by M. Robinson
“Please! Help her!” I repeated, my vision zeroing in on Ma. I dragged my hands through my unruly hair, trying like hell to shake the feeling that this was my fate. To walk through life with no one but the Devil guiding me.
“Sir, calm down,” the woman coaxed with her hands out in front of her while the two men hovered around my mother, holding her down much harder and firmer than I was.
“You’re hurtin’ her! You’re fuckin’ hurtin’ her! Can’t ya see she needs help!”
“They’re not hurting her. I promise they’re just doing what they’re trained to do,” she advised with her hands still in front of her. “Please calm down.”
“Calm down? You want me to calm down when my mother won’t stop fuckin’ shakin’! She ain’t your mother, so don’t tell me to fuckin’ calm down!”
“I understand, but I need you to stay calm, alright? You could go into shock, and we don’t need that right now.”
“Then get her to stop fuckin’ shakin’!”
“She drinks?” one of the men called out, shifting my attention to him as he looked around the room filled with empty liquor bottles.
I nodded, unable to form words.
“She allergic to anything?” the same man asked.
“I don’t know… I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
“What’s her name?” the other uniformed man questioned.
“Diane,” I replied, watching as her body gradually returned back to normal.
“Diane, we’re the EMTs. We’re here to help you.” He placed something on her finger, saying it was checking her O2 stats or some shit. The other man knelt beside her and stuck a needle in her arm, injecting something, I assumed to stop her fucking shaking before they carried her onto a stretcher. Wheeling her now still body toward the ambulance parked out in front of our house.
I followed close behind, hurrying into the ambulance with them, refusing to let her go without me by her side. They hooked her up to all these machines, one right after the other. Trying to explain to me what they were doing as they poked and prodded to start an IV Drip. I just held her hand, hoping she could feel my presence, so she wouldn’t think she was alone. That she still had a son who loved her more than anything in this world. I bit back the tears, hiding behind the pain I’d been used to all my life.
With glossy eyes, I watched them wheel her into the ER, paging the doctor on call. One of the nurses told me to have a seat in the waiting area to my left and they’d update me as soon as they could. I sat in one of the cold chairs at Docher Memorial hospital in Southport doing exactly that, waiting. A place I had come to know, remembering all the times in the last year and a half, since Creed left for the military, that I drove Ma to the ER to get her stomach pumped.
I pulled out my phone from my back pocket, calling the first person who came to mind. Needing to hear her voice, I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks or seen her since she left over ten months ago. My stomach was in knots the whole time her phone rang until it went to voicemail. I hung up and called again. It rang five times and went to the same voicemail.
“Fuck! Come on, please answer.” I hung up and tried two more times with the same result.
“Hey, you reached Skyler. I’m away from my phone, but leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Beep.
I gave up, pissed that I was always there for everyone, but no one was ever there for me. So there I sat yet again, not having one fucking person to call that’d give a damn, and the only girl that would was living another life. Which wasn’t surprising, she was always working. Our schedules were completely opposite of one another, and the three-hour time difference didn’t help. When we finally did talk I tried to keep most of our conversations light and short, mostly because I was still so fucking confused with where we stood.
I growled with frustration, abruptly standing to my feet. Practically crushing my phone in my hand. I started pacing the small waiting room, trying to govern my plaguing thoughts and reel in my self-pity that was fucking consuming me. I really needed her for the first time since she left. Six months turned into ten with no end in sight, and I don’t think Skyler even knew when the fuck she was coming home. At this point, I was just as exhausted as she was when we talked. I didn’t want to burden her with my bullshit of a life, feeling as though she was dealing with her own shit.
As if on cue, I heard her name on the TV above me, stopping me dead in my tracks. The ENews reporter spouting some shit about paparazzi catching her out the night before. A picture came up on the screen of her holding hands with an older man wearing a black hoity-toity suit and some shades. I assumed it was her agent/manager, Keith, but who the fuck knows. I sat back down, watching the coverage, letting my mind wander to the breathtaking girl on the television. Over the last couple months, I watched a few interviews here and there with her and the cast. She looked so fucking beautiful every time. Always taking my breath away. Still smiling, laughing, going on about her world like I had never been in it at all. Somewhere along the line, I slowly started resenting her for choosing that life over me.
But who the fuck was I?
Nobody.
To her or to anyone else.
I spent our fifteenth birthday a few months ago at the river, getting high and drunk by myself. Impulsively getting yet another tattoo on my leg. A music note, for her. I was covered in ink now, the needle had become a vice for me. A way to deal with my emotions by permanently engraving them onto my skin, hoping one day they’d just be a memory and not a life I was still living. I didn’t stop there, picking up another unhealthy habit. Cigarettes. Needing the nicotine to calm the never-ending chaos running wild through my mind. It didn’t help that I dropped out of school, losing myself in liquor, drugs, and chicks, but seeing Skyler’s face every time I did.
“Noah, right?” a man dressed in scrubs and a white coat announced, pulling me away from my thoughts.
I went outside to smoke and must have lost track of time. Taking another long, hard drag, I blew out, “Yeah.”
He nodded toward the cancer stick between my fingers. “Those things will kill you.”
I cocked my head to the side, breathing out, “Not fast enough.”
He scoffed out a chuckle. “How old are you?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I drawled, “Old enough. So unless you got somethin’ to say about my mother, you can turn your ass back around. Don’t need your bullshit of what’s wrong or right.”
For a few seconds, he mirrored my stare. Before replying, “How about you let me buy you a cup of coffee? I can update you on your mom’s condition on our way to the cafeteria.”
If it wasn’t for him having news about my mother, I’d tell him to eat shit, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Inhaling one last drag, I flicked out my cigarette. Nodding to him to start walking.
He held out his hand, stopping me. “I’m Dr. Pierce, but you can call me Aiden.”
I warily glanced down at his gesture and shook his hand, not remembering the last time someone wanted to shake mine. Making me realize, no one ever did.
Once we walked back into the hospital, he was Chatty-fucking-Cathy all the way to the cafeteria.
“I’ve been the doctor on call when you’ve brought your mom in before. Seen her the last few times in fact.”
“She gonna be alright?”
“To be completely honest with you, she got lucky this time. Overdosing on alcohol caused her seizure. I pumped her stomach again, like I have every time she’s been in my ER. You know the drill by now, I’m sure. I want to keep her overnight for observation and get some fluids in her. She’s severely dehydrated right now. How long has she been an alcoholic? From the looks of her liver, it’s been a few years.”
“Somethin’ like that.”
We stepped into the elevator and he eyed me carefully, as if he was contemplating what he was going to say. “It’s only a matter of time before her liver starts giving out on her, Noah. Is there anyo
ne who can help you get her into a rehab?”
“She won’t go,” I stated, hitting the fourth floor button to the cafeteria.
“You’ve tried to talk to her about it then?”
“Listen, Aiden, yeah?”
He slowly nodded.
“No need for this heart-to-heart, cut the bullshit. She gonna be alright or not?”
“For now, yes. For the future, no.”
I took a deep breath, running my hands through my hair. Wanting to tear it the fuck out.
“She needs help, Noah. You can’t keep enabling her.”
“Enablin’ her?” I growled in a throaty roar. “Don’t talk like you know shit ’bout me. You don’t know what I do for her. She’s my mother, and half the time I want to ring her fuckin’ neck for drinkin’ herself into a coma. But what the fuck am I supposed to do? Huh? I can’t make her stop drinkin’, and if you think I’m just gonna let her drink herself into the ground then”—I nodded at him—“fuck you. I’ll take her to another damn hospital. Didn’t ask, and don’t need your shit on top of all the other bullshit I deal wit’ on the daily, Dr. Pierce.”
The elevators dinged open, and it was the first time he took a good look at me. From my tattoos to the cut I was wearing on my back. It was Pops’ present for my birthday, my own Devil’s Rejects Prospect vest.
“You’re right, I don’t know shit about you. What I do know is that you keep bringing your mother into my ER to get her stomach pumped, and one day her liver is going to stop working and you won’t have a mother to bring into my ER anymore.”
I grimaced. It was quick, but he saw it.
“I’m trying to help you, it’s my job,” he stated in a sincere tone. “I know what it’s like to grow up too fast. I’ve been in your combat boots, but I chose another life.” He didn’t hesitate, eyeing the 1% patch on my cut before bringing his stare to meet mine again. “And you can too, Noah.”
It was my turn to get a good look at him, instantly shifting my eyes to the three crosses tattooed on his neck that he was trying to cover with his white doctor coat and stethoscope. I recognized it from one of the brothers who had the same tattoo, it signified Father, Son, and the Holy spirit. Someone doesn’t just get a religious tattoo for shits and giggles, it meant something to him. Something deeper on a personal level. They reformed him like mine did to me.
I took one last look at him and backed out of the elevator, leaving him in there. Shaking my head, I scoffed out, “Not when your old man is the one holdin’ the gun to your head, ready to pull the fuckin’ trigger.”
He jerked back, instantly understanding who my father was. Putting two and two together seeing Jameson on my cut and my momma’s chart. You’d think I would be used to this reaction and for the most part I was, but for some reason…
It still fucking stung getting it from him.
FIFTEEN
SKYLER
It nearly killed me to walk away from Noah that morning ten months ago. Till this day, I still don’t know what I would have done if he had begged me to stay. Certain scenarios ran wild in my mind, picturing a life where I could act my age and just be a normal teenager with regular problems, but that wasn’t my reality.
Nor was it my destiny.
Production on Chicago was running over, and costing thousands and thousands of dollars a day to stay up and running. The staff, on its own, must have cost the studio a small fortune, but that was showbiz. Our days consisted of the same thing morning, noon, and night. The re-shoots alone were making the cast feel like the director was never going to say, “That’s a wrap.”
We were all tired, drained from pulling all-nighters several days a week for months. I couldn’t even remember my last day off. I spent most of my time on set or in my trailer, waiting to go back to shooting my scenes. Sleeping in between my call times so I didn’t go completely insane. Thank God for hair and makeup, they were magicians at this point with the exhaustion written clear across our faces.
“Sky, what the hell was that?” Keith scowled, following me into my trailer.
“I’m over it, Keith! I need a day off,” I argued, fully aware he was about to give me shit for messing up some steps in my last routine.
We’d been repeating the same dance routine for “Cell Block Tango” the last four hours, filming it again and again because the director kept yelling, “Cut!” I wanted to cut his tongue off. He wasn’t the one holding these precise positions while he fixed whatever issue he had at that moment. Mostly, it was his ego needing to fix something that didn’t need fixing in the first place.
Hence, why we were running four months over production.
Keith stood there all agent-like with his expensive signature black-fitted suit that always made him appear taller and broader. His arms crossed over his muscular chest, wearing one of his big, bulky silver watches that I swear weighed a couple pounds by itself. His black hair was tousled which meant his hands were running through it while he watched me on set. That was his tell-tale sign he wasn’t happy.
Yeah, well, neither was I.
The stern expression on his face only accentuated his hazel eyes, strong jawline, and slight widows peak as he continued glaring directly at me. I hated that stare, but most of America couldn’t get enough of it. Not only was he one of the best agent/managers, he was also one of the most attractive ones. Making him hot shit for tabloid gossip and aspiring actresses, wanting a chance to make it in this industry. But to me, he was just Keith. A very pissed-off version of Keith at this moment.
“So slacking off is your way of trying—”
“Slacking off?” I interrupted, wanting to cut his tongue off now. On the verge of raging.
He turned, shutting the door to my trailer. Knowing he was about to get an earful from me.
“You can’t be serious! That director is his own worst enemy!” Before he could reply and tell me I was overreacting or being overly dramatic, I turned and made my way back to my room instead. Hearing the steps of his stupid crocodile leather shoes, or whatever other animal he decided to wear that day, behind me. Those luxurious shoes were all the craze in Hollywood, all the men were wearing them.
I abruptly halted and started pacing the space between us, heated with irritation. “This movie should’ve wrapped months ago and you know it!” I stressed my frustration, still pacing. I was too wound up to stop. “Everyone is over it! Including me! And we still have to do press tours, promo photoshoots, red carpet events and that alone is going to take several more months!” I stopped, peering up at him. Needing to look at his face when I asked, “When do I get to go home? I see the emails that are coming through from the production crew on my show. Their threatening to terminate my contract, Keith!”
“You let me worry about that. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
I sighed, “Yes.”
“That’s right, I have. No one is going to fire you. Not on my watch.”
“Fine… then what’s the new wrap-up date? It changes every week.”
“Sky, you’re whining—”
“Whining?” I chimed in, looking at him like he’d grown three heads. All of them still staring down at me. “Have you heard queen of the set, Lola?” I ranted, stomping my foot to get my point across. “She’s part of the reason we’re running over, with her stupid diva demands. Just because she thinks she’s God’s gift to the world since her daddy scored her the lead in Anderson’s new movie. She’s an entitled, spoiled fucking brat! And if she asks for one more break to check her phone again, I’m going to throw it at her, Keith.”
“Skyler,” he warned in that fatherly tone I also hated.
I pretended like I was throwing something. “Right in her face, knocking out those fake ass veneers that are way too white to be real teeth. But she probably wouldn’t even feel it with the amount of Botox and filler she’s injected into her face.”
“Skyler,” he cautioned again in the same voice.
“Ugh!” I scoffed, turning back around to sit at my
vanity and take off the pound of makeup on my face. “This is bullshit!” I sat down, roughly wiping at my eyes, showing him my anger. “For someone who is supposed to take care of me, Keith, I’m not feeling very taken care of! I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m really freaking tired.”
“You said that already,” he pointed out, walking up behind me. Setting his hands on my shoulders in a comforting gesture. “Look at me, Sky,” he ordered through the mirror.
I threw the makeup wipes on the counter and peered up at him through my lashes, gathering my best upset face I could.
“Breathe. Come on, in and out. You can do it.”
I adamantly did.
“Again.”
I yieldingly did.
“One more time.”
I sincerely did.
“Good girl. Feel better?”
I shrugged, grumbling, “Maybe a little.”
“Alright, now you need to take a second and appreciate this opportunity. Not to mention the doors it’s going to open for you once this movie hits theaters. I know you’re tired, I get it, but you know this industry, Skyler. You’ve been in it your entire life, and everything we’ve worked so hard for is about to pay off.”
“I know. I just want a day off. I need to sleep, I’m starting to feel like a zombie, Keith.” I pointed to my face. “Do you see these bags under my eyes? This is not a good look for my age.”
“You look beautiful as always, Sky.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me? Is this a hormonal thing?”
“No!” I snapped. “I spent my fifteenth birthday on set four months ago, when I was supposed to be at home with my dad. I haven’t seen him since he visited a few weeks after I got here. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
With a solemn expression, he spun me around and sat on the edge of my bed, holding my hands in his lap. “I will talk to production tomorrow and get you a day off, alright?”
I nodded, feeling better already.
“But, Sky, you know your dad. He’s a workaholic, you would have spent your big day alone regardless.”
