Chapter 4 #2
“Hey, you’re all right. Mo, can you hear me?” Her screeching and howling continues, but it’s normal when she goes into what I call an “episode”, where she gets overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to handle her emotions and they just get the best of her.
I still remember the very first time it happened…
the way it scared the living shit out of me.
I’d never been more terrified that I’d hurt someone in my life, but the staff all assured me it was normal with her diagnosis and one of those symptoms that just comes in random bursts for seemingly no reason at all.
When she doesn’t answer, I reach forward and press the button on the necklace around her neck to alert the staff. “Morana?” I try again, this time placing a hand on her shoulder. She yelps and jerks, and I pull away, biting back a sigh. I should’ve known.
I was stupid.
I know short-term memory shit is a trigger for her. She’s aware she doesn’t have the best short-term memory, so when she can’t remember something, it sends her into an angry panic. And I just… forgot.
Because my mind is a jumbled mess and it’s filled with him.
Fuck.
“What’s going on, Abel?”
“I… fuck,” I mutter and push to my feet, yanking my hair back from my face with a huff of hot breath.
“I asked her about yesterday since I wasn’t able to make it.
I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” I look up beneath my lashes, another apology already on my lips, but Maragret and Stella are already leaning down to help Mo, much better at helping her through her episode than me as I stand to the side, watching helplessly.
It takes a long time, and by the time they’ve calmed her, Mo is nearly asleep in her chair as they push her back down the trail toward the building.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Stella offers me a kind smile. “You don’t need to apologize, Abel. You did nothing wrong.”
I wince. “No, I know—”
“Don’t do that,” Margaret cuts in, gentle but firm. “You can’t do that. She doesn’t need blame. She just needs you, and you’re already doing that. We’re all here, and we’re all taking care of her the best we can, right?” She lifts a light brow in question, and I nod in agreement.
“Right.”
“Good. I think she needs a nap. Are you sticking around?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay ‘til after she wakes up. I want to spend more time with her.”
“Brilliant. I can use the company. I’m going to help her lie down.”
“Thank you both.”
“And thank you, Abel.
By the time I’m walking up to my building, it’s dark and cold, and I’m shivering down to my fucking bones.
My teeth clack, and I wrap my arms around myself after unlocking the door to the building and walking through the lobby.
It’s quiet—just past seven o’clock because I decided to stay and have lunch and dinner with Mo after what happened.
I couldn’t leave until visiting hours were over.
But after she woke up, she seemed to be feeling much better, which was a relief.
The rest of the day was beautiful and relaxing.
But now, I’m tired down to my bones, guilt and shame and something I can’t name weighing me down as I trudge up the stairs because the fucking elevator is broke yet again.
My feet are leaden as I take flight after flight until I make it to the third floor with a breath of relief. I walk with legs like Jello until I stumble up to my front door and shove the key into the three locks that adorn it—with two more for extra security on the inside.
Once the door is shut behind me, I lock them all and stomp across the open area to my bed, stripping my clothes as I do, before flopping down onto my mattress with a groan.
What a fucking day it’s been.
I huff out a breath against the blanket, feeling hot air blow back against my face. It heats my flushed skin, and I curl into myself, pushing the blanket deeper into my face, relishing in the warmth—even as I loathe it.
The guilt swarms in my gut like an angry wasps nest that’s been battered over and over with a fucking bat. The buzzing makes me twist and groan, and I ache to ease the pain—but I can’t because I don’t deserve to.
I left Mo. Albeit, it wasn’t my choice, but I still left her.
And then, she went through shit bad enough that—I cut the thought off with a sharp inhale and shoot up in bed, shoving the blanket off. It falls into a heap around my ankles, and I scramble to my dresser where I keep my weed.
The drawer reeks when I open it up—Gorilla Glue is my favorite strain but damn, does the scent linger on everything. I flip the lid on the box I keep everything in and pull out one of my pre-rolled joints and put it to my lips, enjoying the way it sticks to my chapped skin.
The taste already seeps into my skin as I swipe one of my many lighters and head to the balcony.
It’s fucking cold when I slide the door open, but I welcome the frigidity as I drop down into the metal chair and bring the flame to the end of the joint, inhaling deeply until my lungs burn and the dark world around me begins to spin dangerously.
I move to drop the lighter onto the small tabletop beside me, but then, my fingers clamp around it instinctively.
The smooth grooves of plastic bite into the inner flesh of my palms, and the sensation is so familiar yet so foreign, my brows furrow as I stare down at my shadowed hand.
I can’t really make anything out, but I know what’s there.
What I could be doing.
What I know I need but haven’t taken in so, so long.
Those scars have healed without him, and I can’t bring myself to create more without him.
Fucked up and pretty sick, but it’s true, nonetheless.
I never claimed to be anything but.
I drop my head back and breathe in the earthy tang of the weed, filling my lungs with the burn, only coughing a few times when I can’t quite catch my breath.
My head starts to swim deliciously, filling me with warmth and apathy as I stare up at the stars littering the night sky.
The clouds slowly roll in, blocking them from view, and as they do, my grip slowly loosens on the lighter until it eventually clatters to the concrete at my feet, where I let it lie.
Some things are better left that way.
Discarded and forgotten after they’ve slipped from your fingers.