Hope for Her (Hope #1) (24 page)

I made my way to the main street.

I needed to find someone to drive me out to get my car. Maybe Jackson, but he'd ask me a bunch of questions. I needed to think of an excuse on how I got there last night and how I ended up somewhere else.

Oh, hell, maybe I should take a cab.

As I passed a church, I stopped and watched the people arrive.

Why were people going to church on a Friday morning?

I stopped a guy and asked, "What day is it?"

"It's Sunday. You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, thanks," I said and started in a slow jog, but soon I took off in a full out sprint to get home. I left campus to go visit my father four days ago.

What the hell happened in the last four days?

#

I entered the kitchen from the back door. The house seemed quiet for a Sunday. I headed straight for the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. I drank it in one sip and grabbed another before heading toward the living room.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I heard Jackson’s voice and turned, but I should have ducked as he grabbed me around the neck and slammed me against the wall.

I registered the anger in his voice more than the pressure on my closing windpipe. I grabbed the wall behind me and pushed off. He budged an inch, but slammed me back up against it. My head bounced, and I saw stars for a minute.

"How could you even show up here after what you did?"

I reached for his hands around my throat.

"Dude, what the fuck. Get your hands off of me!"

He slammed me back into the wall. I struggled to push him back, but the man's biceps were bigger than my leg.

"I stuck up for you. I vouched for you, and you shit on me, on this fraternity.” Spit flew from his mouth as he yelled.

I pushed and got him to back up a step.

“Listen Jackson, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened? The last couple of days …” He stepped back further, and I collapsed to the floor. “I fucked up. I know, but ... I...”

"You don't know what happen?"

I stared up at him, and he stood over me, ready to react. I shrunk down even further.

"I blacked out, man. I don't remember anything about the last few days. I went to see my father on Thursday and this morning I woke up and," I studied my hands and arms, "I can't remember."

He stared me down, and I turned away.

"Carrington must be freaking out. Have you seen her? I've got to call her."

"Oh, God," Jackson said as he backed up into the nearest chair and sat down. His hand over his mouth, "You don't know?"

"I don't remember," I yelled and Jackson flinched ready to pounce on me again. “What did I do?”

"Carrington's in the hospital," Jackson whispered.

"What?" I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, trying to focus and understand.

"She's in the hospital. She's hurt pretty bad."

"Why? What happen?" I asked. "How's the baby?"

"He's tiny."

"He's here. No, it's way too soon."

"I ran into her in the quad yesterday. She was looking for you. You weren’t answering your phone, and she was pretty upset. We came here, and I was going to help her buy a plane ticket so she could get home. I let her in your room and left her alone for a minute to get some of her stuff. You came home and found her in your room. You locked the door and then. . ." Jackson's voice trailed off.

I waited for him to continue.

How did this story end? What did I do?

"You started yelling about how you had to fix it. Your dad told you to fix it. She screamed for me, and you went off. I could hear you hitting her through the door. I banged on the door trying to get you to open it or at least stop, but you didn't hear me. Brandon and I finally broke the door down, and you were on top of her punching her in the stomach. I tried pulling you off of her, but when we had you up, you kicked her. We got you away from her, and I let go of you to check on Carrington, and you punched Brandon and took off."

"Carrington?" I said, but he didn't hear me, in his own head recounting the story.

"She was unconscious, but then she came to, and I don't know," he said shaking his head. "She was in pain and bleeding. I held her hand and talked to her. I told her everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t know. She started having contractions. I didn't know what to do. Brandon called an ambulance."

I remembered none of this, but why would Jackson lie? My heart pounded inside of my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth, the tears free flowing at this point. I hurt the one person who believed in me. She granted me the most amazing privilege and I tried to kill it from her.

I opened my mouth to explain, but … I had no explanation.

I was high.

Letting go, getting violent, and hurting the people I loved the most—that was what I did.

I drank and did drugs and dealt with the consequences later. I never found anything in real life that I wanted more than I wanted to get high, except Carrington, but even she couldn’t keep me sober.

I was damaged off the drugs, but on the drugs I did the damage. For as much as I craved control, when I was high, there was no control. When I was sober, the drugs controlled me.

"Is Carrington going to be okay?" I asked.

Jackson's eyes narrowed as he glared at me and wiped the tears off his face. I was the one who hurt her. I had to ask even though I didn’t have the right to know.

“I rode to the hospital with her, but she was unconscious the whole time. I think they gave her something to knock her out.”

"And the baby?"

"I don’t know. He’s alive," Jackson said.

"Did you see him?"

"No. They wouldn’t tell me anything. I waited until she got out of surgery, but they told me to go home. She’ll be out of it for a while.”

“What about her parents?”

“They are on their way.” Jackson stood up, and I scooted up the wall and held on to balance myself. He approached me but kept his hands to his side. I was ready to take off if he put his hands on me again.

"You need to go to the police. You need to turn yourself in. They are looking for you anyway. This is bad. It's going to be bad, but you have to do the right thing."

Jackson stared through me. He said the right things and always played the stand-up guy, ignoring his real feelings and helping me. I shit on him and everything important to him. I took Carrington away from him. I hurt him. I needed to make this right.

"Okay. I, umm, I need to change, and I'll go."

"You can't go in your room. The police took the keys and told us not to let anyone in except the police. I'll get you some clothes."

I watched Jackson walk up the stairs. When he got halfway up, I said, "Jackson, I am sorry."

He nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

He thought I was apologizing for what I did, but I was apologizing for what I was about to do.

I headed straight for the front door, opened it, and ran.

#

From what I pieced together, I left my father's house and headed back to Tallahassee. My father's speech rocked me—to hear him say those things messed with my head. I thought that if he heard my side and understood that for the first time in my life I was taking responsibility for my actions, he would come around. I had more faith in him than he had for me.

He told me to fix the problem, and when I left, I made up my mind to give it all up. I would cut myself off from my family before they rejected me. The name and the money fucked up my life and made me hate myself.

I thought back to the last few months with Carrington—she and I alone in my room talking and laughing—knowing that my name and finances meant nothing. She loved me, and she loved being with me. We planned our future and our son's future together, and I fucked it up so bad. Everything was different, now.

I studied my bruised hands. Turned them over. I couldn’t imagine hurting her with them.

I wanted to see for myself. I shoved my hands in my pockets and continued walking.

I avoided campus, figuring if the police were looking for me, someone on campus would recognize me. I made my way to the hospital, which sat adjacent to campus on the opposite side from fraternity row.

I walked to the coffee shop across the street from the hospital; I checked my pockets and found a twenty. I bought a large coffee and a paper and found a seat in the back and got comfortable. I waited until it got dark before I entered the hospital.

Four hours later, I snuck in through the emergency room doors and headed up the stairs to the nursery on the third floor.

I found the neonatal unit and looked through the window. A nurse and a doctor stood over a tiny little brown baby with a head full of light brown hair. Their faces were emotionless, and although he appeared small, they looked down at him calm and collected, not frantic.

My heart crept up in my throat, and I stifled a sob. It started deep in my heart and threatened to come up.

It hit me all of a sudden that the baby lying in the incubator fighting for his life was my son. I clutched my chest again—trying to keep my heart inside of my chest where it belonged.

A short, older lady in pale pink scrubs came out of the nursery, and I turned to walk away. She touched my arm, and I turned back around to face her. If she kicked me out or worse detained me until the cops showed up, well, I deserved it.

"Can I help you with something?"

"No, I—" I turned back to the window. "I've never seen a baby that small. Is he going to be okay?"

"I know,” the nurse pouted, “too soon to tell, but he's strong."

"What's his name?"

"Unfortunately, his mother hasn't been able to name him."

"Oh."

"You okay? You look a little green."

"No, I'm good. Just visiting a friend."

I headed to the bank of elevators. Her footsteps slapped against the linoleum floor as she continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

Instead of getting in the elevator, I wandered down the hall to the patient rooms. The nursery and the maternity patients resided on the same floor on opposite sides of the hospital.

I scooted down the deserted hall, relieved the nurse's station at the end was occupied by one attendant, and her head was buried in a book.

I found Carrington's room, opened the door, and slipped in. I stood with my back to her. I hesitated before turning around, not sure what I would find.

When I worked up the courage to turn around, I stifled a sound, but my heart pounded as I surveyed her beaten body. She slept, but her face and her arms painted a canvas of the hell she’d been through. Her beautiful skin was covered with black and blue bruises, along her jaw as cut disappeared under a bandage on her temple. Her arms lay by her side; black bruises and scratches covered them from shoulder to her fingertips. On her right wrist, she wore a soft cast, and her left hand lay across her stomach, protecting her baby that was no longer there.

I took one step closer but stopped when Carrington's eyes opened. I expected her to scream, try and get away, or something. Her body tensed and she held herself a little tighter and stared at me. Her eyes bored into me—daring me to do or say something.

I wanted to look away, but thought after everything I did to her, it seemed disrespectful not to give her this opportunity to show me with her eyes what she thought of me.

I said nothing. I backed up into the door, opened it, and left the same way I came. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

She hated me—but not as much as I hated myself.

I walked away from the hospital, not sure where to go, but I needed more time to figure out what happened over the last four days. I headed back over to Candace's place because there was no one else left for me to trust.

I found her apartment and knocked.

"Hey Joshie," she said. She answered the door in the same robe I left her in this morning.

"Hey Candace, listen, do you know if my car is over at Dano's?" I asked.

"Yeah, we left it there last night. You need a ride?" she asked.

"Please, I need to get my car," I said.

"Okay, let me put some clothes on." She walked back to her bedroom, removing her robe as she went, but I looked away.

We drove to Dano's house. Getting high felt like the best and worst idea in the world at the moment.

When we pulled up, I let out an audible sigh of relief. My car sat next to the curb unharmed. I jumped out of Candace's car as soon as she pulled to a stop. My heart sank for a minute. If my keys were in the house, I was done. I shook my head—after everything, I still wanted to get high.

God, how did I get so fucked up?

My second sigh of relief occurred when I tried the door and found it unlocked with my keys on the floor mat under the driver’s seat. I laughed and held them up for Candace to see.

She stepped out of her car and headed up the walkway. She stopped when she realized I wasn't following her.

"You coming in to say hi?” she asked.

"I can't. I have to go."

Her shoulders slumped, and she stood there not sure what to do.

"You going to be okay?" I asked.

She nodded, waved, and continued up the walkway.

I got in my car, put the keys in the ignition, turned the car over, and tried to figure out where to go from here. If I remained on the road, the cops would spot me. Not too many students drove a classic Porsche around Tallahassee.

I opened the glove box, and my wallet and phone fell out on the floor. I laughed out loud. Only I would secure my wallet and phone before blacking out and beating up my girlfriend in a drug-induced rage.

I touched my phone, and it illuminated with missed calls and text messages. I unlocked the phone and went to the call log; four missed calls came from Carrington and two from Jackson. I also missed a call from both my sister, and one missed call from my father, which surprised me. The time stamp on this call was this morning.

I listened to Carrington's messages first.

"Hey baby, I thought you were going to call me when you got there. Call me back. I want to know you’re okay."