CHAPTER 47 #3
As the paramedics wheel Finn out, Mateo and I follow and watch them load him into the ambulance.
When they take off, I pull out my phone, my hands trembling so badly that I misdial and have to start over.
When I manage to get it to work, I call Raven.
It goes straight to voicemail. So I dial Roxy and tell her what’s going on and that I need Bodie’s number.
She gives it to me and tells me she’ll keep trying to reach Raven.
It rings three times before he picks up.
“Yeah?” Bodie’s voice is thick with sleep.
No time for pleasantries, I say, “Bodie, it’s Lily. Finn… he’s in bad shape. Mateo found him passed out, and the EMTs just took him to the hospital. We’re heading there now… to Presbyterian. Can you get there?”
His voice sharpens and quickly becomes alert. “Yeah, of course. Is he… okay?”
“I don’t know. I think so, but… it was… he was bleeding pretty badly.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I hang up and immediately call Raven, but it goes straight to voicemail again, so I leave her a message. “Raven, it’s Lily. Finn is being taken to Presbyterian Hospital. I’m heading there now with Mateo. Call me as soon as you get this.”
The memory of what I saw earlier—his body sprawled out, I can’t shake it from my mind. Focus.
Needing to do something more than stand here before the panic completely takes over, I tell myself I need to pack a bag for him.
He’ll need clothes, toiletries… anything that’ll make him comfortable once he’s conscious.
If he wakes up . No, fuck that. He’s going to wake up.
He has to. I swallow hard, pushing the negative thoughts away.
We reenter the apartment and go back into Finn’s room. This time it’s the walls that stop me cold.
Papers are plastered everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling.
Words are written in the areas of the wall I can see, and strings are tying one thing to the next like a web.
There are images, drawings, messy handwriting, fragments of thoughts, journal pages, magazine cuttings, and newspaper clippings.
I scan the walls in a state of disbelief. My hand covers my lower face as I move around and take it all in.
These are things I recognize: memories, conversations, places, people, or moments of my life. To anyone else, they would be seemingly random, but they’re all pieces of me.
The highlighted words… they’re what gut me the most. Little fragments of another time and place, snippets of conversations we had all those years ago.
Pieces of that shared history he’s found and held on to.
It’s pretty damn obvious he’s been desperate to keep track of everything, even the most minor details.
But some of this is also new, like he’s been collecting tidbits about me and adding them to the wall.
Finn’s handwriting is messy but recognizable. I read a few of the notes. Where’d you go just now? Get back, you’re too close to the edge. I thought you’d like something to read to pass the time. It’s just a cat. I promise. I promise. I promise
Each one brings up a brutally painful memory because these are also things and conversations I haven’t been able to let go of.
It’s chaotic, overwhelming, and obsessive. A little mad and insane. And it breaks my fucking heart, because this was Finn trying to find me.
Tears fall. I swipe them away, but more take their place.
“Is… is it you?” Mateo’s voice is soft, hesitant. He comes forward and stands next to me, his expression laced with worry.
I don’t have it in me to deny it anymore. Not after seeing this. I nod stiffly, my throat all but closed up. “Yeah,” I whisper.
The emotions bubbling to the surface are overwhelming. I surrender fully to them because there’s no other option when I see the utter devastation I’ve wrought. God, Finn. I wipe at my face over and over.
When I can pull myself together, I ask Mateo, “Why does he highlight them in different colors?”
“He color codes them. Best I can tell, green for his Army days, blue for stuff with his dad, and pink for you.”
I nod in understanding.
“And purple?”
“He says it’s Puff the Magic Dragon shit. Like stuff he doesn’t think it real.”
A half-sob, half-laugh bursts out of me because that, too, is a memory. A movie I forced him to watch because, as a child, it had been my favorite.
In a way, it’s as if I’m invading Finn’s private thoughts, but at the same time, these are all our moments. He always shared his journals with me, never hiding anything, never lying or keeping secrets. He was an open book, and it looks like he still is.
When we eventually get a bag packed and leave the apartment, I tell Mateo I only live a few houses away. He gives me an odd look. I don’t respond to or acknowledge it.
I’m not in the headspace to explain the fuckedupness of me or my life.
As we drive to the hospital, Mateo stares out the window, his shoulders tense. His jaw muscle keeps flexing as if he’s fighting his own mental battles. The hand, fisted on his thigh, is bone-white.
I glance over at him, worry gnawing at me. I want to say something, anything, to comfort him. But I don’t know what to say. How do I explain what he saw? How do I tell him that the man he thought he knew is still there underneath the pain, just flawed, like us all?
I reach over and gently squeeze his hand. His only response is to not pull away. And it’s enough.