Chapter 31
Sable
The key slips from my fingers and back into the ripped duffel bag as I quietly shut the front door behind me. I can’t bring myself to take more than a few steps from the entrance before letting the bag fall from my slumped shoulder and drop to the floor.
I’m too tired to even kick it out of the way.
My back hurts. My feet are on fire. My shoulders are aching. The muscles in my forearms refuse to comply.
The stench of grease, self-loathing, and exhaustion sticks to my skin and every follicle of my hair. No matter how many times I shower, the stench from pulling doubles at the fast-food joint down the road will always win.
Having a customer throw a burger right at my face doesn’t help.
Ella’s going in for another scan next week, and we haven’t got enough to cover this week’s insurance bill after all the tests she had to do last month. Picking up more hours on top of the ones I’ve been doing at Latitude Net is the only way we’ll be able to afford to eat.
My entire body protests as I drag myself into the kitchen. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this before my heart gives out from the stress, but I’ll keep going until the day it does. I’d rather my sister be well, happy, and alive, so I’ll keep the bitching to myself.
I turn on the light and go through the motions of preparing food for tomorrow. I’ve got another long day ahead of me, and sometimes Ella is too tired to cook for herself, and I know Megan is too busy tomorrow to check on her, so I’ll need to have everything set up ahead of time.
My heart drops lower the longer I spend moving between the cupboard and the fridge, trying to scrounge enough to pull a meal together. We’re overdue for another trip to the grocery store, but I don’t have the finances or the time to go for another two days.
Maybe I could ask my boss to give me part of my pay early, and I can run to the store during my break?
No, that’s not going to work either. The car is out of gas, and I won’t make it back in time if I have to take the bus.
I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
I pack the ready-made meals into the fridge then open the drawer to set up Ella’s medication for the rest of the week.
My heart stops beating as I stare at the pill container sitting at the top of the pile—the container that’s divided into days and separated by breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
It’s Saturday, the last day the container holds. Yet over half of the container slots still have pills in it.
The last time she took her medication was on Tuesday.
Fucking Tuesday.
I’ve been busting my ass and stressing over money for Ella’s medical bills, and she doesn’t even take the medication I took time off work to pick up.
That same rage I felt whenever I was a kid comes boiling back up. Me, being punished for existing and twisting my life up, while everyone all but kisses Ella’s feet just for existing.
Ella—faultless, perfect, can-do-no-wrong Ella.
The Ella I spent the first few years of my life hating because I thought she was always looking down her nose at me. Because our parents made me clean up after her and take the blame for things she did, even if she owned up to them.
It’s like she’s throwing it in my face and making me pay for something she’s done, when I’m just trying to help her.
Doesn’t she fucking realize that these pills are the only reason she’s still alive? She’s the only family I have, and I’ll be damned if I let cancer take her from me.
“Ella!” I storm across the apartment and throw open her bedroom door without knocking.
I can’t bring myself to care that she was fast asleep when I hit the lights. She jolts, rubbing her eyes as she tries to push herself up onto her elbow.
“Sable?” My name comes out as a cracked whisper.
My rampage stalls when I take in the dark blue hollows under her eyes and the gaunt curve of her cheeks—an unnatural contrast to her puffy eyes, which are creased like she’s in pain. There’s almost a yellowish tinge to her face and scalp that must be coming from the light.
Seeing her so… corpse-like only renews the flames blazing within me. She looks worse, and only one reason comes to mind.
What’s the bet she’s slowly started looking like this since Wednesday? I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t seen her in days. She’s always been sleeping whenever I’ve checked in.
“Explain this,” I sneer, holding up the pill container.
It takes her a while to react, and when she finally answers, her voice is groggy. “I’m making the medication last longer.”
“Excuse me?”
She pulled this shit years ago when she wasn’t that sick. Ella argued it was to save money, but ultimately, the conversation ended with her taking it and apologizing for freaking me out.
“They aren’t helping anyway.” She shrugs, leaning back against the pillows like she’s already made up her mind.
“Aren’t—” I run my hand down my face and try to take a deep breath. I feel like I’m about to fucking explode.
Ella is the only thing I have, and the only thing in this world that gives me meaning.
And to have her just… give up and die without telling me?
To let me keep working myself to the bone while she suffers in silence?
Did she ever intend on telling me her plan, or was she just hoping I’d come home to find her dead?
I know I should be sad and brokenhearted and approaching this with a lighter touch, but all I feel is rage.
“I just worked my third sixteen-hour shift this week. So I’m going to ask you again to explain why it looks like you haven’t taken your medication in four days.”
She sighs, watching me with eyes full of guilt and pity.
Pity? She pities me? After—after everything I’ve been through? That we’ve been through? My hands curl at my sides.
“You can’t force me to take medication, Sable.”
Wrong answer.
I just blow.
“Then what the fuck was the point of this shit?” I yell, throwing the pill container onto her bed.
“God, why are you always so fucking selfish? What? You think you’re so perfect because our family has always put you on a golden pedestal?
Well, guess what? You’re not. No one is here to blow smoke up your ass anymore. ”
“Sable—”
I can’t stand the sight of her tears, but I still don’t stop. Everything is pouring out, and I can’t put the lid back on. My mouth keeps moving even though my brain isn’t in on the conversation—even though I don’t really mean any of it. I’m just angry and bitter and need an outlet.
“You’re a spoiled brat who thinks you can do whatever the fuck you want without any repercussions. But you know what? Maybe if you were dead, I wouldn’t be fucking killing myself anymore.”
I hear her sob, but I don’t see it. I storm back to the kitchen and pull out the medication drawer, returning to Ella’s room and dumping the entire contents onto the bed. Pill bottles roll onto the floor, and the strips crinkle as they hit the duvet.
My heart is bleeding. I know it is. Just like I can feel Ella’s heart bleeding too—see it as if crimson is oozing through the thick material of her favorite sweater.
But I can’t think through the red haze. It’s taken over. I throw the empty drawer onto the rug and wave a hand at the medication I pull doubles just to afford.
“If you don’t want to care, then fine, I won’t either.” I walk back to the door, pretending I can’t hear Ella’s sobs. I can barely breathe through my anger. “Take the medication. Or don’t. Either way, I’m just wasting my fucking time.”
Then I slam the door behind me.
I barely get any sleep despite the exhaustion. It’s a night spent tossing and turning beneath thin blankets in a cold room with a heater I don’t dare turn on.
There’s no realm of possibility that I’d have the luxury of sleep after all the shit I said.
I deserve to feel like utter crap. Probably worse because what came out of my mouth was truly unforgivable, and I was the definition of inconsiderate.
Whatever I’m going through is absolutely nothing compared to what she is.
The bad week I had wasn’t an excuse for my behavior.
I’ve always had trouble with lashing out. I thought I was better now that I’m not living under the same roof as my parents, but I guess I’m not actually healed.
Sighing, I kick the covers off my legs and slowly pull myself to the edge of the bed. I need to apologize and clear the air. It’s already bad enough that I didn’t say sorry straight away.
My sister has a tender heart, so I know she wouldn’t have taken it too well.
The old apartment floors groan beneath my weight as I creep to her bedroom. She’s usually still asleep at this time, but I don’t want her to spend the entire day thinking that I hate her, since I’ll be at work by the time she wakes up.
I rap my knuckle against the door. “Ella? Are you up?” Taking a deep breath, I push my ego to the side.
I’ve never been very good at apologizing.
“Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did.
I… I didn’t mean it. I was just tired and grumpy and I wasn’t thinking straight.
” Silence. My gut churns. “Ella, I’m… Can I come in? ”
Slowly, I push the door open and lean against the frame, waiting for her to respond. The dull light of the early dawn trickles in from behind the curtains. It’s still too dark to see more than just the outline of her body beneath the blankets.
“Ella?” I say, and step forward when she doesn’t react.
Nothing.
Something dark twists in my stomach as I cautiously take another step.
“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I really didn’t mean it.”
My heart pounds against my chest when I don’t get so much as a hum of disagreement. My foot catches on something, and it skitters out of the way as I lower myself to the edge of the bed.
I blink against the darkness, willing my vision to adjust. My body trembles as I reach for a shoulder. She’s stiff beneath my touch, and when I nudge her, her entire body seems to move.
Panic rakes its claws down my back. “Ella—Ella, wake up.” My pulse roars in my ears as I pat her cheek.
Still nothing.
Heat pricks my eyes, and I use everything in me to shake her. “No, no, no. Ella, come on. This isn’t fucking funny.”
I stop. Wait.
Wait for what feels like an eternity for any semblance of a reaction. The huff of her breath. The twitch of a muscle. For her to jump up and say, “Got you,” like I did to her when we were kids.
She gives me nothing.
The tears stream down my face as I keep repeating her name, shaking her, slapping her cheek like it might give me what I want.
I hit the light switch. Staring back at me is yellowish-green skin, a line of foam and bile trailing from blue lips.
And for the first time, I notice the sound.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My eyes slowly track down her arms to the bottles of medication lying over her blankets and the pill container I threw that’s now teetering near the edge of the bed.
Empty. Weeks of supply gone.
“Ella.”
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And she’s still dead.