Bitter Angel

by Megan Hand

He nods and strokes my hair like he did when I thought I was bleeding to death. “Yeah.”

  Wow. It’s been two days since I thought my life was over, since I was…well, it’s too much to think about really.

  “And…?” I can’t say their names.

  “Turner’s still here. He has a couple of broken ribs, a broken nose, and I don’t know what else. They said they’ll probably release him in a few days. He keeps asking about you. Said he’d come see you. And…” He can’t say it either. Alpha. “He’s on watch at another hospital. They pumped that drug out of him, whatever it was. No permanent damage. He has a gunshot wound in the shoulder. As soon as he’s physically capable, they’re prepping him for arraignment, a bail hearing, and then a trial. Eventually. The charges aren’t official yet. The police are waiting for our statements, then they’ll put it all together with the DA.” He pauses to make sure I’m getting everything. The corners of his eyes crease.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. Tears streak my cheeks.

  He sighs, carefully snuggling my shoulder. “God, Lil,” he groans. “I thought I lost you.”

  I weakly squeeze his hand, noticing my wrist has a ring of bruises around it. It was the one that couldn’t support me when Alpha took me down that last time in the alley. I wonder how many other bruises I have that my eyes don’t have access to right now.

  My voice is shaky. “But you didn’t. We survived.”

  So to speak. The real damage—emotional and mental stuff—will take more than a hospital stay to heal. And more than time.

  He tips his head back and gazes into my eyes. “Yeah. We did.”

  So many emotions, hovering just under the surface, are waiting to spill. I’m tired all of a sudden.

  A nurse pops in. “Well, hello there.” She’s older and plump, wearing a smile so bright I want to shield my eyes. I would if I could move my arms. I can’t take this much happiness right now. She totters around, tinkering with the IV, my chart, and the monitors. “How ya feelin’, darlin’?”

  “Like shit.”

  Jay laughs softly, shaking his head. I can tell he’s thinking, Same old Lil.

  The nurse doesn’t laugh. Her smile remains pasted. I wonder if she heard me. Finally, she stops making dizzying circles around me and stills by the side where my parents were a minute ago. “How’s the pain? We’ve got you on a medium dose of morphine right now, ten milligrams every couple of hours. We can certainly increase that if need be, but it’ll make you sleepy.”

  Too late. I don’t think a dump truck of morphine will dull this pain anyway. “I’m okay for now. I’ll let you know.”

  She shows off a set of perfectly white teeth. “Sure. Just press that buzzer if you need anything.” She pops a pen back in her pocket. “I’ll page the doctor to let her know you’re awake. She’ll stop in and go over the extent of your injuries with you as well as recovery and such.”

  “Okay.” Now please leave so I can be alone with my boyfriend.

  She nods. “Okay.” Then she leaves the room.

  Jay chuckles again. “She’s a jolly one. Hell of a lot more than the night one. Can’t fault the woman though. At least she manages a smile after an entire day in this place.”

  “Jay.”

  He sucks in a breath. “Yeah?”

  Does he know what I’m going say? What I’ll ask?

  All I whisper is, “I’m so sorry. For everything.” More tears follow the others down my cheeks and onto my pillow.

  Jay picks up my hand slowly. He holds it between his, kisses it, leans his head on it, and looks at me. He sniffles with a cry he’s been stifling. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing.”

  I don’t know if I believe him, but I’m too tired to think about it right now.

  “I love you,” I tell him as I close my eyes.

  “I love you, too. More than anything else in this world,” he whispers back with more feeling than I can process.

  I’m so ready for sleep. “Sing me my song.”

  I feel the weight of his head next to mine on the pillow. “Are you sure?”

  The pain and insecurity in his voice make me ache, not in my stomach but somewhere deep in my heart. I don’t want him to think the meaning of his lullaby has changed because of what he did.

  “Yes.” Yes, Jay. I’ll never stop wanting you to sing to me.

  His rough and smooth tenor floats beside me, above me, all around me. Softer than the last time he sang it to me. Although he doesn’t rock me back and forth, I imagine it. His arms engulf me, and we’re in a different place. Our bodies are perfect, our minds unhaunted, our spirits perfectly in tune to each other’s as they are always meant to be.

  Don’t listen, baby, he sings.

  I’m not.

  Close your ears and eyes.

  Okay.

  His voice soothes me to that half-conscious state where I listen and soak up every word, letting it absorb the blood seeping from my wounded spirit. My spirit didn’t get eight hours of surgery. It doesn’t get a hospital stay and nurses and buckets of morphine to dull away its pain.

  The night is almost over,

  Soon to wash away.

  Baby, don’t listen,

  I’ll hold you ‘til the day…

  Hold me, Jay. Don’t ever let me go.

  Close your eyes. We’ll run away

  To where the sun will shine…

  I don’t remember past sun will shine. And I don’t know about real life, the from here on out, or the years to come, or any other clichés along those lines. But at least in my dreams, the sun is bright.

  April, Six Months Later

  There are those that say when you suffer a broken heart, it’s never the same again. The same can be said about a broken body. No one ever said Humpty Dumpty didn’t have scars.

  Mine are healing, but they’ll always be a reminder. That reminder has changed meanings over these last few months. At first, it was a frightening one. After some counseling—individual and joint with Jay—I’m not as frightened of the scars. Now they’re more of a souvenir from a dark hole in my life.

  At times, it doesn’t feel like it really happened. Some days it feels like it was just yesterday, and Hunter is breathing on me, burning me, cutting me, chasing me. Hunting me. I’ve learned to call him by his first name although I thought my original pet names—Satan’s first born and devil in human clothing—were more appropriate. But the therapist says it’s a way of humanizing him, making me less vulnerable to him. She might have a point.

  It kind of goes without saying that the nightmares have been plentiful, but I’m learning to overcome those, too. All in time. That’s what everyone says anyway.

  “Are you sure?” Nilah asks, sucking me out of my reverie. “I could’ve sworn the Nickelback CD was yours.”

  I snort. “Nope, trust me. It’s yours. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

  She harrumphs and goes back to sorting through all of our stuff.

  After my near two-week hospital stay, I was forced to withdraw from the semester. Since the school lets us have our rooms for the year, my stuff has been laying dormant here for the past few months. Now I’m getting ready to haul it out.

  As of two months ago, I’ve officially transferred to the hoity-toity school in the Windy City. I have officially let go of my fear of starting a life with him and am moving forward. He offered to transfer here again—God love him—but I can’t stand the idea of taking him away from his amazing art school. They have an art therapy program that rivals for top in the nation. After everything, Jay’s decided to double major in education and therapy. He says he wants to help people just like him use art as an outlet.

  So we’re moving to Chicago. I can study medicine anywhere.

  Approximately five-hundred-thirty-six miles from here awaits our teeny tiny studio campus housing apartment, ready for us to get a head start on the summer semester since we’re behind. Really, Jay’s worried about my acclimation and wants me to have a couple of months bef
ore school fully starts to get all the twitches out of me.

  As if summoning him by mere thought, he peeks in the doorway. “Alright. Got all the big boxes in the truck. What’s left?” He grins at me, tapping his fingers like a giddy child against the doorframe.

  He’s so happy that I’m coming with him. His eyes are twinkling, and I must admit my heart swells knowing I put that sparkle there.

  I point to my now bare mattress. “Just these duffels.”

  “Got it. Your dad thinks he can get the rest of the small stuff in his car.”

  That’s right. My dad came to help. He and Mom have been happier lately. They’re trying. I don’t know if it will stick. Maybe the idea of losing the only good thing their marriage has ever produced knocked some sense into them. Maybe not. Time will tell.

  “Be out in a few,” I sigh, cocking my head to admire his lovely rear end as he hikes the duffels onto his shoulders and leaves us with our goodbyes.

  Heather pulls out a couple of shirts and holds them up. I point to the purple one. “Mine.” And the other. “Sherry’s from down the hall.”

  Heather makes a face. “Really? When did we ever borrow anything from her?”

  “That night when you and huh-huh,” I make the noise out of the side of my mouth, “made out in her room.”

  Heather’s face goes red. “Oh, right.”

  Huh-huh was Sherry’s ex. The RA was out for the week, and the whole floor threw a ginormous party. It was a weird night, and a first for Heather. She doesn’t normally swap spit with leftovers, but she was drunk, and…well, we don’t need to talk about what can happen when we’re all drunk and stupid.

  Heather trots over to the bucket we set aside for trash and tosses it in.

  “Okay,” Nilah announces, hands on hips. “I know you weren’t about to take my Plush Plum gloss with you.” She holds up a stick I tossed in one of my duffels.

  My reaction surprises her. I don’t laugh or argue or pretend that it’s mine. I walk over and pluck the purple sparkly tube out of her hands, rolling it over in my fingers. “I was kinda hoping you’d let me…for old time’s sake.”

  I can’t get the words out. If I really say out loud that I’m leaving—even though I am and the evidence is everywhere—I won’t be able to go through with it.

  I’m going to be with Jay. I don’t see the point of living apart anymore, but I’m leaving behind my two best friends in the whole world. The Clan, The Plastics, my besties, my homeys, my sisters before misters. It’s the end of an era.

  To my surprise, Nilah turns away from me.

  I frown. “Is it okay? If not, I can—”

  She cuts me off by throwing her arms around me. “You’re wrecking everything, you know.”

  Typical selfish Nilah, making this about her. But I know her better. I know her soft, vulnerable underbelly.

  “Yes. I know.” I hug her back. “I can’t imagine not seeing you guys everyday.” I squeeze her tighter.

  Heather’s arms stretch around the two of us. A triplet sandwich. I’m gonna miss them.

  Heather lays her head on my shoulder and sighs. “It won’t be the same.”

  We’re way past that. It hasn’t been the same for a while now, but they’ll never be in my shoes in that sense, and that is fine with me. I never did tell them all of the details of that night. Those will die with Jay and me. And Frank.

  I finally learned to call him by his God-given name, too.

  We’ve stayed in touch, not necessarily by choice, but seeing him has also been part of therapy. After giving his full statement, including admitting to making the drugs, he was granted full immunity in exchange for his testimony against Hunter, James (Brandon), and Nelson (H).

  James and Nelson have already gone through trial, sentencing, and will be serving fifteen to life for the two counts of rape and assault on the two unconscious girls the police found in that apartment that night. Only one “client” was caught, but I haven’t heard a word about his punishment. I’m assuming with his ‘elite’ status, as Frank put it, he probably had a kickass lawyer.

  James and Nelson, of course, can’t be tried for hurting Heather, Nilah, or me because it technically didn’t happen.

  Hunter is still awaiting trial. Jay and I are prepared to testify as are all the police that were there that night. I’ve had to be in the same room with him a number of times since that night, for pre-trial stuff and one bail hearing. The first few encounters were rough. Jay even had to chase me down once. Not anymore. Those months of therapy have worked wonders. Now I can be around him and not feel that compulsive urge to run away.

  Despite all the evidence and testimonies lined up, the trial will not be a slam dunk. Being a senator’s son has its perks. Limitless funds and the best lawyers those funds can buy are two really big ones. They’ve tried for months to plea bargain, but the DA is not backing down. He says he won’t take less than thirty years.

  Hunter’s attorneys must know they only have a couple of wobbly legs to stand on, but they’re going for an insanity defense. Since no other victims have come forward to press charges, our own legs aren’t the strongest either. His father will probably never run for office again after the political bloodbath this has caused, but it doesn’t stop him from doing his damnedest to keep his son out of jail. I’m sure those ‘goons’ had something to do with it, too. Whatever Hunter thought his father was doing, I’d bet his jail time that his father was working harder to cover his son’s tracks rather than expose him.

  With no one else’s testimony, our chances seem slim, but they haven’t even seen me put my dukes up yet. Court is an entirely different ball game, and I’m bringing a completely new hellfire attitude to this war.

  One detail that never stopped bothering me was the threat they made against Frank. I pestered him about it after each trial— we went as part of therapy, even though we weren’t involved in the testimony—and my persistence finally paid off. After Nelson’s trial, Frank unraveled the entire story about how they approached him and pumped him with hateful examples of how he was treated in high school, and how this would be his opportunity for revenge. Not to mention, getting laid. When he refused, they threatened his career. That escalated to vague threats against his life. Still bravely declining, they threw in their last card, showing him multiple printed photos of his teenage sister. He told me they had not only scoped him out but his family as well, and if he didn’t comply, his sister would be their next victim.

  My already broken heart cracked a little more when I heard that, and it all clicked into place—him not wanting to tell us, describing his feeling as helpless. I knew exactly what he meant, feeling unable to protect the ones we love. I’ve had enough of helpless to last me ten lifetimes. I’ve officially retired from helpless. I hope God writes that down on His short list of Lila’s Deeds. A girl can only stand so much.

  Nilah, Heather, and I hug for a long time. Longer than I thought Nilah was capable of, but she clings to me like I’m her favorite pair of Jimmy Choos. When she pulls away, I see a glisten to her eyes.

  I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile. “Tears? For me?” I press a dramatic hand to my heart.

  She sniffles. “No. Just got something in my eye.”

  As if that line hasn’t been used a billion times before. To prove her point, she rubs it vigorously as she lets the lip gloss plunk back into the duffel. She loves me.

  Heather doesn’t hide her emotion. “I’ve got tears,” she announces with a giant grin and watery eyes. “Come here again.” She embraces me.

  I’m really going to miss her, them, all of this. We had a great thing going here.

  I’m going to be great with Jay, too. Better even. Together we’re a team, and I’m looking forward to having that oneness with him again. We’ve built that up over these past few months. He also withdrew from school to undergo intense physical therapy on his leg. Being together, me and him, it was always going to be this way eventually. I have definitely learned that there
’s no reason to postpone the future. Almost losing that future had a lot to do with this new mentality.

  “You’ll call us when you get there?” Heather asks.

  “Of course.”

  Nilah plops back on her bed, returning to her normal perky, jerky self. “And you’ll invite us over when you’re settled?”

  I chuckle knowing she cares as much about shopping as she does seeing me. “Yup.”

  “Kay then.” She folds her legs underneath her, satisfied that she’ll see me soon. She acts like my leaving is no big deal, but I see the barely there sadness in her averted gaze.

  Heather hoists my biggest duffel on her shoulder, and I take the other along with a giant laundry bag.

  “I’ll tell Neiman Marcus you said hello,” I tell Nilah on my way out the door.

  She shoots her hand in the air. “Ooh, ooh, and Saks. Let Saks know I’m coming.”

  I chuckle again. Oh, Nilah.

  Heather and I walk out to where Jay has parked the rental truck. My dad’s car is idling next to it. Dad is standing beside Jay, hands folded across his chest. They appear to be deep in conversation. When they see me coming, they jog forward and take our bags.

  Jay pokes around my dad’s trunk, giving me the time he knows I need to say goodbye. I’ll probably see them in a few weeks, but I’d be acting the same way if I was staying and Jay was the one leaving.

  “C’mere,” Heather says, wanting me close but not to hug me. She puts her hands on my stomach, something she’s done many times in these past few months.

  It’s a comfort maneuver. She holds them there and looks me straight in the eye. I know what she feels. I’ve felt it a thousand times myself. The globby scar about the size of a quarter and the pencil-thin lines that intersect it.

  “You know what they said,” she reassures me. “You’ll talk to some specialists. When you’re ready. Don’t give up hope.”

  I can’t help the tears that squeeze out of the corners of my eyes. Nodding, I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “I know.”

  “You’ll find your own way,” she says.

  “Yup.”

  I will find my own way, but I haven’t been able to stop mourning the loss of something I never had. I never got to say yes or no. I never got to choose.