders to keep me back. "No! I want to be with Mom. She's fine! She's perfectly fine—" my voice breaks off.
A finger grips my belt loop, and I get pulled around to see Olias standing before me. Water drips from his hair, and his eyes are narrow—sad, shadowed under his intense browbones. His hand cups the back of my head.
"Clarity, I'm sorry," he says in a hushed voice, bringing my head to his wet clothes. "I'm so sorry."
I begin to sob as I find enough strength to pull away from him and then push at his chest. My eyes meet his face and the hair stuck to his forehead.
"Why were you here, Olias?” I cry.
He tries to find the words to say but is left looking around apologetically. His head drops.
“Why didn't you listen to me?" The ambulance siren and raindrops hitting the ground bounced off the walls in my head and my heartbeat from my ears. "You broke our pinky promise," my voice wavers.
His jaw tenses. "I thought this was the right thing. I couldn't just sit and do nothing after knowing what he did," he says. "Jonah doesn't deserve you, Clarity."
"This isn't about Jonah. This is about my mom, Olias!" I can taste the salty tears at the corner of my mouth. Or is it the rain? I can’t tell. My heart feels like it's going the speed of a jackhammer.
Right now, I want to break his freaking pinky. But I won't because then I'd feel even more terrible. Right now, I want something—someone—to be mad at.
I would’ve rather had anyone but him find her, to see that part of me that I want nobody to see. Invading my life when I told him to back off.
"If you would've just listened to me, you wouldn't have had to find her like that." If there's anyone that I wanted my mom to meet more, it's Olias. Her being an addict—being dead. Wasn’t the first impression I wanted him to have of her.
I look behind Olias at all his friends standing with their hands in their pockets, quietly watching the chaos on the sidelines.
Embarrassment floods over me, drowning me in what feels like the deepest parts of the ocean.
Olias' brows knit together, his jaw tensing. "I don’t understand. Shouldn't you be happy that I found her—" A soft gasp fills my lungs at his words. They came out so fast before he cut them off.
Happy?
I’m everything but happy right now. I’m grateful he found her because maybe she can be saved, but I am not happy. Happy is miles away from here, somewhere I haven’t been in ages. Nothing about him finding her like that makes me happy . And he should know that.
While I thought he’d be comforting, caring, or maybe even regretful, he’s not.
My bottom lip begins to tremble as I step back from the person who is clearly not who I thought he was.
"That wasn't very nice," I whisper, hearing the sirens of the ambulance decrease in volume as it rides down the road, probably to the nearest hospital in the area. “Do you want me to thank you for finding my drugged-up mother, hm? I’m so thankful you had to see it all—so glad your friends got front-row seats, too. Or should I thank you for not listening to me—for lying to me? Well, thanks. Thanks a lot ,” I laugh, but the humor in my voice is long gone.
Olias closes his eyes for a moment, his shoulders softening as he goes to reach for me.
I recoil away from him.
Hurt shatters across his expression.
"Clare, I didn't mean it to sound like that," he says. "You have to believe me."
I drop my head in disappointment and wipe my continuous streams of tears, disregarding his apology.
I am too drained to speak, and my words come out unevenly, "Can you just drive me to my mom?"
I'm not sure if she really is… gone or not. But I choose to assume she's not. She can't be.
I look back at Olias, a crooked frown twisting his pretty face. His dark, wet hair nearly covers his eyes. The water droplets that adventure down his face meet at the tip of his perfect chin before dripping onto his jacket.
He sighs deeply through his nose before nodding. "Yeah, whatever you need."
I walk to his car behind him as he talks to his friends, probably to say bye.
Once in the passenger seat, I see the guys walking away down the street as Olias walks towards me. The three turn their heads back, and all wave goodbye to me with sympathetic smiles.
I manage to smile thinly to acknowledge them before dropping it.
Those are nice friends.
Olias steps into the car, turning the heater on.
He leans between the seats, grabs a large black zip-up sweater, and hands it to me. "Here, you're not wearing a coat, and it's freezing." I haven't realized that my body is practically vibrating from the cold.
But instead, I shake my head. "I'm not cold." I want to be angry at him.I am angry at him. I can’t accept gestures of kindness; it’s all an act, and I know it. I know it from Jonah.
"You are," he says. "You're just mad at what I said, and I'm sorry. It came out shitty."
I blink at him, my head tilted.
He apologizes so easily, so sincerely. No fighting, no blaming, no anger, no shouting...
Just glistening, regret-filled eyes staring back at me.
He nudges the sweater against my arm with questioning eyebrows raised.
My hands find themselves around the sweater, and seconds later, its warm material is wrapped around me, the coconut scent taking over my lungs.
***
The car ride to the hospital was silent. Raindrops hitting the car were the only sounds filling the space.
The waiting room, where the TV in the corner plays SpongeBob, has become my only distraction from my mom's current situation. Olias sits in the chair beside me, his shoulder becoming my personal headrest for three hours straight.
I thought I calmed down. And for a moment, I had.
But my heart begins to hammer at my chest as the doctor approaches us.
He's a bald, dark-skinned man with a defined mustache. His face is stripped of all emotion as he walks with papers in his hand. He sort of looks like Steve Harvey, though his name tag reads Dr. Johnson.
I suck in my breath of anticipation, and I feel Olias’ presence beside me, causing a sense of reassurance flooding through me, like having him near is all I need to not feel alone during all this chaos.
Dr. Johnson stops in front of me and sighs. "Mrs. Red is breathing—"
An auditable sigh of relief leaves my throat.
"Did you hear that?!" I turn to Olias with a grin on my face and grip his elbow—
"Ms. Red, I'm afraid to tell you this, but she has also gone into a coma. For how long is unknown at the moment. If she were called in just a few minutes later, she'd have passed away from lack of oxygen to the brain."
My smile drops as I process his words. " What ?"
I heard him clear as day. But pretending I didn't sounds like the better option. Maybe he didn't say anything. Maybe I hallucinated it.
"I'm sorry," he says again, trashing my thoughts.
A coma? I don't know anyone who's been in an actual coma before. I've mostly seen them on TV, and more times than not, it never ends well. I press my palms on my cheek, but there are no tears. They must've run out.
My voice is hesitant as I point to the door behind the doctor's office. "Is it? Can I see her?"
"Of course." He turns to Olias, who stands tensely at my side. "Though, only family can enter."
Family only? That rule is stupid. I want Olias to come with me. I can't face her, not even if she's not conscious, without him at my side.Since the car ride, he’s been determined to prove to me that he’s sorry and how much he cares. If there is anyone who I would want at my side, it’s him.
"But—"
"I'm her fiance," Olias' low voice interrupts.
My eyes widen, and my head snaps back to look at him. My cheeks begin to burn. Did he just...
He's staring at the doctor, snaking an arm around my waist to pull me closer.
The doctor nods. "Very Well." Then he tells us my mom's room number while my mind replays what Olias said. I know he’s just lying for the sake of following me inside. Still, with his fingers intertwined with mine, a thumb rubbing against the back of my hand, and his fake words replaying in my mind, it makes the lowest parts of my belly twist just for a moment before my attention turns away from it.
As we walk down the hall, Olias drops his hand from mine, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, feeling cold now without his presence attached to me. He doesn't seem different after calling himself my fiancé. Maybe I’m overthinking it like a crazy person.
"Clare, right here," Olias stops me by the arm in front of room 203. The room the doctor said my mom was in.
I take a deep breath and nod. I can do this.
Turning the knob, I walk in to hear the steady beep of a monitor machine. The walls are whiter than snow, bare and cold-looking. Plain, like a prison cell. Why don't they make adult rooms look as welcoming as children's rooms?
In the center of the room, my mom lays in the bed, tubes going through her nose and wires connected to her arm. I saunter towards her, noticing a slight color has come back in her face, but yet she's sleeping, unconscious, unaware that her daughter is standing right in front of her.
I want to cry. I feel like I should be crying. But I can't. I can't seem to cry for her.
My hand rises and lowers down on her still arm, cold and bruised with marks.
"Mom," I whisper, shaking her arm. She doesn't twitch or move despite the faint rise and fall of her chest; that's the only indication that she truly is still alive. I hate seeing her like this. And as terrible as I know it is, I feel more disappointed that she let herself get this bad than relieved that my mother is alive.
I feel Olias hand touch mine, and I’m startled, jerking away like electricity traveled through my body.
"Do you need anything? Water?" he questions.
My gaze shifts from him to my mom, then back to him before I nod. "Yeah. Can we…I need you to distract me." I don't want to think about Mom anymore, I don't want to be sad, and I don't want to be punished. I just need a break from it all—the hurt, the constant heart-wrenching worry scaling from Jonah to my mom, and even my job fit into it all.
His eyebrows knit together, his head twitching sideways. His jaw flexes before he speaks, "Distract you... how?"
"By leaving. Somewhere, anywhere," I clarify. Even though I thought I was pretty clear that that’s what I meant by distracting me. I guess I wasn't.
A long sigh leaves him, his tense jaw loosening. He looks down at me with a weird look, and then a tiny smile rises on his lips. There goes that dimple carving into his cheek again. The urge to poke at it eats me alive.
"What's that face?" I ask him, stepping closer.
He shakes his head. "Nothing. But I think I know somewhere we can go to take your mind off things. I think you’ll like it."
My eyebrows raise in curiosity, and I step closer to him. "Where? Tell me."
"Nope," he takes a step back towards the hospital room's exit. "Don't be so impatient, Clare. You have to trust your fake fiancé and wait and see," he smirks the same smirk that seems to make warmth ooze throughout my body. He reaches for my hand.
A flutter goes through my stomach as his fingers thread with mine, my eyes fixed on our hands that seem to fit so perfectly together. They’re big, but they aren't rough. They're long, but they aren't stiff. Soft, smooth, and… safe instead. His hands are nothing like those I've been holding for five years.
I wonder if he's ever gotten a manicure and if he'd ever let me paint his nails. Considering his rather gray persona, I think pink could brighten him up since all he wears is black stuff.
He pulls me along towards the doorway, and I take one last glance behind my shoulder at the hospital bed.
See you soon, Mom.
***
A cool breeze brushes through my hair as Olias opens the roof door of this tall and random building.
I can barely take a glance at the clear night sky above his head, not a cloud in sight.
The car ride here from the hospital wasn't very long, but it was filled with my surplus of questions about where he was taking me. He never answered me, though, even when I tried pretending to be mad at him. He snorted at me, and it made me break my cover with a laugh.
"Olias, for the millionth time, where are you taking me? Is this the part where you reveal to me that you're an axe murderer or something? Is that why you won't say? Would you even tell me if that's the reason if you were?"
He turns around, blocking me from stepping onto the roof. A smile plays on his face as he brings his hands to my shoulders and turns me around so my back presses against his front. I face the dim, very pretty staircase we just walked up.
I’m sure a staircase wasn’t his surprise, though, so My grin is filled with confusion. I grin with anticipation, feeling his head fall beside mine. "You're the weirdest person I know. You know that, right?"
He just called me weird. And I'm not going to even argue with him. I am weird. Just a little.
"If you're starting to regret meeting me, I'm sorry, but it's too late to retract your friend card. Don't worry, though! I grow on people like mold. I'll be your favorite human in no time."
He huffs out a laugh, which I find is rare. His breath fans across my neck, making my eyes flicker. I'm not sure why he's positioned us this way, nor do I really want to change a thing about it. There's something oddly comforting about having him so close.
His lips graze my skin, causing me to gasp. His voice drops an octave as he whispers into my ear, "You're already my favorite human, Clarity."