Chapter 5
Zach
Standing in the open doorway to my house, I flip through the stack of mail, searching desperately for the name I need to see in the top left corner. My heart nearly stops beating as the writing before me comes into focus. There’s something off, though. The name in the left-hand corner doesn’t belong to my sassy peach. It belongs to me. The letters “RTS” are stamped in large, red, bold print across the front of the envelope.
I stare down at the returned letters in perplexity. Skepticism creeps in and takes over all logical thought. Why would she refuse my letters? I’ve written her once a week since she was admitted to Starry North. Four letters sit before me, unopened, taunting me with feelings of unimportance. I wanted to see her with my own eyes to verify my Little Bit was okay. But that place only allowed family visits. I didn’t want her to think I abandoned her, like everyone else in her life has, so I took to writing her.
I rush to the kitchen table to triple-check the address against the printout Mama brought home. I hold the envelope side-by-side with the paper, my eyes scouring every letter and every number, verifying it is indeed correct. When the realization sinks in that maybe she just doesn’t want to hear from me , confusion makes way for rage.
Reflexively, I reach to my right, where Mama has a beautiful arrangement of pink orchids in a delicate, pure white ceramic vase – with intricate blue lines that curve around the clay in peaceful circles– and I hurl the flawless vessel against the fucking wall. Shards of the once piece of perfection litter the ground. I stare at them in irritation, waiting for them to form an answer, much like reading tea leaves in an empty cup. What the hell is happening?
The last time I saw her, she was laid up in a hospital bed with tubes and wires coming and going all over her body. She looked like an attractive version of Dr. Octopus. It would be amusing if it weren’t so terrifying. Savannah’s mama, Mary, was there just as often as I was, in opposite shifts. We passed each other like ships in the night. I let her know if anything of note happened on my watch and vice versa.
One thing that remained the same, day in and day out, was the man pacing the lobby repeatedly. I can see a lot of his daughter in his features. Mr. Johnson is a handsome man. Even if right now he looks ten years older with the stress of the current situation. I asked Mary why he doesn’t ever come into Little Bit’s room and sit with her. She got a real nasty scowl on her face and simply replied, “He’s not welcome.”
She was unconscious most of the time. On the rare occasion she was awake, she didn’t speak much. I’m not family, so attempts to get the doctors to tell me anything were futile. But my eyes work just fine. The bruises that mottled her skin, the blown vein on her forearm, the thick handprint around her neck… They all told a story of unseen horrors. My baby had been through Hell and had the battle scars to prove it.
It was soul-crushing to watch the girl you love writhe in pain. Tossing and turning, always a fitful rest. The mere irony is enough to fuck with even the strongest of minds. But my girl has been struggling more than I ever realized. Over the last two months, I’ve spent most of my time blaming myself for not seeing what was right in front of me. How did I not see her opioid addiction? When I wasn’t blaming myself, I was cursing every god I could name for doing this to her. To me. To us .
I was so enraptured by this enigmatic firecracker that I let myself be blinded to some obvious truths. Some truth Savvy had to drop on me during one of our many phone calls to discuss Charlotte’s condition. It took Mary, me, and my girl during a moment of lucidity to convince her not to throw away her scholarship by dropping everything and coming back here. She could do nothing besides sit like a bump on a log at her bedside, and that title currently belongs to me.
My mama has tried to no avail to get me to come home and just visit every so often so I can focus on getting ready to head to college– well, that’s not fucking happening.
Little Bit and I discussed our college plans a few months ago, but things were different back then; we were different. She wanted to get into the nursing program at Auburn. No way in hell I was going to let us be separated by states like that. I originally planned to attend LSU on a football scholarship, though I don’t need a full ride due to Papaw’s wealth and my dad’s GI bill being available. I still wanted nothing more than to get there on my own with no help from that sad sack.
I hadn’t told her yet, but when Little Bit and I started getting together, I applied to UA– Roll Tide. Their coach had sniffed around a bit when he visited with a scout during one of our last games. I told him I had plans already but thanked him for his interest. He left, telling me that if I ever changed my mind, I should let him know– and I did. After a few weeks of back and forth and some negotiating, I am now part of the Crimson Tide. A three-hour drive is much better than forty-two hundred miles.
I thought my mama was going to tan my hide when I told her not only had I changed schools—even though UA is D1—but also that I’d deferred entrance until the Fall semester, putting me a year behind. Her ire fell away when I tossed my brand new crimson and white jersey, embossed with the number “10” on the chest and back, and MORRIS stitched proudly across the shoulders at her. Boy, she grinned from ear to ear.
I know she means well; her concern is me and my future, but we’re talking about the girl I love. I almost lost her. I have to know she’s okay. I have to be here for her. I would never forgive myself if I left and she took a turn for the worse. Even though we’ve never had an official conversation defining our status, she belongs to me, and I belong to her. She is my girl, my Little Bit.
On one of her more lucid days, she stroked my face and told me she was sorry. For what? I have no idea. Mary told me they were giving her medicine to help her come off of the drugs, and there might be some side effects, but so far, all she does is sleep. After she had slipped back into unconsciousness, I stepped into the hallway to have a more candid conversation with her best friend.
I cleared my throat as I leaned against the dark blue hallway wall, my head tipped back in exhaustion. Bringing the phone back up to my ear, I let out a heavy sigh. “How did this happen, Savvy? How did I miss this? What the fuck was she doin’ with a goddamn drug dealer?” I whisper shouted into the receiver as I glared down the pocked ceiling tiles above me as if they’d personally wronged me.
“Zach,” she breathed out my name in exhaustion. I could picture her sitting cross-legged with her hand holding up her chin. “Charls is very good at only showing someone what she wants them to see. This is not on you. Hell, if anything, it’s on me. I’m her best fucking friend, and I was too busy living it up in Florida, worrying about making new friends, parties, cheer, and which frat guys were fuckable…” Her throat cleared, and I could tell she was fighting off a river of guilt. Guilt that’s not hers to bear, not alone, at least. Silence filled the line as we both sat with shared shame and culpability.
After several moments of silence, she softly spoke, “Did you know she struggles with depression?” She does? I know she’s dealt with some anxiety, and clearly, there was a drug problem, but I had no idea she was depressed. “I swear I’m only talking to you about this because I believe you truly care for her. She would be pissed as all get out at me for putting her business on blast. But I think you need to understand the girl you love, and then maybe you can understand how we got to this point.”
For the next several minutes, Savvy delved into Little Bit’s history. She’d be happy and bubbly one minute, pensive and withdrawn the next.
According to Savvy, this has been happening most of her life. She was medicated at one point but then seemed to be getting better and was taken off the pills. Savvy’s of the mind that she didn’t actually get better; she just became a pro at hiding it.
“There’s more… I don’t know the details because she’d never tell me what actually happened, but I saw…” she choked down a sob and took a deep breath before continuing, “I saw the marks. I saw the bruises. I felt her light being snuffed out as we huddled together on the floor of the shower… He hurt her, Zach. He destroyed her in a way that I don’t know if she’ll be able to come back from.” That last bit came out in barely a whisper .
A tear snakes down my cheek and lands on one of the shards at my feet. I drop to my knees and reach for the delicate, jagged piece, letting it rest heavily in my palm. This little fragment will never be whole again. Even if I gather every single piece and attach them with the utmost care and precision, it will never be the same—just like my Little Bit. The acute comprehension of that fact drives a spike right through my heart.
My hand closes in a tight fist around the pointed wedge, and I scream to the heavens, “Fuckin’ give her back to me! I can’t lose her. Ain’t no way. I’ll help her. I’ll be better. I’ll be whatever she needs. I can fix it…”
My body heaves forward until my forehead is pressed against the cool hardwood. My bloody fist comes up to eye level, and I place the shard gently next to one of its scattered mates, “I can fix it…” I promise tenderly.