41
The hospital is like every other: clinical, white and blue, sterile halls and rooms, and the pungent odor of chemicals with a dingy taint in the air. Sophie is holding my hand as we walk, and she looks so noticeably young and afraid. My gut instinct is to haul her close to my side and place a protective arm about her shoulders, and the thought makes me smile. Who knew I was maternal? I do precisely that and meet no resistance from her. Thanks to his overly familiar, hands-on way of life, Jake has turned me into an expressive person like him, but I’m not annoyed by it.
Does he see me this way? Is this why he’s so hands-on?
Seeing glimpses of unsure, scared Emma under the mask, he has that strong urge to protect me. The thought warms me inside, and I miss him so severely that it aches in the depths of my stomach.
Sophie seems to relax in my embrace as we walk in companionable silence. We may have only just met, but we both sense a deep, instant connection I’ve never felt with anyone else. It’s almost as though I’ve just discovered a little sister with my story to tell.
We finally enter the room, and I get my first glimpse of my mother. I release Sophie, and she swiftly goes to her bedside and lifts her hand tenderly. I can’t deny the genuine love I see in Sophie’s face, yet I feel only irritation.
My mother’s appearance causes me to take a sharp breath, but I steady myself to hide it. I must be strong for the girl’s sake, be her rock like no one ever was for me.
My mother’s face is swollen, bruised, and scraped up, almost beyond recognition. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. Her left arm is cast, and her body, concealed by covers and sheets, looks thinner and more fragile than I remember. I scan the clipboard of notes to determine that most of her injuries are minor; the broken arm and the concussion seem to be the worst. She moves her head as she wakes and clasps Sophie’s hand, a feeble smile on her face. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I hold back.
“Emma is here,” Sophie breathes softly and looks toward me with a smile. Her blue eyes are cloudy with the strain of trying not to cry. It tugs at my heart as my mother’s face follows, breaking into a wavering smile when she sees me.
“Emma! My little girl.” She releases Sophie’s hand and reaches out to me, her other one bound in a cast and strapped to her chest. I hesitate, straightening my tailored pants and blouse, then walk toward her dutifully, bracing myself so that I stay calm and in control.
“Mother.” I take her hand; it’s cold and smooth but feels like skin and bone, angering me. She’s not eating properly again, so she's caught up in another heart affair and bogged down with infatuation. She was always good at ignoring her basic needs when wrapped up in another unhealthy relationship. “It’s so good to see you. You came home to Chicago for me!” Her voice is soft and injured, causing my reaction to catch in my throat. Guilt, tears, anger, and chaos of emotions hit me, and I can’t look her in the face, already uncomfortable holding her hand. I glare out the window, seeing the Chicago skyline and the dull weather outside, trying to remain impassive, trying to steel against all that she makes me feel. I want her to cut the crap with the over-sentimental greeting; it’s purely for Sophie’s benefit.
“What have you told the police?” I retort. I don’t want to do this tear-jerking, deep conversation crap with her. I just want to make sure she’s okay and healing. Then I want to get the hell out of this place as soon as earthly possible.
“Emma, please? You know it’s never that straightforward,” she whines, and I bristle and drop her hand coldly. My face snaps around to lock eyes with her in impulsive rage. It’s the same old familiar conversation.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I snort in disbelief, spinning my body around to match my glare.
“You have no idea, Emma. You don’t know what happened.” Her voice seems suddenly stronger, losing all ounce of vulnerability now that my anger at her begins to show.
“I don’t need to; it never changes. Who was it this time? Another five-minute romance? Or is this someone long-term? How often has this one hit you, huh?” I snap, my temper getting the better of me. Sophie moves off to sit in the corner; she looks uncomfortable and wide-eyed, making me feel guilty. She doesn’t need to see all this.
“That is none of your concern! This is my life and affects only me!” my mother snaps back at me, yanking her hand back to her chest in anger. Not so frail now.
“Don’t you fucking dare! What about Sophie? What about justice? What about me? It affects all of us!” The tears blind me, and I lose it, anger bubbling inside. I storm away, wrapping my arms around myself, and glare out of the window, trying to pull it all back in, cool down, and be still.
“I shouldn’t have started a fight, Emma. This was as much my fault.” The same pathetic cringey voice, the same sorry excuses as she drops the attitude and goes into full-blown victim mode. There will be tears soon.
I can’t do this, not again. Coming back was a mistake, and this is just a sad repeat of a dozen conversations. I can’t hold it in, hold in my anger, or the heartbreak. My mother rips out my very soul and throws it to the wolves. She hasn’t changed at all; this could be sixteen years ago all over again.
“This was a mistake. I can’t be here. I was stupid to think this one might have knocked some real sense into you. I’m taking Sophie to New York with me, away from this bullshit existence that you inflicted on me. Don’t even begin to argue.” I swing back around at her, my eyes pouring pitifully; she looks shocked at my obvious distress. She has never seen me cry, not since I was a tiny child. “You’ve no idea the chaos that you cause. This…,” I gesture across her body and injuries, “is only the tip of the iceberg, Mother! I won’t let you subject Sophie to more of the same crap.” I can’t say anything more as my voice breaks, the tears taking over. I shake my head aggressively and walk out fast, unable to say anything else or keep myself in check. And I’m not staying to hear her argue or try to bully me into changing my mind. I won’t keep being her doormat.
I had already agreed to let Sophie stay at the hospital this morning and gave her some money to get a bus home later, so I don’t have to stay and endure this. I have no reason to stay another second, and I blindly storm out, heading straight for the main exit while internally ranting.
I march across the wet car park, shaking and sobbing with my coat in my hands. The driver that Jake hired stands dutifully to open my door as I approach, and I get in. I can’t contain everything going on inside my head.
I was stupid to come here! I was a fool to think I could handle this. She will never change. She will never see that she’s the one who brings this on. She chooses these men, then makes goddamn excuses for what they do.
It only makes me more determined to take Sophie with me when I leave. I decide that’ll be sooner rather than later, as I can’t stay here much longer. She won’t talk to the police herself; even I know that. And she will make Sophie lie to them for her too like she used to make me.
Deny she knew her attacker, and then what? He will be back in a heartbeat. Until the next time when she ends up back here, and then what? Maybe one day, one of them will kill her. Can she not see how what she does affects me and affects Sophie?
I calm down as we drive, wiping my face and bringing rational thoughts back to my head. PA Emma is winning over when faced with too much trauma to cope. My defense mechanism is kicking in and numbing it all away, pushing it down until I am nothing but a cool empty shell.
I gulp down air, pull it all back in, and focus instead on getting away from this place. I hate Chicago! I glare at the passing scenery and feel like I’m suffocating.
I pull out my cell and see an email from Jake, instantly bringing softness to my face and lifting my mood. He always brings me back from the craziness, even when I think nothing will, and I hurry to open it.
“Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift.”
“Just Give Me A Reason” by Pink.
I gawp at it with confusion. Sure I’m missing the message. I press play listening to the song, trying to decipher the meaning for sending it, and can’t. I glance at the time of the email and realize he sent it at four in the morning, most likely when he was out with Daniel. This was instead of a drunk dial episode.
The title confuses me. It seems to be a song about learning to love again, yet it causes pain in my chest as I absorb it; it’s beautiful and profound, but I can’t see the connection. I’ve no idea what to send back to him. Maybe I shouldn’t send anything because he was intoxicated when he sent it. I like the fact he was thinking of me at that time, though, while surrounded by friends and women, even if it makes no sense.
Maybe it was a mistake, and he’d meant to send something else? Knowing Jake, it was related to his current thought and probably stupidly obvious in his state.
It plagues me as we head back toward my mother’s apartment, but it’s a welcome distraction. Jake isn’t usually cryptic; his songs are all about the title, or at least they typically have some unmistakable message in the lyrics. This time I have no idea.
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