by A.R. Rivera
43
-Angel
All three of them are scribbling in their note pads. I am sure they have a million questions, but I have exhausted that subject.
Switching back to the previous topic-the question of waking up in the hospital-I answer as if I never veered away in the first place.
"I was sure I must have run at least a few blocks from that motel before I got hit by that police car."
+++
I remember feeling relieved for half a second when I saw the IV in my arm. I was actually glad I wasn't dead. Until I remembered how I got there.
I took too long to go for help. I ruined any chance Jake might have had because I fell apart. Every second I hesitated, with every breath I took, I betrayed him.
I would never touch him again. I would have to live the rest of my life without holding him, kissing his face, resting my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. I would never watch his eyes crinkle when he laughed or feel his strong arms embracing me. Never feel his breath on my ear as he whispered my name.
My heart cursed the minutes that carried him away, the room he was laid in, the hands that threw him into that reposed state where I found him, and my own lap-for so impotently bearing his weight after missing the moment when he breathed his last. And my broken brain for not knowing what to do about it.
All of him was taken-who he used to be, who he would have become, the future that he was building for himself was gone and I was left behind. Alone.
A deformed tree struck by lightning-I was ruined.
I was on fire. Furious with myself. With that bitch I'd called a friend.
And the doctor was out of his mind. He strolled in, all nonchalant, and broke into some kind of speech about how I was lucky.
I kept my mouth shut, too consumed with ideas of how I was going to hang Avery when the cops came to question me. No, I didn't see anything, but what I saw after, and the sounds I heard, and the way she apologized; those were the nails in her coffin. My loyalty was to Jake and she would pay for what she did.
The police came in as soon as the doctor left my room. One of my nurses said they had been there waiting for me the whole time.
The moment I laid eyes on those two officers; it was as if the burning ache-the one that said I was somehow betraying myself by talking to cops-had been waiting for that sign of authority to make it all real. Their presence solidified my allegiance; it justified my speaking to them. And I needed that, because even though I was going to spill my guts, there was still that innate part of me that naturally distrusted cops.
There was the dual smack of righteous rage and Jakes' resolute absence. My anger was the tip of a flickering flame that grew to a scorching inferno when his name tipped into it. Like gasoline, the two ignited.
My shame for cooperating-for the nerve of my breath after Jakes had stopped-was buried beneath the rubble for the moment. I sat up, watching the two cops place chairs at the end of my bed before sitting down.
I told them everything I could think of before they said a word. Every little detail, before they even asked for it. The way the night didn't go as I expected it to. How that chick Angelica was so beautiful and awesome on her guitar, that I was jealous when she performed alongside Jake because she was doing something I never could. She complimented him in a way I only dreamed about. And then Jake was mad at me and left me hanging. It was too much stress and I got a headache.
In the fantasyland of this legal drama, I was articulate. I told the cops everything and they believed me. They were going to arrest Avery and I was going to be their star witness to testify against her.
Reality was a cruel slap to the face.
