Rock Bottom

by Canosa, Jamie

  Elijah’s grin is pure self-amusement as he heads across the room to the small closet where his jacket hangs. He appears to be moving better, but it doesn’t escape my notice the way his entire torso curls forward around his injury.

  “You can’t just . . . Argh.” What does he think he’s going to do? Walk right out the front door in nothing but scrub pants and a leather jacket?

  His laugh is strained, but his dimples . . . those damn dimples . . . “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute as hell when you’re pissed?”

  I give up. “You may have mentioned it.”

  “Of course I did.”

  I shake my head, resigned to watching him return to where his bed is and press the nurse call button. She’s going to spit fire when she comes in and finds him out of bed, but that’s his problem.

  “Any thoughts on where a guy can get some clothes in this joint?” He examines his naked torso. I may or may not do the same. “The nurses enjoying the view or something?”

  The bag Declan brought is under the bed, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  “What can I—?” The same woman who was in earlier stops just inside the door. “Mr. Prince, you shouldn’t be out of bed. Your shoulder is—”

  “Feeling fine. You have some first-class doctors here.” He throws in a wink for good measure.

  “Well . . . yes. But your doctor said you need to—”

  “Avoid being shot again in the near future. I’m all over that.”

  “No. I mean yes, of course, but . . .” She looks to me for help, but I’ve got nothing. Welcome to my world, lady.

  “Mr. Prince,” she sighs, obviously realizing there’s no winning when Elijah sets his mind to something. “I must advise against it, but if you’d like to check yourself out against doctor’s orders—”

  “Yes.” He points at the woman and graces her with one of his brain-melting smiles. “That is exactly what I would like to do. So if you could get me whatever paperwork I need to sign, I just need to find . . .”

  He bends over to peek beneath the bed and spots the shopping bag. I’m too busy spotting his ass to hear the rest of what he says. I think the nurse may be on a similar state of distraction because it takes her a moment to recover before she scurries from the room.

  “Are you checking out my ass?” He doesn’t even bother turning around when he asks.

  “Absolutely not.” Fire erupts in my face as I turn to peer out the window.

  I don’t hear him coming, but a single arm wraps around my waist and a heavy head rests atop mine. For a moment we both stand quietly, taking in the boring view. A weary breath rustles my hair. Then he presses a kiss to my temple and I feel him smile.

  “You were totally checking out my ass. But that’s okay. I check out yours every chance I get.”

  ***

  I’m in the process of tidying Elijah’s room when Declan returns with two white paper bags and a couple of sodas. Two people confined to a limited space for an extended period of time can make a hell of a mess. There are snack wrappers from the vending machines and empty soda cans and water bottles all over the place. Clothes, cards, books, and one impressive sketch of the view outside the window. I glance at Declan, wondering if he’ll want to take it with him, but he and Elijah are engaging in some kind of one-armed, back-thumping, man hug.

  I move into the bathroom to afford them some privacy and start collecting my dirty clothes from the floor. Several items from Elijah’s wardrobe and, at the very bottom, the bloody leggings and sweater I got from Damien. I have no desire to salvage them, but I pick up the sweater and shake it out, examining the last remnant of the life I’m putting behind me.

  Something catches my eye as it flutters to the floor, landing beside the shower. I stuff the sweater in the trash along with the leggings and stoop to retrieve the fallen item. Snatching it, I turn my hand over and open my fingers. A tiny baggie of little round pills sits in the palm of my hand.

  I back up against the door and shut my eyes in a laughable attempt to erase the temptation. My parents are coming. They’ll be here in a matter of hours and I’ll have to face them. They know everything. Everything I’ve done. Everything I’ve become. They’ll be so ashamed. So disgusted. I’m not sure I’ll survive it.

  My hand fists so tightly that the pills dig into my palm. It would be so easy. Crush it and snort it. And all of my worries would just float away.

  Sometimes life can change so gradually that you don’t even realize it’s happening until you look in the mirror one morning and no longer recognize the person staring back at you. And other times, there’s a single moment that you can point to and say, ‘that’s when everything changed’. This is that moment.

  I have a choice to make.

  From this moment forward, who do I want to be? Not who will I be tricked into being. Not who will I be forced to be. Who do I want to be?

  The girl who hides from her problems? The coward who always takes the easy way out, careless of who she hurts in the process? The failure? The disappointment? The addict?

  Or the girl who’s strong enough to face those problems without the drugs? The girl who knows that, no matter what, there are people who love her and will be there to support her? The girl Elijah believes me to be? His superhero? His princess?

  Tearing open the bag, I cover the cramped space in two steps and upend it. As I watch the pills spiral away, I see the last trace of Star go with them.

  I am Rylie Stark.

  I may not have much of a plan anymore, but at least I know who I am.

  .

  Epilogue

  When we pull up in front of the three-story brownstone, I’m pleasantly surprised, to say the least. Kids ride their bikes on the sidewalk and an elderly woman walking a small poodle stops to wave to Elijah and Declan. In a secure building, in a decent neighborhood, their two-bedroom apartment occupies the middle floor.

  The décor is a bit . . . bachelor pad for my taste, but it’s clean and tidy, and it suits them. The only things that feel out of place are the incredible paintings hanging on several walls. They’re dark, but the talent is unmistakable.

  The painting in the living room is of a room: small, cluttered with clothes and shoes and boxes. A closet. The image is the inside of a closet. Only it’s dark and tight. Suffocating. It makes me feel as though the oxygen has been sucked from my lungs just looking at it. A belt hangs over the door handle in shadow. For an inanimate object, it manages to pulse with menace. A blatant promise of violence that gives me chills.

  My thoughts go back to the sketch of the parking lot I found in Elijah’s hospital room. The same lines, same shading techniques . . . The initials D.W. are scrawled on the bottom right hand corner of the canvas. I don’t know what Declan’s last name is, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that it starts with a W. And that he should be doing a hell of a lot more than catering rich people’s parties.

  The best part of the whole place, though, is the small windowless room at the end of the hall that Elijah transformed into his own darkroom. He did it. Despite everything, he found a way to live his dream. I couldn’t be prouder of him. It gives me hope that maybe someday—when I figure out what my dream is—I’ll be able to do the same.

  Elijah shifts on the couch beside me, seeking a more comfortable position. Over the past two hours the pain meds he was on at the hospital have been wearing off, and though he’s tried to hide it, I can see that he’s hurting. Declan stopped at the pharmacy on the way back to their place so we could fill his prescription, but the pharmacist warned it would make him drowsy. The stubborn fool has refused to take it until we’re finished with my parents.

  A staticy buzz comes from the small box on the wall and my spine stiffens. Declan gets up to buzz them in and hesitates in the kitchen. “Should I clear out?”

  “No.” I wave him back to the overstuffed recliner. “You’re part of this, Declan. Stay. Please.”

  I feel the need to surround myself with as many friendlies as
possible.

  He unlocks the front door on his way back and Elijah calls for them to come in when we hear a knock. I’m completely oblivious to the fact that I’m squeezing the life out of Elijah’s hand until he struggles to his feet, bringing me along with him.

  My first thought is that they look older. Wrinkles bracket my mother’s eyes and mouth, and grays are peppered throughout my father’s dark hair. I did that to them.

  I don’t know how much time passes while we just stare at each other. I keep waiting for them to say something. To yell or scream or scold or . . . something. I wonder if they’re waiting for me to do the same. The silence is becoming almost unbearable when it finally snaps with a shrill cry.

  “Rylie.”

  A blur of movement hurtles toward me and I’m nearly knocked off my feet by an unexpected hug.

  “Carrie?” It feels like reality is slipping away. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “She insisted on coming with us,” my father answers for her.

  He takes a step closer and that’s all the prompting Mom needs. She rushes past him and I brace myself for round two.

  “Watch her arm.”

  No one heeds Elijah’s warning and I couldn’t care less about the pain. I’m in my mother’s arms. Mom. She’s here. She’s holding me. Nothing else matters.

  “Mom.” Tears clog my voice. All the promises in the world about not crying today go right out the window.

  “Oh, baby. Rylie. Baby.” She’s sobbing all over me and it feels horrible—and wonderful.

  “I’m okay, Mom.”

  It takes a long time for her to loosen her hold on me, but she doesn’t let go, not entirely. She loops her arm around my waist and stands right beside me while I face my final visitor.

  “Daddy?” I can’t keep my voice from quivering. Hard jaw, tight lips, rigid posture. He looks so angry. “I . . . I’m—”

  His head jerks with a tight shake. “Don’t.”

  My chest tightens. He’s not even going to let me apologize. “Bu-but I—”

  Three powerful strides and I’m wrapped tight in his arms. My shoulder throbs, but when he lifts me in a bear hug the way he used to when I was a little girl, everything else just fades away. I’m crying harder than my mother and he just holds me and lets me get it all out. Safe. Protected. Loved.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry I hurt you and Mom. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Hush, baby. We know.” A tremor runs through his large frame. “We know everything. And we love you.”

  “You do?” I pull back far enough to see his face.

  “Of course we do, sweetheart.” It’s Mom who answers, but Dad smiles at me. He smiles. I can’t remember the last time I saw him smile. “We’ll always love you. What you did with the police . . . those girls you saved . . . Baby, we are so, so proud of you.”

  Proud? They’re proud of me?

  My knees feel weak all of a sudden and I sag against my mother. Elijah’s right there—with his one arm—to lower me onto the couch. He takes up position right beside me and Mom quickly claims the other. Carrie and Declan are talking quietly in the corner, attempting to stay out of the way as much as possible.

  When we’ve all found somewhere to sit, we visit for hours. We talk, and laugh, and cry a little more. Mom finally fussed over Elijah enough to get him to take the pain pills and now he dozes beside me while Dad explains that he went to the school board with my accusations against Mr. Parson. Apparently, I wasn’t the first and his new job consists of standing in the unemployment line. I hope it pays enough to cover the cost of the lawyer he’s going to need with the charges that have been filed against him. On second thought, no, I don’t.

  “So . . .” Mom fidgets in her chair. “Your room’s just how you left it back home.”

  Back home . . . is that where I’m going? Funny, I haven’t given much thought to that particular issue since leaving the hospital. I suppose I have to go somewhere and it’s not like I have a lot of options, but . . . home? With all those familiar faces watching me? So far from Elijah? My stomach knots and I choke down the stone lodged in my throat.

  “You are coming home, aren’t you?”

  “I . . .” Do I have any other choice? “I guess—”

  “Actually, she’s staying here.” Declan speaks up, surprising us all. Elijah even rouses.

  “I am?” This is news to me.

  “I got a buddy who’s looking for a roommate. The place is closer to work and cheaper than here. I was just waiting for the right time to break the news to Eli. With Rylie here, seems like a good time to jump ship. She can take my old room. Or, ya know . . . not.” He smirks and I want to strangle him. Does he remember he’s talking to my mother?

  I shoot him a death glare and he only smirks harder. Oh yeah, he remembers.

  “Oh . . .” Mom knots her fingers together and I realize that’s where I get that particular trait from.

  A pang of guilt hits me. It may not be what I want, but it’s not about what I want. If she needs me to come home . . . I can make it work. Somehow. “I’m coming home, Mom. I can—”

  “No.” Dad has on his no-nonsense face.

  “What?”

  “You’re not coming home.”

  I’m confused. “I’m not?”

  “She’s not?” So is Mom, apparently.

  “No.” Dad twists to take Mom’s hand and the love between them is so strong it can make a conversation feel so intimate that you have to look away. “Honey, this will be good for her. A fresh start at a new life.”

  “But she—”

  “Will be just fine without us.”

  “I will?” I’m not so sure.

  “You will.” This time it’s Elijah making the declarations.

  His hands slides into mine and he looks at me the way my dad is looking at my mom. His eyes turn to molten, liquid silver pools. I could get lost in those eyes, bathing in their moonlight glow. And maybe I do because the rest of the world just fades away and I forget where I am and who I’m with until my father clears his throat.

  Embarrassed to be caught swooning, I pull my gaze from Elijah’s magnetic stare to find Mom beaming at us like she’s got visions of grandkids dancing in her head.

  “You will.”

  ***

  Mom helps Declan in the kitchen with dinner seeing as Elijah and I are handicapped in the measure and mix department. I lose Dad and Elijah the minute the ballgame comes on TV and Carrie takes the opportunity to drag me away.

  We settle side-by-side on the mini balcony. There’s no furniture out here, so we just sit on the warm concrete and watch the pigeons scavenging on the sidewalk below.

  “Angela wanted to be here, too, ya know.”

  I don’t blame her for not being here. I never in a million years expected Carrie to be. “What is she up to?”

  “She got accepted into the summer program at Columbia.”

  “That’s great.” I’m happy for her, but I’m not surprised. She worked really hard to achieve her dreams.

  “Mm-hm.” Carrie’s foot taps to a beat only she can hear against the metal railing. “Sorry I sort of bombarded you today. I know it was supposed to be about family and I—”

  “You are family, Carrie.” The cautious hope I see in her eyes breaks my heart. “I know the way I acted wasn’t—”

  “I should have known something was wrong.”

  “I should have told you. Instead, I . . .” Acted like a raving bitch and pushed everyone that mattered to me away. “I’m sor—”

  “It’s in the past.” Her dark hair falls over her shoulder and she twists the ends around her fingers. “It’s over now, right? You’re better now?”

  “I hope so. I mean, I want to be, but I’m not sure that’s enough. I don’t think it works that way. I . . .” I don’t want the drugs controlling who I am, anymore, but I’m not foolish enough to deny that the thought of them lingers at the back of my mind. Or to ignore the fact that those thoughts will b
ecome louder and harder to ignore when I’m worried or stressed. I can’t trust myself not to give in to them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “I’m gonna need help.”

  “Well, you’re going to have lots of that.” The sun breaks free from behind a cloud and Carrie tips her head back to catch its rays on her face. “I’m just a phone call away whenever you need me to kick your ass.”

  The sun feels good, but the real warmth is coming from somewhere inside of me. “Good to know.”

  “Still BFFs?”

  My cheeks are starting to ache from how much time I’ve spent smiling today. Muscles that are depressingly out of practice have been getting a serious workout. “One of those Fs does stand for forever.”

  She bounces on her bottom closer to me and throws an arm around my neck, and just like that all is forgiven.

  “So . . .” She peeks through the glass doors into the apartment. “Does Declan have a girlfriend?”

  Not five minutes after hearing that he’s single, Carrie’s suddenly developed a newfound love of the culinary arts. As she skips her way into the kitchen, I go in search of Elijah. I know he’s awake because I can hear him and my dad talking as I near the living room. At first, I assume it’s about the game, but then I hear my name.

  “Mr. Stark, I just want to be upfront about my intentions when it comes to your daughter.”

  “And what might those intentions be?”

  This is obviously a conversation I’m not meant to hear. I should turn around and walk away. Not creep closer to the doorway and eavesdrop on them. I definitely shouldn’t do that.

  “I have every intention of asking her to marry me.”

  Oh. My. God. All thoughts of doing the honorable thing go catapulting into the atmosphere.

  “Are you asking for my permission to marry my daughter?”

  “No, sir.”

  I cringe. He was doing so well.

  “I think Rylie’s had enough people making decisions for her. This one’s for her to make and her alone. I just wanted to let you know.”