Pulled (25 page)

There was only the sound of car horns blaring and the echo of Daniel’s pleas fading into the distance.

I jumped into my car and slammed the door, chanting over and over, “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me.”

July 2000

“Melanie, hurry up! You’re going to be late
again,” Mom called up the stairway, her voice stressed.

“I said I was coming!” I yelled back as I tried to
bend over to tie my shoes. My right leg was tight, the
constant dull ache now a sharp pang in my thigh as I
strained to reach my foot. I wiped the single tear that slid
down my cheek. It was impossible to separate the
physical pain from the emotional.

Physical therapy again. I hated it. Hadn’t they
tortured me enough? I’d spent three days a week, every
week, for nearly the last four months in a gym, stretching,
pushing, basically learning to walk again, and I was so
sick of it. My mood was sour, and I definitely didn’t feel like
cooperating as somebody “encouraged” me to push just a
little bit further.

“Melanie, now!” I cringed at Mom’s tone of voice.

Things had not been going well here, and each day just
got worse.

I had been so angry when my parents had forced
me to come to Dallas. I resented them, and I let Mom
know it. I’d spent three full weeks in bed, unwilling to speak
to her or look at her, and I’d barely eaten. That third week
my new doctor demanded that I start physical therapy,
telling me I’d never walk again if I didn’t. So I spent my
eighteenth birthday at my first appointment, discovering
just how grueling my recovery was going to be.

As painful as it had been, I’d done everything
with a smile on my face. Even though I’d insisted that he
not contact me while I was away, I had been convinced
he’d call that day. I was eighteen and free to leave. But
there had been nothing. It was the day I felt the first real
flicker of fear that maybe he didn’t want me anymore.

Shrugging it off, I’d told myself he was just respecting me,
giving me the space I’d insisted I needed.

So I continued on, obligingly attending my
therapy sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
and silently crying through the abuse. Diane, my
therapist, tried to be kind, her own eyes usually damp by
the end of the hour, promising it wouldn’t always hurt this
bad. What she didn’t understand was that the physical
pain had nothing on the pain in my heart. It seemed that
as my body became stronger, my mind became weaker, a
cloud settling in around me, heavy and ominous.

I missed Daniel so much. Each night I’d crawl
into my bed alone, succumbing to the ache I’d felt all day.

I’d bury my face into my pillow to try to drown out my
sorrow as I begged him to come to me. My body longed
for his, needing to feel his love for me. For the better part
of a month Mom had rushed into my room each night,
trying to calm me, running her hands through my hair as
she promised it would be okay. I’d cursed at her, blaming
her. She’d beg me to stop, telling me she’d only wanted
what was best for me. I had insisted that that was Daniel.

She stopped coming the night I told her I hated her.

The days that passed only made it worse, each
one a reminder that he still hadn’t called. I was in a
constant state of despair, weeping behind closed doors
and a total bitch to anyone who crossed my path. I never
wanted to act this way, but I found myself unable dig
myself out of the depression I was in. It had gotten harder
to go to my appointments, harder to do my schoolwork,
harder to live. I couldn’t do it without him. It would have
been okay had he contacted me, done anything just to let
me know he still loved me and wanted me. I would have
happily lived out this sentence until I could go back to
him. But he didn’t.

Four excruciating months, and still nothing from
Daniel.

“Melanie!”

Didn’t she have any idea how hard it is just to put
on my freaking shoes? I stood, the first step always the
most painful. I winced as I began down the stairs,
descending them as quickly as possible while Mom
waited impatiently at the landing. Thankfully, I no longer
needed Mark to carry me up and down. I hated being
dependent on anyone, even though it was clear my step-dad didn’t share in my parents’ view of Daniel. He’d taken
the moments of my vulnerability as he carried me up the
stairs to tell me I’d be better soon and then I could go to
Daniel. The only hope I had was Mark and the energy that
pulled me back to Colorado, the tug on my heart that told
me where I belonged—with Daniel.

And that was exactly my plan. I’d made up my
mind that as soon as Diane discharged me, I’d go back to
him. There was always an underlying insecurity I felt that
Daniel might not want me anymore, but truly that wasn’t
what I believed. I could still feel his love for me, traveling
all these miles over all this time, and I had to believe in
that.

Mom fumbled with her keys in her agitation,
dropping them twice before finding the right one to bring
her small, red car to life. She looked over her right
shoulder to back down the driveway and caught my eye.

“This is getting old, Melanie. You need to stop
acting like some petulant little child and grow up,” she
huffed as she braked in the street, switching the car into
drive. Staring straight ahead, she held her jaw rigid as she
chose her words carefully, her tone softening. “It’s time
you moved on.”

“What do mean by that?” I spat back at her.

“Melanie, Daniel hasn’t even tried to contact you
in four months. That isn’t exactly the kind of behavior
you’d expect from someone who says he cares about you.

He hasn’t even checked to see how you’re doing. You
could still be in a wheelchair for all he knows.”
My anger burned, fueled by my fear that her
words might be true. I could feel my face flush, my fists
curling around the sides of the seat. “If you remember
correctly, Mom, I’m here because of you, not because
Daniel didn’t want me. You know exactly why he hasn’t
called.”

She was quiet for a moment before breathing out
heavily through her nose. “If you want to blame me for all
of this, Melanie, then fine, you can do that. But being
angry with me doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t called
or...or even had one of his parents call to check on you.

Doesn’t that seem a little odd?”

She looked to me, but I refused to meet her
gaze, staring into my lap. Of course I thought it was “a little
odd.” I was tormented by it, but I wasn’t about to admit that
to her.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt any more than
you already have, sweetheart.”

I squeezed my eyes tight, an exasperated yelp
escaping my pursed lips. She didn’t want me to get hurt
anymore than I already had? How dare she?

“Now you don’t want me to hurt, Mom? Was the
pain you caused me just enough, and now you want to
protect me from any more? Is that how it works? Was it
okay for you to take me away from the one person I love
the most, right after our
baby
died, so I had to grieve for
her without him? Was that just the right amount of pain for
me? Tell me, Mom, because I’d like to know just how
much pain you think I should have!”

She tried to catch her breath as if my words were
suffocating her. I knew they stung, but I refused to take
them back. “Melanie...I...I never meant to hurt you.” She
sniffled, and her chest jerked as she tried to hold back her
cries. “You’ll never understand how sorry I am.”

“Sorry doesn’t take away what you did to me...to
us.”

Maybe someday I would forgive her, but not now.

I’d always been quick to forgive and never hold a grudge,
but what she’d done was cruel, especially after giving me
her blessing. I still didn’t understand her reasons.

Neither of us spoke as we drove; the only sound
was Mom’s whimpering. She gulped for air as she tried to
contain herself. I felt guilty for upsetting her so much, but
she needed to understand how much she’d hurt me.

She pulled into the parking lot, and for the first
time, she didn’t get out. She just stared straight ahead as I
struggled to stand from the seat. Then she pulled away
and left me standing alone, watching her drive away.

I felt another pang of guilt before pushing it away
and subjecting myself to one more day of Diane’s torture.

Diane assured me that I was doing great and that
I probably had maybe three or four more weeks of therapy
left before I could do the exercises on my own. Three or
four weeks? I really didn’t think I could wait that long.

After the session, I pushed the door open, not
sure how I was going to get home. Mom was waiting
outside. I could see through the windshield that her face
was flat and void of all emotion. The only evidence of our
argument was her red splotchy cheeks.

I climbed into the front passenger seat, and
neither of us acknowledged the other the entire way home.

Slowly, I took the stairs to my bedroom, feeling terrible for
ignoring my little sister who tried to talk to me, and locked
the door behind me. I’d already had enough of this day,
and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

It went against my nature to say such nasty
things to Mom. I was so angry with her for putting me
through this. And if I was being honest with myself, I was
angry with Daniel. Angry that he had abandoned me.

Please, no! I couldn’t allow myself think that. I fell to the
floor, clutching my chest, and buried my face into the
carpet. What if Mom was right? Had he moved on? Had
he decided I couldn’t give him what he wanted in life? No,
Daniel loved me. I knew he did. I could feel it, even here
in my old room a thousand miles away from him. But just
because he loved me didn’t mean he wanted to be with
me.

I sobbed into the carpet for what seemed like
hours, releasing everything that had built over the days
and months apart.

I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, trying
to comfort myself, rocking as I shed every tear I could find.

They started to slow, and I tried to pull myself together,
twisting to turn onto my knees when I saw the little box
tucked under my bed.

How did that get there?

It was the same box I’d seen on the counter in the
hospital. I’d noticed it once but forgot it right away.

Reaching under the bed skirt, I pulled it out. Sitting up, I
spread my legs out in front of me with my back propped
up against the bed. I lifted the lid, peaking inside, unsure
of what I’d find. Cards. A lump formed in my throat when I
realized what these were. I picked up the first and the tears
began again, this time not from my anger, but from the
love I felt.

I read the cover. “Get Well Soon.” Opening it, I
saw it was from Stacy. The next was a sympathy card from
all the teachers at Springs High. I smiled through my
tears as I went through all of them, each one reminding
me of all the people who cared about me, who loved me,
and I knew I wasn’t alone.

I gasped as I pulled the last item from the box,
dropping it as I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle
a cry. My hands trembled as I reached for the picture that
had fallen upside down onto the floor.

I couldn’t breathe.

Eva.

I’d never seen her, my baby girl, but there she
was, tucked in her daddy’s arms. She was the smallest
thing I’d ever seen. Even though Daniel had told me, I
never could have imagined how tiny she really was. I knew
she was broken, but I saw none of that. All I saw was how
perfect she was. My heart rejoiced to have this piece of
her, this moment in her short life captured forever.