Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tori
I’m awoken by the sound of a machine beeping.
I try to move my body, but it feels heavy, and my head feels foggy.
I blink and scan the white room. I try to sit, but something tugs at my hand, and I panic.
I glance down to see wires coming out of the back of my hand that lead up to a bag of fluid that hangs above me, and it takes me a second to realize where I am.
“Thank God you’re awake.” My head moves slowly round to see my twin, Harry, sitting beside the bed, dark circles under his eyes, and a deep worry line pitted in the center of his forehead. He rubs a hand over his buzz cut hair and exhales, letting his head fall into his hands.
“Harry, what…” is all I manage; my mouth and throat feel like they have swallowed cotton balls.
He lifts his head, reaching for a cup of water and brings it to my lips, cradling the back of my head with his free hand and letting me take small sips.
The ice-cold water brings brief relief. He places the cup back on the table that hangs over the foot of my bed, and he takes my hand that isn’t connected to the IV.
“Why, Tori? Why did you do that?” I stare into his blue eyes that are identical to mine and try to search for the answer. I don’t know why because I don’t know what I did.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice sounding groggy, my throat sore.
He clears his throat and squeezes my hand a little firmer.
“You… you took an overdose.”
My eyes widen and lock with Harry’s, bile burns my throat and I fight to keep it down. He’s lying. I try and process what he’s saying. I wouldn’t, I didn’t, did I?
“I didn’t, I—”
He cuts me off with a bite to his tone. “I found the empty bottle, Tor. I found you slumped on the couch.” The anguish in his tone and the dark circles and worry lines around my twin’s usually fresh face have my own lip trembling and tears prick my eyes.
I feel like the most selfish person in the world for causing this pain.
“I, I thought you were dead, you were barely breathing. I got you in the shower. I tried to get those pills out of you. I tried to wake you, I, I…” His voice breaks, and his forehead falls to the hand he’s clutching, and my heart shatters as I remember.
“I didn’t want to die, Harry. I just wanted the noise to stop and the pain to go away. I didn’t mean to—”
He cuts me off again, his angry words slicing me deep as he spits them out.
“Didn’t mean to take all those pills, didn’t mean to slip into unconsciousness, so they had to pump your stomach, didn’t mean it, Victoria?
What the hell did you think was going to happen when you took those fucking pills?
” His voice grows louder with every word, the guilt over what I’ve done begins to eat me alive.
"I’m so sorry,” I stutter.
His face softens, and moves to sit on the bed beside me, cradling me in his arms.
“I’m sorry for yelling. I thought I’d lost you, Tor.
I can’t lose you, never you,” he confesses as he holds me and rocks me just like he did when we were kids, when I’d creep into his room in the middle of the night when I had a bad dream or when there was a thunderstorm.
I never went to my parents. I always went to Harry.
He has always been my protector—at school, in life, he’s always had my back.
Wherever Harry went, I followed. When he joined the military, it felt like I’d lost a limb.
I had to learn to cope without him, and clearly, I’ve failed.
“I lost the baby.” Admitting that out loud for the first time forms a pain that slices through me.
I didn’t want to tell Harry until he returned home, so every time he called to check in, I lied.
I put on a brave face, made my voice sound light and cheerful, and pretended I was coping, when the reality was, I was drowning.
‘I know. Mom told me after I found you. You should have told me. I’d have tried to get back home.”
“I know you would have, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. You can’t keep saving me, Harry.”
“Victoria May Walker, I am your big brother, and I will keep saving you until there’s no air left in my lungs. That’s my job, got it?”
His words warm me, and I let out the faintest giggle at the use of my full name. The first giggle and emotion I have felt in months.
“You are stronger than you think. You can do this, and you don’t need a bottle of pills to do it.”
“What if I’m not?” I confess quietly. “What if I never recover from this?”
“You will, because you’ve got me, and so many others that love you.”
I grip my brother tighter. “I’ve missed you so much,” I admit.
“I’ve missed you too. Just promise me you’ll never do that again, okay?”
“I promise,” I say.
He raises his hand and makes a fist, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“Promise?” He says it more like a question. I lift my hand to make a fist and bump his.
“Promise.”
When we were kids, to seal a promise or a deal, we would fist pump and then make an explosion sound, and the memory of it brings a small smile to my face because even though the pain of losing Trent and our baby is more painful than I could ever imagine, knowing I have support around me makes me think that maybe I might survive this.