32. Chapter 32 #2
Time to go.
"Sunshine," I call her, minding my tone and volume. Afraid I might set her off when she sees me.
I'm not surprised she doesn't respond. Nor does her breathing change. She's deep. Whatever she's dreaming, I hope it's better than what she's gone through the past several days.
Drawing the blanket off her naked shoulder, bare from the hospital gown slipping down, I use the cool air to my advantage and make her stir.
"Sadie, up and at it. It's time to go home."
This room smells like pesticide, cleaning chemicals, and death. It's clinging to her thanks to—well everything—the sweet, sea salty scent that usually lingers on her skin faded too long ago. And the longer we sit in here, the harder it's going to be to get her back.
Delicately, I tiptoe my fingers along her bicep.
Arms that have thrown right hooks at me and put enough force behind her punch to leave me in a daze are now soft and seem thinner than they once were.
Her forearms, though, destroyed with crisscrossing wounds over the pretty flower tattoo she steepled into her skin, now lay as if the ink has glitched.
She's here, alive, but you know when your gut tells you something’s wrong? Angry, clenched, and refusing to relax deep in your belly? Makes you question everything in front of you? That's exactly how this new version of her has me feeling.
Beneath my marching fingers, fine blonde hairs rise to attention like obedient soldiers waiting for their next command. At least part of her is awake.
Daisy is patient, standing by the door with her hands resting on the handlebars of the wheelchair.
It might take me a bit to get Sadie up; she’s locked down tight—protective mode.
If she had the choice, her beautiful eyes would have glazed over and never opened again.
Fortunately, sleep is death without commitment. Relief without guilt.
Dammit, Sunshine.
Giving in, my lips press to her shoulder. If she can't hear me, then her skin will feel my desperate plea. It would benefit Daisy if she found something else to do until we’re ready.
An hour flew by before I got Sadie to wake up and get out of the hospital bed.
Changing her out of the dreadful smelling hospital gown was a slow process, too.
When I first got the truck, I stuffed a duffel bag with a few clothes into the floorboard compartment which I brought up last night.
Inside was a hoodie and a pair of boxers I thought I lost, and now she’s in them. Surrounded by me.
Fucking boxers nearly fell off at first. I had to roll the elastic several times for them to hang onto her hips. Now they’re so short her ass keeps eating the back.
Remind me to stow some of her shit, just in case.
Shoes were a no go, not that Sadie’s doing much walking anyway. Not when Sergeant Daisy was determined to take her down to the truck in the wheelchair. In the end, she was buckled into the front seat with her grippy socks and unpleasant expression.
No doubt she’ll make a smart-assed comment about her souvenir later.
Other than driving, leaving was the easy part.
The truck barely clears the height clearance into the parking garage of her building.
Next to the Civic, I don't think she's driven once, is the spare spot I've commandeered as my own.
Pulling into it, the parking censor beeps in warning as the front bumper gets closer to the wall—my dashboard lighting up with red alerts I willfully ignore.
Gotta cram this big bitch into this small space somehow.
It's unsettling how quiet Sadie is. Though this is day three of silence, she’s never been this quiet. Once I shut the truck off, I suffocate on the dead air.
"You ready to go inside? I can carry you if you need me to."
Silence.
Not bothering to ask again, I slide out and slam the door. Scuffing sounds from the rubber soles of my boots chase away the stillness while on my way to her side of the truck.
With her door open, my arms slide under Sadie’s near-weightless body and lift. My throat closes when a few vertebrae dig into my forearm. She's wasting away. Now that we have the mental health covered, it's time to get the rest of her health as well.
First, as soon as we get inside, I'm cleaning up the remaining blood on her floor.
I don't want her to see what all she did to herself.
She spent days not eating, drinking, or even sleeping; the last thing she needs is to be reminded.
I also need to remove anything that she may use against herself, booby-trap the entire apartment if necessary.
Next, I'm ordering delivery. A full kitchen’s worth of groceries without leaving.
Something I should have done in the first place.
As for my rental, fuck it. I’m not getting more than a door away from her.
Lesson learned. Next time I think about leaving, nail me to the floor because I was dead wrong about walking out the door last time.
Before I settle in, I’ll get food prep out of the way.
She’ll be eating whether she wants to or not.
She's got to get better. She didn't come all this way to give up and let life win when she’s stubborn as an ox.
Our elevator ride up felt longer than usual with its unnatural warm tones and gold accents.
The only comfort I can find is Sadie’s weight and muted string-versions of popular rock songs.
At the edge of awareness, I smell the lavender air fresheners custodians skillfully hid as not to diminish the building's sense of grandeur.
At our floor, the elevator door dings and slides while I move on autopilot.
Her head’s at my shoulder as I close the distance to the front door.
In the pale paint, the black print from my boot slamming into the wood has yet to be wiped off the door.
Seeing it makes me sick. The memory of what I found on the other side…
Compartmentalizing, as Sadie comes first, her keys jingle in my hand first then from the lock when it unlatches and the door swings open. A quiet woosh is followed by a snick as it shuts and assures me it's closed while on my way to the living area.
Sorrow hovers like a black cloud here, unsettled with the faint metallic scent of her blood. To keep my eye on her, I set Sadie on the couch. I jerk the throw blanket off the armrest and toss it over her. It helps mask the remnants of the hospital that won’t come out of her skin.
I ease her onto her side, then crouch down until my old knees fuss. Eye level now, blue eyes I’ve missed far too much stare past me. Warily, I glance back and hope a crazy bitch isn't standing behind me with IV line and a vendetta. A sigh deflates my lungs when I see nothing and focus back on her.
"Sleep, Sunshine. I'll be here when you wake up."
Leaving the softest kiss at her temple, I draw the hood over her chopped hair and let her hide.