by Olivia Grey
All the memories of what we shared shot through my head all at once. I gave his hand a small squeeze and allowed the words to come rushing out of my quaking lips.
“Axel,” I leaned into his ear, “I know that you probably can’t hear me and that even if you could, you’d be petrified at the thought of having me here, but I… I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Axel. I’ve prayed to God every night, asking him to make this all a dream, to take me instead of you. And I mean it. I would trade your breath for mine any day… I love you Axel… From the minute I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t get you out of my head. And finally… finally I had a chance at something real with you and life just had to come in the way. Everything’s just so stupid. This world, it doesn’t make sense without you in it. There’s no reason that you should be laying here, while I get to roam around. It shouldn’t be that way and I’m sorry that it is. I’m sorry that I did this to you. But what I’m not sorry about, is that I loved you. And I’m thankful for every minute I was allowed to spend with you. I didn’t even care about that stupid tape. All I wanted was to love you. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I know that’s too much to ask. I dunno… I just… I just need you to know that I love you; that I will always love you. Just wake up Axel. Damn it, just wake up. I’m having such a hard time loving myself. I can’t love myself if you’re not here and… I just want to love you Axel and without you, I don’t think I want to live.”
Tiny streams flowed from my eyes, dripping onto his chest as I pressed my lips against him. “Wake up, Axel. The world’s nothing without you in it.”
My shoulders shook as I tried to prevent myself from wailing. Fearing that his mother would return, I forced myself to consider leaving. Carefully, I placed a shaky kiss on his forehead, ran my fingers through his thick wavy hair, the way I’d done hundreds of times before. I slowly raised myself from his side and began releasing his hand from mine, one last glance resting on his freckled nose and that’s when I felt it; something pulling me back in. Like he didn’t want to let go, the exact way he’d clamped onto life for all of this time. I was certain my imagination was running wild, offering me the hope I’d searched for, for so long, just to rip it from my hands the very next moment. I stood, frozen, unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of electric signals shooting toward my brain. The pounding in my head turned into a constant throb right behind my eyes. It didn’t allow for me to hear the machines beeping uncontrollably, the nurses rushing into the room or the doctors following close behind. But what the static noise in my ears couldn’t drown out, were his mother’s screams.
“Who let this murderer in here,” she barked. “Get her out. Get her out.”
I looked at her for a short second, not able to hold her gaze for much longer. She peered at me with a coldness that caused my soul to quiver. There was no doubting that she hated me and I couldn’t blame her- I hated me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping my sleeve against my face. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Hawk.”
She continued to scream after me while I ran, through the halls, bumping into doctors and nurses and eventually one parked car after the other when I entered the parking garage.
My heart banged against my chest with so much force I thought it would burst right out. Did I finally do it- push him over the edge? There was so much going on. So many people running around. So much talking, yelling, screaming. What was all the beeping for? Did he really squeeze my hand? Was I the person to feel the last movement he made?
I entered the car, fully aware that I was in no condition to drive. My hands didn’t just shake, they vibrated and no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep my nerves intact. I had enough sorrow to drown myself in, I didn’t need this too.
39
Axel
I love you Frances. If it weren’t for the stupid tube I had scratching against my windpipe, I could have told her that. She was so sweet, so broken but sweet. There wasn’t much that I remembered but when she spoke, it was like running my hands against silk - a familiar silk.
I just wished I could have opened my eyes, gotten a glimpse of her while she was here. I knew I missed her, but I had no idea how long I’d been missing her for. And why everyone was mad at her. Especially mom.
My childhood flashed right before my eyes, occupying the darkness that I couldn’t seem to shake. Memories of mom and dad going back and forth at each other. I hadn’t seen her that angry in a while - ever since she left dad to be exact. To be that livid with Frances though, she didn’t have a reason - she just couldn’t.
Frances was sweet, caring, trusting, innocent. I’d been the one to break her, but I guess you could say I fixed her too. I made things right with us, after that horrid first time we had together. Not that it was horrible being with her, just the circumstances. She deserved something a lot better than having her first time be… well… a threesome. Just like her, I’d forgotten that Jemma was there. It hurt to think of her name. There was a stabbing in my chest every time she popped into my head and I knew that I shouldn’t continue to explore it, but I needed to understand. I used to love her, before she started to play crooked games. But I guess when measured against the way I felt for Frances, even then, Jemma was a little below a like. Frances, she was different. Her eyes. If only I had been able to see her eyes before she left. They always sparked a fire in me; ignite a part of me that had fused out.
I felt something cold on my eyelids. Fingers? And then my eyes were pried open and a light was shone into them. Were they trying to blind me?
“Doctor Hubert, what’s going on?” my mother inquired.
Doctor? Tube in my mouth? I was in a hospital, but why? That’s not why they were mad at Frances, was it? I felt a hand take mine, one that had the same softness of my mom’s.
“Sweetie, you’re going to be okay,” I heard her voice. “Mommy’s here. I’m here, Axel. Can you hear me?”
There was more talking. Hushed this time, like they weren’t sure if I could hear them and if I could, they didn’t want me to.
Was I in an accident? Had Frances been driving? She was a pretty good driver - never drank before she got behind the wheel, not even after a sip of beer. Maybe I was driving her home.
Too much thinking. I was getting exhausted again. The voices around me came in and out like I was drifting into a sleep that they kept interrupting.
40
Frances
“I know you’re having a rough time,” mom said, trying to calm her voice, “but you have to stay away from that boy. You’ve caused his family enough grief as it is and…”
“I know,” I settled. “I should have never gone there but I… I loved him mom. I still love him.”
She breathed a breath that caused the hairs dropped in front of her face to lift and then drop back against her cheek. “You have to stay away from him,” she repeated. “If you don’t, you could find yourself back in…”
Mom paused, finding the word too hard to say but that was okay because dad said it for her. “In jail,” he barked, making his way to the dining table and pulling a chair out with a screech. “You’ll land yourself back in jail if you don’t obey the rules. You’re not a stupid girl, Frances, so stop making stupid decisions.”
He was much sterner than my mom and there was an anger to his tone that agitated my nerves.
“I know,” I agreed with him too.
I wasn’t up for conversation and I sure as hell wasn’t up to be scolded. Fair enough, they were right but they had no idea how I felt. The last words I’d said to Axel couldn’t have been the ones he heard that day. And the fact that he woke up, it could only mean that he needed to hear those words; that somewhere deep down, he still loved me too.
“You’re not allowed to take the car,” dad said, pushing a hand in front of me and holding up one finger. “You’re not allowed to leave the house without permission,” he continued, his index joining his thumb to make two fingers. He continued counting, listing the things I w
asn’t permitted to do, the rules he decided needed to be put in place.
Stay away from Axel wasn’t just one of the rules, it was the focal point of every rule. Nineteen years old - that’s how old I was. Parents never seem to be able to come to terms with the fact that their children grow up. I wasn’t their baby anymore and regardless of the fact that I had no choice but to stay in their home, I wouldn’t have them control my every move.
Later that night, I sat with my back against the door and my ears wide open, listening to the apologies my mother offered. Axel’s mom had called her, or maybe she was the one to call. Either way, there was a pound of guilt resting on my mother’s chest and no matter how many times she said how sorry she was, the burden seemed to expand. Her voice was hoarse, like someone had dragged sandpaper up and down her throat.
“Good… Good…” she said, “keep praying. Just keep praying. It’s all in God’s hands now and the fact that he’s awake… responsive… it only means that your prayers are being answered.”
There was more talking and then a beep, signaling that the call came to an end. The next thing I heard was my mother’s wails, loud and long and agonizing. They weren’t cries of sadness, even though they didn’t sound much different. She was hurting, irrespective of the good news she’d been subjected to but happy that a big M for murderer could be wiped clean from her daughter’s forehead.
I opened my room door, peeked into the hallway where I saw her perched on the ground, my father’s arms protecting her in a tight embrace. Her body shook, uncontrollably. Her tears glistened with fresh tears and was marred by ones that had already dried.
“He’s okay?” I asked, hesitantly.
Mom only bobbed her head in agreement.
“Stay away from him,” father warned for the millionth time that night. “We love you Frances and we can’t lose you again. Leave him alone, for your sake and for his.”
“Got it,” I answered, fighting hard to let the other words come before the sobs poured through. “Dad, mom… I really am sorry for everything I’ve put you through and…”
“No, dear…” dad shook his head. “Let’s get over this, step by step. You’ve apologized enough now. Allow us to just love you, to try to forget about everything and start anew.”
“Thank you,” I settled, sliding my way back into my room.
Responsive; one word with a meaning so vague that it could mean anything. Was he speaking or just batting his eyelashes? Was he breathing or still being breathed for? I didn’t have the courage to ask just how progressive his progress was. Deep down, I felt like he was okay and I guess in a sense, I had to believe that. His advancements dictated just how happy I would be able to be with myself.
41
6 months later
Axel
It’s funny how we take advantage of the simple things in life. A baby struggles through those first few steps. Those watching, hold their breaths in anticipation and have their stomachs tickle with glee when one tiny foot after the other travels a short distance that seems to last forever.
It’s funny how such a simple thing is characterized as a skill at such a young age. But what’s even more humorous is having that chanting fill a room when an adult is the one planting one shaky foot in front of the other. Hardly anyone has to deal with what it feels like to learn how to walk again, to be trapped in a body unlike the one you remember; unlike the one you think you belong in.
I’d smiled when I wiggled my toes, laughed when countless hours of physiotherapy finally paid off. Those first few strides, they were hell. My legs were fully attached but my muscles, they’d deteriorated, making each step a struggle. I smiled for my mother but not for myself. I laughed for her but not for me.
Learning to walk at nineteen years old was pathetic. I know I should have been grateful that I got another chance at life. There are many people who would laugh just as heartily and smile just as deeply as my mother did when I finally made it across the room. So many people have their lives cut short in the blink of an eye. But I… I didn’t feel accomplished.
To make matters worse, I learned that I was a horrible person. I did something to Frances; something that made her want me to die. Sure, she’d changed her mind eventually, but still, she buried a bullet in my chest. I’d forever be marked with that. It wasn’t the scar that bothered me, but instead, the agony of knowing who gave it to me.
My memory was cloudy. The doctor said some things might come back and others never would. Apparently my brain preferred to hide the trauma; keep me protected in the most messed up way.
It was no fun hearing about the evil and not being able to relate to it; especially when that evil had something to do with me. The sex tape, I heard about it. I’ve tried to jog my brain back to that day. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t put the pieces together. There was no reason I would have done something like that to Frances, or anyone for that matter. Of course, there was the hate that was supposed to come. She did this to me and I was supposed to feel some kind of animosity toward her, but I didn’t.
The day I woke up, I knew it was because of her, like my brain was missing a connection that only Frances could spark. Mom, as much as she tried not to put too much pressure on me, she wanted me to hate Frances.
“She scared you awake,” she’d said, over and over again. But I didn’t feel afraid and that’s something I knew she’d never understand.
Frances wasn’t trying to hurt me in that hospital room. If she was, she wouldn’t have said all the words she said. She wouldn’t have wept so openly, so unrestrictedly. Frances was sorry and I’d forgiven her.
42
Frances
The stares were the hardest things to get used to. I’d managed to get a job, which meant I was okay to buy coffee and pay for lunch on my own. As for renting an apartment, a luxury like that was out of the question. My hours at the restaurant were good. Considering that as long as there were people eating, there’d be dishes to be washed.
It wasn’t my charm or the owner’s naivety that enabled me to get work. My parents were friends with the owner and mother had done everything, short of getting on her knees, to get me the job. “Frances is so smart,” I’d heard those words over and over again but the more I worked, the more I felt like an idiot. I should have been in college, living out my dream of becoming someone; contributing to society. But even if a college had decided to open their doors for me, my family couldn’t afford to foot the bill. All their money had gone into rescuing me from the prison walls that they claim would have consumed me if I’d stayed any longer. A victory, that’s what they called it. Washing dishes in freedom was apparently better than washing dishes behind bars. I wasn’t so sure about that because no matter how many times I heard that I was ‘free’, I still felt trapped.
“You gonna take all day with those,” said Henrietta, a grumpy middle-aged lady who claimed to know my story better than I did.
Just like all the others here, she wanted to make my life as uncomfortable as possible. For weeks, she’d brought in the local newspapers which had my face plastered on the front. They were old papers. Journalists had already had their fun with me and moved on to something new and more exciting. But still, Henrietta felt the need to hide her nose behind my mugshot.
“Yep, pretty much done here,” I replied, my eyes focusing on a random speck of spaghetti sauce splashed against the kitchen sink.
No eye contact- I’d learned to avoid the windows to one’s soul very well.
“Good,” she huffed, intentionally bumping me with her shoulder as she pulled the trays off the table.
I held onto the sink, grounding myself. I was never one to retaliate - not in high school and not after my stint in prison. Some people fear me; but they’re usually a part of the much younger crowd - the ones who believe all those stories about everyone in prison turning into an eye-gouging monster. I was still me; frail, broken, me. What happened with Axel was an accident. I never had nor ever could hurt someone inte
ntionally.
I turned the tap on, squeezed a few pumps of soap into my hands and was about to scrub the germs away when Henrietta pushed up against me. She slapped her hand over the tap, shutting off the water.
“Wasteful little bitch,” she spat, glaring at me.
She scared me. Every time I saw her, I couldn’t help but shrink a little more and allow her to tower over me. It wasn’t that she was tall or built in a way that was imposing or terrifying, it was her eyes and the range of emotions her face showed.
It was as though the muscles lining her skull didn’t allow her face to display anything but disgust and hate for the people around her- especially me. And even when it seemed that she was trying to put on a smile, when one of the male customers waved around a bill in her face, all her face would do, was contort in ways that couldn’t possibly be attractive to anyone.
“Henrietta,” I said, startled, “Why do you have to be so damn cruel all the time?”
“If I was the mother of that sweet little boy, I’d hang you upside down and gut you, just to watch you bleed.” She moved one hand swiftly through the air around my body.
“That would make her a killer,” I responded, uncertain of where the confidence to speak back came from.
I’d learned to deal with the insults, the teasing, the tormenting. I knew very well how to block it out, but some days, like today, she really struck a nerve in me.
“That don’t matter, some people deserve to die. And you…” she licked her slim dry lips, a slimy line of saliva stretching as she opened her mouth, “you’re at the top of the list.”
