Crowded
7
Charlie doesn't believe me, and neither does my doctor.
Charlie's disbelief hurts the worst.
Dr. Grady places his stethoscope over the place where I supposedly have a heart. "And you have no memory of what happened the night you were found on the beach?"
Found on the beach. That's what happened to me. A boy not much older than me saw me fall from the cliff. He was out night surfing and swam his way to where I'd fallen from the cliff. The boy was unable to find me at first, so he swam back to the beach to call for help. And there I was, half in the water, half on the sand. They say it's a miracle I'm alive.
Doesn't feel like a miracle. Feels like death. And not the sweet, instantaneous death that releases one from the agony of existing in a cruel world, but the torturous, excruciating death. The kind of death I find unwelcoming.
"How many times do I have to say it? I don't remember anything about that night." My voice still comes out raspy. Sore.
Dr. Grady sighs and removes the stethoscope from his ears. He drapes it around his neck and gives me a leveling stare. "You're not just telling me this to avoid a one-way ticket to Behavioral Health?"
Charlie shifts on the chair adjacent to my hospital bed. He stares out the window at the cloudy gray sky.
I'm tired of the clouds, and the gray, and the disappointment and disbelief on my father's face. Why does my life have to be void of joy? Why couldn't I have been born to someone else? In another situation, in a happier time?
Life sucks.
"I'm telling the truth, but if you want to send me, send me." I pull the covers up to my chin, wishing I could disappear. "I'm tired of repeating myself."
Dr. Grady's voice softens. "Bella, it's not that we don't want to believe you. We do. But you have to admit, with your history of suicide attempts—"
Tears of shame gather in the corners of my eyes. This man, these people in this hospital know about my history, and there's only one way anyone in this town could know.
I stare at Charlie, hoping he feels the hate and accusation thrown his way.
Charlie clears his throat and avoids my gaze. "You giving her the okay to go home or not, Doc?"
Dr. Grady sighs and scrubs his wrinkled forehead. "There's no reason to keep her here. Her lung function has improved. I'll write her a prescription for some antibiotics to treat the pneumonia at home, but if for any reason you need to return to the hospital …" He gives me a stern stare. "And you need to follow up with me in a couple weeks." He reaches into the deep pocket of his lab coat and passes me a card. "And also follow up with her. She's a friend of mine. I think you'll like her."
"Dr. Angela Cheney, board certified psychiatrist," I read aloud.
Great, the guy still thinks I'm a kook.
oOo
We leave the hospital later that day, or evening, really. On the cusp of nighttime. Charlie parks the cruiser and pockets the keys, shooting me a hesitant glance. Sighing, I wrench open the passenger door and climb out of the vehicle. He meets me on my side of the car, his hands fluttering uselessly around in an attempt to help me walk.
"Don't worry, I've got it."
Nodding, he walks beside me up the driveway, only leaving my side to unlock the front door and hold it open for me.
Only when I'm tucked safely under the covers of my bed am I able to ponder over the events of the last few days. I haven't lied to Charlie or the doctor. I have no memory of anything that's happened since the night I attacked Leah in my bedroom. Only bits and pieces of obscure images flash through my mind from time to time: the grayness of the sky above a stormy ocean, the jut of rock digging into my back, a shade of vibrant green that just won't go away until the color narrows and blurs, transforming into two intense orbs, two black dots centered in the midst.
Eyes. Someone's eyes.
Sleep evades me. Each time I close my eyes I'm greeted with that shade of green, not the darkness I crave. The room is quiet. Too quiet. I climb out of bed and walk to the window, working the glass from the sill until it springs open.
A light flickers on next door, and quick bursts of images strike me. The memory of waiting for Edward, and Masen finding me instead. Masen taking Charlie's keys. Masen stealing the car. Masen touching me, fingering me, fucking me on the cruiser, on the boulder. And then falling into darkness.
I can show you how it feels to fall and crash, without taking a single step off that cliff.
The doctor told me a boy found me while he was out surfing, but never went into any details about the guy. Was it Masen? Had I fallen from the edge of the cliff and he went in after me? Told the hospital staff that he found me to avoid any responsibility in stealing Charlie's car?
And then a little nagging question assaults me. As much as I try to shove it away, it continues to goad my mind.
Did he push me?
oOo
Everyone in school knows what happens, but no one says a word, at least not to my face.
I shuffle from class to class, my head down, my hoodie up to hide me. Walking is torment. The superficial cuts scattered on my back and legs continue to heal. They pucker and pull and itch, which Dr. Grady claims is part of the normal healing process.
Charlie has been quiet since the incident, and Sue tiptoes around me like I'll explode if she says a word. Leah remains the only one unchanged, her and her vainglorious smirk.
A week crawls by like an inchworm going for a mile. I can't breathe again until classes end on Friday and I'm no longer forced to avoid the meddlesome stares of my peers.
Once school ends and we're released from the conformity of classes, I walk to the lot and climb into my old truck. Charlie returned my vehicle after I recouped from my hospital stay. He acted a little leery when he handed me my keys. Must have wondered if I'd drive the old rust bucket off a nearby cliff.
I'm about a mile from home when I spot a familiar mop of tousled bronze hair. He's walking down the sidewalk, his head lowered, hands deep in his pockets. There's a pair of earbuds in his ears, the wires snaking down to a pocket in his hoodie. He doesn't hear the rumble of my engine or notice me. Not until I nose slightly ahead of him and park the truck on the side of the road.
He comes to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. Dark circles encase his eyes, and the smile he wore the first night we met is nowhere to be found. My chest tightens with the expression on his face. Did he hear what happened? Did Masen tell him? Does he absolutely loathe me now?
He hesitates before opening the door, and I wish I hadn't stopped. I haven't seen him or his brother since I fell off the cliff … or was pushed. Whichever. Whatever. I shake my head to dull the thought.
Edward climbs into the cab and cups his hands over the vent. Hot air streams out of the old truck. The vehicle is older than my father, but it's got a hell of a heater.
"Did you hear what happened?" I say it because it needs saying. Because I need to know. "Did Masen tell you?"
"Tell me what, Bella?" Edward stares at his cupped hands, animosity dripping from his voice. "That you slept with him the first night you met?"
"It's really none of your business," I whisper.
Edward sighs, meeting my eyes for the first time since he climbed into the cab. "Yeah, you're right. It's not. It's just … I hate seeing someone get tangled in his web, you know?"
I shake my head. "No, I don't know."
Edward's forehead wrinkles in thought. "No, I guess you don't."
Anticipation gnaws at me. "Tell me."
He leans back against the bucket seat and stares up at the ripped and stained ceiling of the truck. "Masen's a destroyer, Bella. He destroys things. People, relationships." He turns his head to stare out the passenger window. "Especially when it comes to me."
"What do you mean?"
"Masen's always been jealous of me." Edward turns to face me. "He tries to sabotage any sliver of happiness in my life."
"And that includes me? We barely met."
Edward nods. "He saw how excited I was after the first night I met you. We've moved around a lot in our lives. From one town to another, shifted around before we can even plant roots. It's … difficult for me to meet new people." Edward blows out a shaky breath. "I'm not like my brother. I'm not an outgoing person. Hell, the night I walked outside to meet you was the first time I've approached a girl in almost a year."
"Really? I couldn't tell by the way you put your hand over my mouth and nearly gave me a heart attack."
Edward lets out a low laugh. "Yeah, that was unusual for me. Like I said, I didn't want to wake your dad."
"Your brother wasn't so worried about waking anyone up." I frown. "What exactly did Masen tell you about that night?"
Edward shifts in his seat, his brief smile melting away. "You don't want to know."
"Actually, I do." A headache pricks my temples. "The doctor says I'm suffering from temporary amnesia. Only bits and pieces are coming back to me."
His eyebrows bunch together and he shakes his head. "He told me the two of you went for a swim, but the way he said it I could tell the two of you were stroking way more than the water. How the hell did you end up with amnesia?"
"Went for a swim?" A shudder ripples its way through me. "He told you that?"
"Well, yeah." Edward shrugs but doesn't meet my eyes. "You're right, it's none of my business what you do or who you do it with, but amnesia? Really?"
Before I'm able to respond, he opens the door and skulks outside. I watch him walk down the sidewalk until he disappears from my sight, his shoulders hunkered against the rain.
