Something To Dream On (25 page)

Behind the door is a woman in a tank top and a microscopic skirt. Maybe it is the weird lighting from the angle of the sun, but her skin is yellow. Are her arms covered in makeup?

The aura she radiates is one of concealed pain. Is that why the moment the door opened I felt emotionally drained? The dark circles that peek through makeup make my heart ache for her, yet I also feel conflicted. She looks like a junkie, and I can’t shake the feeling that she has chosen her own path.

Is that horrible of me? People choose to start taking drugs, but they don’t choose to become addicts. Did this girl who looks so emaciated choose—

Is that? Oh, no way! Is
Laura Muler
groupie girl? The one that Jensen—

Oh, gross! Let me go get a knife and slice myself so God can pour more salt on me.

Dear God, what happened to her? She used to be so pretty. Just the thought of her used to fill me with jealousy, but now …

Now my heart bleeds for her. What could possibly cause her to plummet so deeply into hell? What a terrible waste of beauty.

Etta stands at my feet, continuing to bark. I should
shh
her so the neighbors don’t flip out, but I’d rather Laura feel threatened. Etta then butts my leg with her nose as if saying, “See, I warned you not to answer the door. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Idiot.”

My sigh rings in my head like I'm hung over. Maybe my brain is too clouded by what is happening with Lizetta, but I foolishly refrain from slamming the door in Laura’s face. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your charms? This is the worst of all times. I also told you to leave me alone.”

Her teeth nip at her lip and she raises her brows. It’s not in the seductive way she usually does it. Instead, she seems resigned to the fact that she can’t blame me for my attitude. “I heard what happened.”

What? “From who? Never mind. Please, go away.”

“I thought you might need someone to talk to. We can do that, you know?” I start to shut the door on her, and she jabs a paper bag into my chest. “Here, I brought adult milk and cookies.”

Etta warns me as I open the bag. She's right. It’s filled with future regret. “Tequila and limes? Really?” I push Laura aside so I can chuck the thing out the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting it with the last of my beer.”

“That stuff was expensive.”

The bag bounces off the pavement. Plastic? “Glad you sprung for the good stuff.”

“I also heard you got engaged.” Laura tosses her purse on the coffee table, and then plops her butt onto the sofa. I glare at the purse until she moves it to the ground. I don't want anything of hers even remotely near the stuff that Lizetta and I are using on our wedding day. Lizetta’s been shopping with such urgency that you’d think the wedding were tomorrow.

Pain gets choked back. I would give anything to marry that woman tomorrow. Hell, the second she wakes I’m grabbing a preacher. I'll marry her in the damn hospital. Were we engaged too soon? Hell no! I’m not letting another moment of life slip past without her.

“You heard? How? That only happened a week ago.” And how long until you let that skirt ride up and flash me? “Never mind. I don't want to know how you, or anyone else, knows anything about my life now.” Man, being around this girl makes me punchy as sin.

“News travels. Is this her?” She picks up the engagement picture that we had taken the night after I proposed. Lizetta couldn't wait, and I am so, so incredibly grateful that I listened to that inner voice that tells me never to waste a moment and put off having it done. God, how I miss her.

Laura blinks, and her mouth drops to form a void. “Wow!”

“Wow, what?” If she makes one comment, one tiny comment, I'm going to rip the anorexic bitch’s throat out, regardless of the hell that makes her that way.

“She's pretty.”

Laura then has the balls to start thumbing through the stuff on the coffee table. Her grubby hands dare to reach for Lizetta’s tiara. Is nothing sacred to this woman? I snatch it from Laura's hands. “No one touches her stuff!”

She puts her hands out to tell me not to get so testy. If she doesn’t want to see me testy, she should leave.

“Jensen, do you remember the time my dad showed up drunk and pissed after losing a bunch of money and tried to take it out on me? You saved me by fighting that asshole off. I thought I'd return the favor by helping you fight off this.”

And there went the last of my compassion. “Fight it off? Fight off the pain because my fiancée is in a coma and will likely die?” No, I did
not
mean that! It just croaked out from anger. Ugh! I hate how Laura truly brings out the worst in me. “I really need you to go.”

She nods in acknowledgement that she has blown it. When she stands, she actually puts her hands on the hem of her skirt and tugs downward. Is Laura showing modesty? What the hell kind of trick is this? First the warning over the cookies, now this. If she didn’t bring a bottle of liquid coffin nails, I’d think she was trying to be respectful.

“I’m sorry. I get it. It’s just that—” She snickers. “Lately you’ve looked better than I have ever seen. Even before all the bad stuff happened. I thought that maybe if I was here for you, you could be here for me and show me how you did it.”

Does Laura really think I'm that stupid?
 

Then again, this is reminding me of the few times when Laura actually opened up to me. The times when she told me about how her father had abused her. The times when she said he would starve her in retaliation for acting out. That pain radiates off of her, but I’ve also seen her fake it. I won't let my own tragedy blind me to reality.

There is water in her eyes when I hand Laura her purse. Fucking tears. The fall of each one scrapes through my heart. I can't take her pain, because the only thing helping me hold it together is how angry I am. “I'm sorry,” she says, “for all of the things that happened.” I have to fight off losing it. Laura's words remind me of when I called Mom, and it’s making my insides crumble.

She reaches out to hug me, and Etta barks like crazy. My chest caves and tears start falling all over again. I cling to Laura because I'd give anything for this to be Lizetta.

Etta growls at me to knock it off, but I don’t let go. Maybe I am still a junkie, because even if Laura is as poisonous as crack, I need something.

She’s gotten so frail that she may shatter if I squeeze her. I was the only one that gave a shit about her. Now something about her reeks of being a bag of garbage that only gets picked up when someone needs something to puke in. She’s pouring her heart into this hug, but I have to turn myself off to her. I can’t get sucked back into her world.

Etta helps me come to my senses by butting her head into my knee. I don’t let Laura leave before stating what obviously needs to be said. “Knock off the heroin.”

Laura’s eyes go to her makeup-covered body. She nods in acknowledgment that she’s heard me but not necessarily that she’ll listen. “Remember,” she says, “you can call me if you need to talk. After all we've been through, I know you pretty well.”

I close the door behind her and lean against it. “Not anymore you don't.”

My heart hurts in acceptance of what I just witnessed. “I don’t know, Jensen. She may know you better than anyone.”

How my family clings to the hope that I will wake warms my heart. My poor mother. I can only begin to imagine what it would be like to watch over your dying child. She tries to focus on her knitting, but her eyes keep peering up, hoping to catch a sign that I’m coming to.

If there were just some way to let her know that I am here. The entire ride over, I tried to show Jensen I was with him, but every effort failed. I miss my body—that body I hated for so long. How is that for irony?

Instinct says I can pull myself back inside it, but something is warning me that it has been wrapped in caution tape. Is the fear that accompanies that the reason why a moment ago the world started twisting?

A nurse dashes in. She’s got that look—that look that comes from being taught what to do in situations where there is a problem with the patient but you are not to panic. She checks the activity on the monitor, and then instructs Mom to clear her stuff and go for a walk.

“What's going on?” Mom asks in panic. The nurse tells her I'm having a seizure and ushers her out. “A seizure? But she’s not shaking. How can you just come in and claim she is having a seizure?”

“We saw it on the monitor at the nurse’s station. Non-convulsive seizures are not uncommon for coma patients. Give the doctor some time to make sure everything is okay, and we will come for you in a minute. Meanwhile, try to relax.”

“Relax?” Mom screams. “My baby's having a seizure, and you’re telling me to relax?” The doctor comes in and does nothing other than watch the machine as its needle flips out. “Why isn't anybody doing anything?”

Jensen returns with Mom’s coffee, hears the news, and then ushers Mom out to calm her. I’m torn between following them and staying to find out what is wrong. The decision is made when a familiar voice comes from behind. “Good afternoon, Lizetta.”

The carrot-topped man in the suit has returned. “What in craziness is going on?”

He sighs. “Why is it I never get the smart ones? You were hit in the head with a piano. Your body is in a coma.”

“I know that part! What’s the deal with the seizure?”

He shrugs. “It comes with the territory. I know you are not a doctor, but you must have studied at least a little of this in school.”

He’s so nonchalant that it compounds my heartache. While he hasn’t told me I am not coming back, he has implied that it would take a miracle. Doesn’t he understand the pain I’m experiencing over how I may never be with my family again? Maybe that means little to him, but the thought of no more camping trips, no more Christmas mornings, no more long evenings gathered around a dinner table, means more than I can place value on. Fear of losing that is keeping me in the fight. He has to help me. “If you are my guardian angel, then you know how much it breaks my heart to see my family suffer. Can’t you put me back in my body so we can be done with this mess?”

“You can pop in right now,
but
that body is toast.”