Chapter Twenty Seven
Isaac
Istare out the window. There’s a stillness in the room as if the universe held its breath for what comes next.
The only light that spills into the sterile space is the golden hue from the streetlamps.
It hasn’t been long since the police finally left the hospital.
The day consisted of questions, poking, and prodding.
It went on for hours, and all I can do is think about my girl.
Question after question, and all I could picture was the look on Ronnie’s face as they took her away from me.
Those light grey eyes darkened like storm clouds.
From what I was told, she isn’t too far down the hall, but I haven’t been able to see her.
The distance between us feels foreign now; there’s no way I could get used to this.
Ronnie should be asleep, according to what the cops told me, because she was almost in a catatonic state while they attempted to interview her.
That’s when her mother stepped in, practically telling everyone to fuck off and let Ronnie breathe.
Sleep. I let out a long sigh, my lungs deflating, and still it didn’t feel less heavy.
My girl needs me, and I’m not there for her.
No matter how much I tried to argue with the nurses, they said I need to be here for now.
If only they could see that we didn't want to be separated, we needed to be together.
I open and close my hand, the wound stretching, pain spreading through it.
The door opens, and behind it, my father emerges.
His eyes soften as he brings his trembling hand to his mouth and presses it down on his lips.
Pop's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, highlighting the golden hue of his iris illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. “It’s dark in here,” he utters, with a slow smile as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“You can turn on the lights.”
My father shakes his head, struggling to speak, taking small and hesitant steps towards me.
I straighten out in the hospital bed, my muscles weak from the lack of nutrition.
It feels like I’m holding my breath waiting for his embrace, all the tension in my body seems to evaporate with his presence.
Right now, I’m just a boy waiting to be held by his father.
I open my arms, inviting Pops in for an embrace.
The sigh undoes him, my father's hands dart out, anchoring himself to the end of the bed. Trying hard to maintain his composure, even though his shoulder sag and he’s unsteady even as he stands upright.
For the second time in my life, I see my father cry.
“It’s so…” he choked. “So good to see you, mijo.” Using his right hand, he wipes away the tears as he moves towards me, crashing into me with a solid force.
“I prayed for you… prayed for her. Oh God.” My father sobs into my arms, and I melt into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his tears seep into my skin.
It feels good to be loved. To be hugged.
That basement not only stripped away parts of me, including the most important to me of human contact.
Tears well behind my eyelids, my body trembles as he rocks us.
“I love you, Pops…” I mutter through the tears.
His hand cups the back of my head, pressing me deeper into him as he shields me from the horrors.
If only he understood that the worst is over.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
We stay like that for what seems like a long time, neither of us pulling away from the desperate comfort of the other.
All I do is weather the storm as my father’s sobs subside, his grip relaxes, and he pulls back, keeping his hands on my shoulders.
His eyes meet mine, and I see the echo of my own fear mirrored there.
“I love you so much more, mijo,” he says before he presses our foreheads together.
“I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to tell you that again.
So scared.” His voice breaks, and with it, my restraint that holds back more unshed tears building in my eyes.
“I’m right here, old man,” I say with a smirk, trying to act like I just got back from a long trip and not from that basement.
I slump against the bed when Father plops down on the sofa seat beside me.
His gaze lingers on me, a vigilant father inspecting his child, looking for any visible wounds, not knowing mine are all internal.
I’m bleeding right in front of him, and he can’t even see it.
Clearing my throat, I ask the only question that’s burning in my mind.
And he is the only one who would tell me the truth without diluting it to make me feel better
“We should talk.” My father takes hesitant steps forward, while I take the same amount in the opposite direction.
My body quakes, anger oozing from every part of my being.
Then there’s a deep ache that settles right in the middle of my chest, making it hard for me to breathe.
To reconcile the fact that my father is marrying the mother of the girl I love.
“You can’t do this to me…” I sob, pointing an accusatory finger at his wave.
“You can’t. What about Mom? Don’t you love her? ”
He lets out a shaky breath, wincing as each word lands like a heavy blow. “I will always love her… But she’s gone.” His words twist the knife deeper, just as the look of complete agony takes hold of his features. “I thought it was a child-like crush, something fleeting… “
Fleeting… No. There’s no fucking way he thought that. There’s no way he couldn’t see the love that practically beams like a light every time Ronnie’s around me. My anger reaches its boiling point, and rage spills from the pit of my soul. “I love her…”
“I’m sorry…”
That was the first time I used my fist as a way to convey the words I couldn’t say. How dare you? How could you? I hate you…
The smell of antiseptic drags me backward before I have a chance to stop it. I blink away the memory, my gaze landing on my old man, who watches me silently, trying to decipher what I’m thinking. I don’t acknowledge his silent question... I ask one of my own. “How is she?”
He takes a deep breath in and replies, “Sleeping.”
The sting radiating from my palm pulls my attention away and lands on the bandage around my hand. Remembering the wild and feral thrashes of Ronnie’s body, he broke her, and I'm not the one there consoling her. Holding her up while she collects the pieces.
“She’s not doing too well… Marina had to step in.
” He pinches the bridge of his nose, his nostrils flaring as he continues.
His voice is low and pained. “I’ve never seen Ronnie that way.
So out of it before morphing into something feral.
Like an animal ready to attack.” He looks towards the window that shows us the night sky and busy streets.
“That woman is still alive,” he says, running his hand down his face, the muscle in his jaw visibly tense even through the dark.
“Good,” I murmur. “Someone needs to pay.”
He nods in agreement, bringing his hand to mine and squeezing it.
The cops filled me in on what happened while I was busy with Ronnie.
Priscilla managed to call the cops before she tried to kill herself.
Unfortunately for her, she’s alive. Good thing the police and paramedics arrived when they did, so she can pay for everything that happened.
Silence stretches between us, comfortable and welcoming.
I follow his gaze and take a long look at the night sky.
It's the little things you miss… Being deprived of them for weeks and having the uncertainty that you might not live long enough to enjoy them again really puts things into perspective.
My father's eyes are on me. I don't look away from the window, but I can feel them.
“How’s Nix?” I ask, my voice slightly shaky.
“Home. She wanted to come, but with everything going on, we didn’t think it was a good idea.”
I nod.
He’s right, she shouldn’t see us this way right now. My father clears his throat, opening his mouth to speak before his lips thin into a straight line. I can practically feel his question burning through the quiet. “You can ask me anything…”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” my dad asks, causing me to look his way.
I open my mouth to speak, but the words die in my mouth…
nothing comes out, and I lean back. I know I said he could, I just didn’t consider that I might be the one not ready to talk.
To be quite frank, I didn’t want to. Not when everything inside me aches to be near my girl.
My eyes shift to the door, desperate to seek her out.
To see her. Not having her beside me and out of sight feels wrong.
She needs me. And I need her. After a moment of contemplation, I offer him the simple truth. “I’m not ready for that, Pops.”
He nods, his eyes full of understanding. I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if Max knows that we've been found. If he’s there with her now, once again trying to take her from me. “Is he here?” I ask, breaking the silence. My dad is silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next.
“Who?”
“Max… Does he know?” My questions stun him, not sure why.
I’m sure by now, people can connect the dots as to what happened.
He already knows how I feel, so I don’t understand the shock.
He clears his throat before replying, “She’s back where she belongs.
Mijo, whatever happened down there, let it stay there. ”
“Let it stay there. Really?” I scoff, rolling my eyes at his words. If only I could erase what happened, what we endured… the fact that she’s currently pregnant with my child. “You have. No. Idea.”