Falling Under (28 page)

But you can’t. You’re dragged upward, fumbling toward the inevitability of waking.
 

Waking up in agony? Even worse.
 

Slowly, torturously, I come to awareness. I’ve felt pain before. I’ve endured all sorts of horrible shit. But this? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt. A thousand, thousand points of pain, little stabbing sparks of agony all throughout my body, centered on my head and my leg and my arm, spreading out like a spider web.

I hear a monitor beeping. I’m in a goddamn hospital again. Fuck.

I didn’t die. I distinctly remember realizing I was dying. But apparently not.

I blink, find the ceiling above me, the walls, the monitors with their wires all leading to me. A cannula in my nose. I feel heavy. My leg is wrapped in a cast from waist to toe. My arm is in a hard cast again. And my head, fuck, my head aches like someone is pounding on it with a sledgehammer.

My door opens and Kylie’s barging in, rushing for me, and her expression is shell-shocked, haunted. “Oz.” She says it strangely. “Hi, baby.”

I feel lost. Something is going on. She’s acting weird. “Hi, sweetness.” I hold out my one good hand for her. “Come here.”

She sits on the edge of my bed. Touches her forehead to mine. “You’re awake. You’re—you’re alive.” She hiccups, sobs. “I—I thought you were dead. You—you were barely breathing. I thought I’d lost you.
Again
.”

“I’m okay, Ky. I mean, I’m all kinds of fucked up, but I’ll be okay.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything. “What is it, Kylie? Something’s wrong.”

“The front desk…they wouldn’t tell me your room number.”

“What? Why?”

“Be—because I didn’t know your real name.”

“Oh. Shit.”

She sniffles, makes an odd sound that I can’t decipher. “Yeah. I asked for you. For Oz. I just wanted to see my boyfriend. I was a little crazy, and they just wouldn’t—they wouldn’t tell me where you were. ‘His name is Oz Hyde,’ I said. You want to know what they said? What they told me?”

“What?” I almost don’t want to know. It’s just a name. I don’t see why it matters, but she’s acting so strange.
 

“They told me your name. Your whole, real name.” A pause, a deep breath. “Benjamin Aziz Hyde.” She pronounces it slowly, each syllable succinct and clear.
 

“Yeah. So?”
 

My door opens then, and Ben comes in. As he approaches me, hands in his pockets, his eyes …they’re…god, I’ve never seen such torture in a person’s eyes before.
 

“Ben. What—what the fuck are you doing here?” I demand.

He just stares at me for a moment, and then he squeezes his eyes shut as if to hold back strong emotions. “I’m sorry…Oz. I’m so sorry. I should…I should never have…acted the way I did.”

I blink. He’s the last person I ever expected to see walk through that door, and I certainly never expected an apology from him. “I’m not sure what you want to me say here, man.”

“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything. I was…I was way out of line, and I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say.” He draws a deep breath, and lets it out. Looks at Kylie.

“I think Kylie’s the one you should be apologizing to, not me.” The pain on his face makes it impossible to hate him. “It was an accident, Ben. A fight’s a fight, but getting hit by a car like I did, it could’ve been either of us.”

He just nods, and it seems like he wants to say something else, but can’t get it out.

An awkward silence ensues.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I look at Kylie. “What is so important about my name?”

“Your name is Benjamin. So’s his.”

I shake my head. “So? It’s a fairly common name. It’s just a coincidence.”

She leans forward. “But you two—you almost look alike. I mean, both of you have almost the same color of skin, like, exactly the same shade. Your noses, they’re almost identical, too. And your eyes…Oz, yours have more gray in them, but your eyes are almost the same, too. It’s eerie. I’ve noticed it before, but…having the same first name? It’s too weird to be a coincidence.”

“So what? We’re…like, long-lost brothers or something?”

Kylie shakes her head. “I don’t know. It’s just bizarre.”

Ben paces away, across the room. “No way we’re fucking brothers. There’s no fucking way in hell my parents would keep a secret like that from me. And besides that, I know for a fact my parents have never been with anyone but each other. It’s impossible. It is weird, though.” He growls and heads toward the door. “I need some air.”

He leaves, and Kylie fits her feet onto the bed, lies beside me, and nuzzles into me. “It’s crazy, but it doesn’t even matter.” She carefully rests her hand on my chest, avoiding my injured arm and leg. “I love you. You’re alive. That’s all I care about right now.”

“I love you, too.” I twist my head to kiss her temple, and she turns her face to meet my lips. It’s a quick, shallow kiss. I break it first. “But for real…what the hell is going on? I don’t—I don’t get it.”

Kylie sighs. “I talked to your mom. She’s on the way, too.” She kisses my jaw.

I lift my good arm so she can rest her head in the nook. We let silence wash over us, except for the beeping of the monitors and the occasional squawk of the PA. I almost fall back asleep, but then I hear footsteps approaching, and my door opens. Mom comes in, followed by Ben. Kylie doesn’t move from my side, but I know she’s awake and watching, waiting.
 

Mom leans over me and kisses my forehead. I don’t remember the last time Mom kissed me. “Oz, baby. I’m so glad you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Hurt. Confused. Fucked up.” I glance at Ben, then back at Mom. “Where did you get my name?” I demand.

She pales. “What? Why are you asking now?” She backs away, shaking her head. “I’m not—we’re not discussing that now. We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

“We’ll talk about it
right the FUCK
now
!” I shout. Kylie flinches, but doesn’t otherwise move or speak.

“Hold up, Oz. Wait till my folks are here,” Ben says.

Mom is staring at Ben as if she’s seeing a ghost. “Who—who are you?”

“Ben Dorsey.” He shakes her hand, his expression impassive. It’s as if he’s shoved all emotions down, deep into a locked closet of his soul.
 

“Ben Dorsey,” Mom repeats. “You look—you look like—”

She doesn’t finish, though, because the door opens one more time, and Jason comes through, Becca right behind her. Jason steps aside, and Becca moves forward, past him, toward me. She sees Mom standing at the side of my bed, on the opposite side of Kylie.
 

“No…” Becca breathes. “It’s not…it’s not possible.” She stumbles, pale, hand over her mouth. “Kate?” She leans into Jason, staring at Mom in shock and old pain.

Mom sags backward against the wall, clutches the railing of my bed as if she’s about to faint. “Becca. My god.”

I look from Mom to Becca. “Wait…you know each other?” My fists clench. “What the hell is going on? Somebody start giving me some goddamn answers.”

Kylie puts her hand to my cheek. “Oz…baby, it’s okay. We’re all here. We’ll talk it through. I’m here. It’s okay.”

I take a deep breath. “Mom. How do you know Becca Dorsey?”
 

Mom closes her eyes, steps away from the bed, stumbles a few feet, and then collapses to her knees. Her shoulders shake, and I hate that I can’t get out of this bed to help her. “Oz. Baby…I know you’ve got a lot of questions.”

“A lot of questions?” I say this with so much bitterness my voice breaks. “I’ve gone my whole life with nothing
but
fucking questions, Mom.”

Becca steps forward. Touches Mom’s shoulder, sinks to her knees beside her. “Kate. I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve spent so many years wondering what happened to you. You just disappeared, and I—I was never able to find you.” She sounds almost angry, and a lot sad, and lost in the past. “I looked. For years, I looked.”

“You did?” Mom’s voice is disbelieving.

“Of course I did!” Becca shuts her eyes, breathing shakily. “I told you, I
t-told
you we’d be there for you. We’d help you. But you just…vanished.”

“It was too hard. I was scared.” Mom’s voice is distant, small. “I couldn’t handle it, being so close to—to everything that reminded me of him.”

Him? I wanted to ask who, but I knew. I stayed silent and let it all come out.

“You think—you think it wasn’t hard for
me
? He was my
brother
, Kate. You were…you were c-c-carrying…his-his
child
.” Becca’s eyes turn to me. “My
nephew
.”
 

The world spins around me. “What?” I try for breath. “What’s going on?”

Mom seems stuck, sitting on the hospital room floor, head hanging. Becca glances at her, sucks in a deep breath, and I can see her visibly counting, calming herself. She stands up, moves to my side.
 

“Your father was … my brother. His name was Benjamin Aziz de Rosa.” Her voice wavers. “I named my son after him, and so did Kate, it seems.”
 

I can’t breathe, but a million whirling skirling questions batter at my brain, flutter just this side of my lips. One slips out. “What…what happened to him? Where is he?”

“Your mom never told you anything about him?” Becca asks.
 

I can only shake my head.

“I
couldn’t
!” Mom shouts, hysterical, manic, suddenly sobbing. “It was too—too hard! He—he—
oh god
…I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, Oz. I just couldn’t. It was too hard. It’s still too hard.”

Becca blinks hard twice, breathing deep. “My brother was very troubled, Oz. He struggled with bipolar disorder his whole life. He got into drugs. When he met Kate, your mother…he seemed to get a little better. But it—it wasn’t enough, I guess. He wouldn’t take his meds…b-b-be—bec—because…” She trails off, struggling. She pauses for a moment, breathing deeply. “God, I haven’t stuttered like this in years. He wouldn’t take his meds. He said they made him feel…empty. Half-dead. Like he was in a cloud. Not himself. He hated them. The drugs just made it all worse, I think. Your mother loved him, and he loved her. But…it wasn’t enough. He had…so much darkness in him. So much self-doubt.”

She pauses again, and clearly, this next part is hellishly difficult to say. I don’t dare interrupt. Mom has her face in her hands, sobbing quietly.
 

Becca continues. “It was all too much. My brother committed suicide. It was April ninth. He hung himself. I found him.” She stops then, and I see the tears in her eyes. She starts again. “Your mother had just found out she was pregnant.”

I don’t even know what to say. “So…he couldn’t handle the fact that he was going to be a father? So he just…offed himself?”

Becca flinches at my coarse words. “I don’t know. There’s no way to really know what he was thinking.”

“He—he was scared. He thought he’d ruined my life. His life.” Mom, for the first time in my life, was offering answers. “That’s what he thought. He was scared he’d pass his sickness on to you. That’s how he saw it, his bipolarism. A sickness. A disease. I just…I just thought he was different. Just Ben. But he—he suffered a lot, so much, just to try to function. And when I told him I was pregnant, he just couldn’t handle it. He felt guilty. He thought—I think because he struggled so hard just to take care of himself, he’d only fuck up a kid that much worse, but he couldn’t run away from me. I think—I think he didn’t feel like he had any other way out.”

I look at Ben. “So Ben’s my cousin.” It’s a rhetorical question, and no one answers. I look at Mom. “Why, Mom? Why did you never say anything? Why did you keep this secret from me for my whole fucking life? Why? All I wanted was to know…even his goddamn name! One single thing about him.”

Mom sucks in a shuddering breath. “It hurt too much. I loved your father. I loved Ben. So much. I wanted…I just wanted him to be happy. I didn’t care if he was bipolar. I’d take him any way I could get him. As long as he wasn’t doing drugs, he was okay. To me, at least. He’d have his ups and downs, and they were rough, yeah, but it was manageable. And then he—he killed himself. It—it broke me. I’ve never been okay. I haven’t been okay since…since he died. I just couldn’t handle it. You’re so much like him, Oz. So much. It scares me, and reminds me, and it’s—so hard sometimes.” She looks up at me, eyes wet, tears flowing freely down her face. “I’m sorry, Oz. I’m so sorry. You deserved the truth, but I just couldn’t—couldn’t face it. When you were young and asking about him, how do you tell a six-year-old that his father hung himself? And then the older you got, the more it was just easier to pretend like I was protecting you from the awfulness of the truth. It was easier to let you think he’d run off, or abandoned us. Because the truth that he killed himself rather than even
try
…to me, was so much worse. More than twenty years have passed since Ben killed himself, and I’m still—still so
mad
at him. And I miss him. I loved him, Oz. I loved him so much. And I would have done anything for him. But it wasn’t enough.
I
wasn’t enough.”

I’m near tears. Again. I’m sick to fucking death of all this bullshit drama making me emotional. But it all makes sense. It answers so much. “So…am I like him? Am I bipolar?” I’ve heard of bipolar disorder, of course, but I don’t really know much about it.

Mom shakes her head. “No, honey. I’ve watched you like a hawk for your whole life, and you’ve never showed any signs of it. I’ve made a god-awful mess of your life, so if you have any—any emotional issues, they’re my fault. But I don’t think you’re bipolar.”

A nurse comes in, a stout, middle-aged black woman with gray streaks in her curly dark hair.
 
Her tag announces her name to be Shawna. “All right, ya’ll. My patient needs to sleep. I’ve let you disturb him long enough. Now shoo. Let the boy rest.” She’s friendly and polite, but firm, hustling everyone out. Except Kylie, who remains where she is, nestled against me.
 

I say goodbye to everyone, hugging Mom, and then they’re gone, trooping out silently.