8

What is this feeling? My hands are brushed against something soft, yet something so illusory at the same time. It's not real. It's not fake. It's not, it's not, it's not. When I open my eyes, all the weariness from before has evaporated into the air, and instead of being greeted by the gloomy grey ceiling of the living room, I am greeted with a beautiful night sky.

And I recognize someone. Far off in the distance, sitting at the edge of a grassy cliff. Is it her? That small little girl that I love so dearly? She's wearing that old hoodie of hers, and she's kicking her legs back and forth. I feel something run through my heart, my unstable but still beating heart. It's her. It's her.

Real or not, I force myself to stand up and call her name. "Rudy?"

She turns immediately, just like I expected her to. Her eyes widen, and a grin takes over her round little face. "Dad!" She waves wildly. "Hey!"

An intense rush of warmth and happiness runs through my veins, a wide smile curving my lips. What is this? She's alright! She's completely okay. My sweet little girl, my little Ratgirl! Without hesitation, I dash over to her, immediately scooping her into my arms and hugging her tightly. My Rudy. My Ratgirl. My child, my daughter, my everything. She feels so real.

Rudy giggles a bit, her voice echoing in my head as she wraps her arms around my neck. She looks up at me with curious eyes. "When are you coming to see me?"

"Hm?" I hum.

"You're coming to see me, right?" she asks again. "I want you to! I miss you."

I pause for a moment, smile fading a bit. But my mind whirs like a clock, wanting me to speak like an out-of-control machine. So that's what I do. "Of course," I exclaim, chuckles overriding me. "Of course I will! I promise."

"Why haven't you done it yet, then?" Rudy says.

"I was afraid, Ratgirl. Before. But do not worry now. I feel much better than before." I grin like a joyful child, holding her close. "I feel wondrous." I laugh again, louder this time. What is wrong with me? Nothing is wrong with me, that's it! This isn't a nightmare, this is a dream. An amazing dream that I will keep forever. How happy I feel! How wonderful this is! I giggle again, shoulders shaking. My little girl! My sweet child!

If I'm this happy seeing her in my own dream, then perhaps I will be even happier seeing her in real life, won't I?

"I'm glad," Rudy responds slowly, raising her brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" I reply. "I am more than okay, Rudy! I am overjoyed!" How warm she feels, how real she seems. But she's not the real Rudy. The real Rudy is asleep right now. But she will wake up like I will.

"I guess that's good," Rudy says. She leans against my chest, kicking her legs out. "But you sound like you're scared."

"How?"

"Your voice is all shaky."

I chuckle yet again, the rumble low in my chest. "Because I'm ecstatic! I'm going to be visiting you today!"

My child looks to the ground for a moment, a hopeful gleam in her eye. Then she looks back up at me.

"Well, you better be quick. I'm kinda tired of waiting."

The fantasy of a dreamscape is suddenly tugged from me, my eyes shooting open to the grey ceiling of the living room. The rush of excitement dulls for just a moment, being shot down by the nausea from last night. My head is spinning again, aching in the back of my neck. The name Rudy echoes in my skull.

Then I blink. Her. Rudy.

I need to go see her.

I kick the blanket off of my heavy body, rolling my feet onto the floor and forcing myself to stand up. I wobble, dizziness taking over me. But Rudy's name echoes in my head again. I have to go see her. She wants me to show up. My stomach churns in an nauseous wave as I turn, and I take a moment to breathe. This adrenaline pumps through me. It feels so refreshing.

I go to the bathroom and wash the bitter taste from my mouth, ignoring the strong thud beginning to beat in my skull. Then I splash warm water onto my face. It sends a jolt through me. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, scrunching my nose. I look hideous. I don't even remember how I originally look like. What father looks like this?

So I change it instead of sulking. After shapeshifting back into my human disguise, I comb back my hair to the best of my abilities, my hands shaking from excitement. Suddenly, I look at my reflection, and I'm smiling. Thinking about seeing Rudy after all this time sends butterflies through my aching stomach. I'm finally improving. I'm finally okay. I'm becoming the father that she needs.

Call me dramatic. I barely give a shit! I'm happy!

I stride back into the kitchen. I barely remember the silhouette of the bottle I drank from, the fork lined up against it. But I can't pay attention to it now. There's something more important to tend to. Someone more important to tend to. My hands frantically mess with my collar, straightening it. I can barely keep them from jolting back and forth, energy running through them. I suddenly feel like jumping for joy. My feet glide across the house floors and out the door. Rudy. I'm going to see Rudy.

The wind speeds past my face. My legs wobble just a little as I stride, almost skipping along the sidewalk. But I fight to keep myself together. I don't give a damn of how tired I am or how upset I feel, deep down inside. I had a dream. A dream. Something positive in my dark and vile head. How could this be? I was just crying and drinking last night.

I push the thoughts away forcefully. There was no time to think of that now.

My bruised knuckles knock wildly on the front door of the Denbraks. What time is it? The sky is a weak white, a little bit of sun peeking through the misty clouds. I ignore the burn dancing behind my eyes as the door in front of me swings open, and Faith is staring at me with concern in her face.

"Hello, Ormad," she says slowly, a questioning tone in her voice. "Are you feel-"

"Take me to go see Rudy," I interrupt abruptly. "I can't remember which hospital she was taking to, I- I've never been in one before, and I think that it'd be better for you to take me."

Faith frowns, possibly in an inquiring way. She is wearing her pajamas and her hair is a mess. It must be morning, then. She rubs some grime from her eyes, looking behind her and into the house. "Um . . . are you sure you're okay?" she asks. "I don't think you drank very well last night-"

"I feel fine," I reply immediately. "I feel great. Please, take me to go see Rudy."

The frown on her face slowly but surely morphs itself into a small, sincere smile. "Alright. Let me get changed. I'll have breakfast at the hospital."

"Okay. Please, hurry. I really need to see her."

"Whatever you say, Ormad," she sighs. "Come on in. Rest before we go. You really need it."

I grin at her, nodding frantically. My hands are shaking. "I know. Please hurry, Faith. I want to meet her now."

Faith snickers to herself, letting me step into the house.

Much time later, I'm looking out the window of Faith's little car. My head pounds with nausea and adrenaline. My fingers nervously tap at edge of my chair. What will I say? What will I do? Should I buy something for her before seeing her or should I see her first? These thoughts swarm endlessly in my head as I start to bite my nails. I'm shaking with happiness yet shaking with anxiety. I've never paid a proper visit to a hospital before, and I've only seen a little bit of one just a few days ago, and then I was forced to leave immediately afterwards.

I look over to Faith, only to find that she is staring back at me with the ghost of a smirk on her face.

"You're definitely feeling better," she says. "I can tell."

A shaky laugh passes my lips. "I suppose." The sour taste returns to my mouth, and I suddenly feel like I'm about to vomit. Or am I just thinking too much? I close my eyes, tugging at the roots of my hair. The pressure calms me. Maybe I was just drinking too much.

With each stoplight that we arrive at, the nausea stops dancing inside my skull, just for a few moments before starting up again. I fight through it. I inhale deeply, closing my eyes. Then I shoot them back open. The sour taste from my mouth is all around me, and I realize that I smell entirely of alcohol. I almost gag. I can't enter a hospital like this.

"Faith?" I ask.

"What is it, Ormad?"

"Do you have-" I clear my dry throat. "-perfume?"

She leans towards me, sniffs, and scrunches her nose. "Oh, you definitely need some. Are you okay with smelling a bit flowery?"

"Will I sneeze a lot?"

"No," Faith answers, chuckling a bit, "because perfume does not have pollen in it." She snatches her purse and sets it in my lap. "It should be in the outside pocket."

I do what she says. I open the outside pocket of her purse. There's a pink bottle of perfume. Looking at it immediately gives me a faint sense of Rudy's favorite color. I spray it over me, my mouth clenching from the strong smell. I hold my breath as I return the bottle to its original place.

"What the hell is this?" I mutter.

"A flowery scent," Faith says. "I haven't used it in some time because I hate the smell." A chortle escapes her lips. "But it's better than nothing, right?"

"I suppose." Despite Faith saying that the perfume is supposed to smell like flowers, the only thing I smell is sparkly, fuzzy, dramatic nothing. But like Faith said, it's better than nothing.

I hope Rudy will point it out. There's nothing I miss more than hearing her jokes.

Before I know it, Faith parks the car in front of the gigantic white building, the nausea in my head and stomach weakening. Everything that happens afterwards is faint, and I barely pay attention to anything. My legs wobble as I step out. Faith wraps her arm around mine to keep me balanced. Each step I take racks my chest, my eyes squeezing shut every now and then. But I force myself to stand on my own, Faith's warmth leaving me. I don't need to lean on anybody right now.

Everything passes quickly, slipping from my muddy memory. One moment we're at a desk, passing white walls with colorful paintings that wrap around my head. Another moment, I have to focus on the eye of a camera, staring straight through it as my body pulses with old scars. Then there's an image of my grave face on a little card pinned to string, lassoed around my neck. Strangle yourself, a voice in my head says. I fight it. I need to take care of myself.

People pass by, only giving Faith and I the littlest of glances. I wonder if they are visiting loved ones as well. They all have grim expressions, their lips pursed into thin lines. Some of them are smiling. Some are even laughing as they walk side by side. Others are silent, standing still and alone. But I don't sense that much negativity in the air. In fact, there's the opposite: positivity. It confuses me. How could someone be possibly happy when they have someone they care so dearly about hurt or in poor conditions? How?

The answer doesn't come to me, even when Faith and I step into an elevator with nobody else beside us. Faith has a card similar to mine. Her face on their seems more old; she got the image from her driver's license. She presses a simple button that rings floor 6, room 8.

As the elevator lifts us up and my stomach churns with nausea once more, Faith gently nudges me in the arm. I look down at her wearily.

"Hey," she says quietly. "Do you remember anything last night?"

A bottle. A fork. Blurry, dull vision. "Not really."

The corners of Faith's mouth tug downwards in a frown. Her eyes glimmer like sparkly black pebbles. "You were talking about someone. Do you remember?"

I furrow my brow. It hurts trying to concentrate. "No," I admit. "Who was I talking about?"

"You compared me to him," she continued slowly. "You said that I looked like him." She pauses, swallowing. "Whoever that was, I don't want to pry further. But are you alright now?"

There isn't anything I can quite see in Faith's face besides kindness and motherly warmth. I recognize nothing else in it. In the back of my head, a distant bell rings, giving me a distant image of two golden eyes. But I shake the thought from me. "I think so," I mutter.

Faith opens her mouth. Then she closes it again. Her eyes dart elsewhere, scrolling around the interior of the elevator. I keep my stare on her, waiting for her to say something else.

"Okay," she sighs. "Tell me if you need anything."

The elevator's doors pull open, leading to another grey and beige tinted hallway. I follow Faith, standing tall until employees come into view, in which my head scrunches down and my eyes trace the floor. I hear them chime a simple, "Hello," to us, a cheery tone to their voices. Faith greets them back as I mumble into my chest. I shouldn't be feeling so odd. But even in a public place that welcomes visitors, I feel out of place.

That's how it will always be with me. But I'll mold myself in eventually.

"Which room is she in again?" I murmur to Faith.

"Eight," she replies patiently. "Right around the corner, over there."

And that's where it is. My pulse quickens as I spot the solidly sculpted number eight sticking against the window of the door's glass. Curtains are covering it, laced with white. I swallow a lump down my throat. What will I say? What will I do? I ask myself afterwards, What if she isn't even awake? Slowly but steadily, doubt begins crawling into my gut once more. I really shouldn't have gotten drunk last night.

Faith gives me a soft smile, patting my wrist. "I hope we don't disturb her if she's sleeping." She pauses before quickly adding, "I don't mean in a coma. It's rather early, anyway. I wouldn't blame her if she's sleeping in."

"She might not even wake up, anyway," I mutter, giving her a dry and anxious laugh.

"Don't think about that," she reassures me. "You'll still be able to see her either way, right?"

My scars tingle all over my arms. But she won't be able to see me. "I suppose."

"You'll be okay," Faith says, patting my wrist again. The scars scream on there, too, having only increasing in volume from her warm touch. I don't deserve this. Then a voice in my head snaps, Stop putting yourself down. Do you want to mope when you're about to see Rudy?

Faith knocks on the door. Knock, knock, knock. Three times, just like every other time. I try to focus on it to relieve me of my anxiety. All the adrenaline from before has seemingly died down, dragging my excitement with it. Now all that's left is my doubt. Again, I have fallen into my old, irritating thoughts. I won't ever escape them.

At first, there is silence. Then with a click, the door's handle twists itself open. There is a woman wearing a loose blue outfit and pants, and a card pins to her chest. With gloved hands, she waves at us, smiling. "Hello!" she greets, a tender and soft tone to her voice. "You are here rather early. I was just giving her some pain-relieving medicine."

Like a balloon, the tension in my chest deflates, causing me to let out a sigh of relief. She's awake. Rudy's awake.

"Can we come in?" Faith asks.

"Of course," the woman replies. "You're Faith, right? It's nice to see you again." Her eyes trail over to me. "And you are Rudy's father?"

"I-" My breath hitches in my throat. "-yes, I am. I-I'm her father." I'm a good father. I'm a great father.

"It's nice to meet you." She extends a hand, in which I shake hesitantly before quickly pulling away. I try to peek past her shoulder, only seeing the base of a grey hospital room and a window at the very end. "Rudy has been asking about you. I'm sure that you're happy visiting her."

"Yes, I-I am."

The woman laughs quietly, ringing like chimes of comfort into my ears. "You two can talk all you want. But she is a little bit tired. She just woke from her coma yesterday."

"Oh." Yesterday, when I was drinking and mourning for things I already had. How coincidental. "Is Rudy okay?"

She nods. "She seems happy. I'm sure that means that she's okay." The woman gives me one last smile before moving past Faith and me, waving. "Have a good day."

As her silhouette disappears, Faith closes the door. All is silent. I can barely bring myself to turn around and see my little girl, wherever she is. So instead, I stare into the eyes of the motherly woman in front of me, waiting for her to guide me.

Faith puts a hand on my arm, and my scars begin to tingle again. "Do you two need time alone? I can sit outside and wait."

My jaw clenches. I can hear the little beeps and buzzes of the monitors behind us. They almost seem to reflect my very own pulse. There is nothing I want more than seeing Rudy alone, where we can talk about anything and everything without worrying about the people around us. At the same time, I want Faith to stay; I don't know what to do. I haven't ever visited a loved one in a hospital. I've never had any loved ones in a hospital. Ever.

Still, I don't want anything more than a little talk with my little daughter.

"I suppose," I reply. "I've missed her."

"I know, Ormad," Faith says. "You deserve to see her on your own." She pats my arm gently. "Tell me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay."

"Have fun," she tells me. Faith lets go of my arm. "Don't worry too much about her." Step by step, I watch her leave, inching towards the door and slipping through it. Then she's gone. My guide. My helper. My supporter. I'm all alone.

I take a deep breath, feeling my hands quiver in their pockets. It's as if I can already feel Rudy's presence in the room. She's there, I know. I shouldn't be standing here, waiting for her to invite me in when she's really the one waiting for me. Step by step. Baby steps. Slowly, I peek around the curtains, and my breath catches in my throat.

There's Rudy. On her bed, with a white gown hanging closely to her and needles sunken into her skin. I wince upon seeing them. A blanket is neatly draped on her, possibly not enough to give her warmth. Machines stand by her side as if they're guarding her, filled with numbers and diagrams that I don't want to read. I only want to look at the patient on the bed. How I wish I could just unfreeze and comfort her. She must be in pain. My little girl, my little daughter, my-

"Hey, Dad."

Her voice startles me. Hoarse, gritty . . . so much unlike her. She sounds sick. She sounds miserable. She sounds hurt. But on her face is a gigantic smile, one that rings her familiar aura of love.

I clear my throat, swallowing and forcing a weak smile. "Hi, Rudy." I reluctantly walk closer to her. My eyes search for any blood, any bandage that may be wrapping her wound. But to my relief, there's no hint of it for me to see. "How are you?"

Rudy weakly manages to shrug. Each movement she makes sends an insect of worry into my stomach. "I could be better," she croaks. "But I'm happy."

It's as if a blessing has been laid upon me. A warm feeling puffs up in my chest. The girl's loving and positive aura seeps into my veins. It is like I haven't felt it in forever. I recognize her childish face and goofy little smile, how her cropped hair barely touches her shoulders. That's her. That's my daughter.

Suddenly, the warm feeling in my chest bursts open. The corners of my mouth tug into a grateful smile, and without warning, I begin to laugh. My shoulders shake and my hands cover my mouth, something taking over me. It's refreshing. If I could, I'd wrap Rudy into a gigantic hug, cooing to her little words that will tease her and make her giggle. Because all I want is to see her happy. And here she is, smiling as I chuckle loudly and merrily.

"I've missed you," I cry through my gasps and laughs. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too," Rudy replies, grin widening. Her breathing is raspy, eyelids weak and heavy, almost looking like me. But I know that she is just as glad as me.

Before I know it, I dash to her side and wrap an arm around her head, gently pressing her ear against my cheek. She leans against me. I continue to shake with giggles. The nausea and anxiety from before has completely vanished. I don't need to worry when Rudy is with me. I am here to protect her, and she is here to protect me.

For the umpteenth time, I begin to weep. It would've gotten obnoxious by now, but now, I am not crying because I'm in grief. I am not crying because I am in despair. I am crying because I am overjoyed. Laughing, smiling, holding what is most important to me: Rudy.

"I've been waiting for so long," I sob, biting down on my quivering lip. "And- I- I'm so happy!" I sniffle, tears dampening Rudy's dark hair. "Goddamnit, I-I'm so fucking happy . . ."

"Me too," Rudy weakly replies, leaning into my shoulder. "I was wondering when you would stop by."

"I'm here now," I whisper. "You don't have to worry about anything at all. You're safe with me."

Somehow, she manages to laugh despite having a sore stomach. "I wasn't really worrying about anything, to be honest," she says. "I couldn't really worry about anything. I was in a coma, remember?"

I pause, gulping a sob. "Y-Yes, Rudy. I'm beyond relieved that you're awake."

She blows a raspberry. "Yeah, yeah. I don't remember anything at all."

We both laugh as I gently stroke her hair. Then I force myself to let go. I back away, dragging a chair across the floor to sit down. As I observe her, I notice that, despite being in one of her weakest states, doesn't seem that tired at all. At least mentally. Perhaps that medicine is dragging her down.

I wipe my face with my sleeves, sniffing and smiling. "Duh-Did you dr-dream about anything?" I ask.

"Nah. You can't dream in comas. At least I don't think so." She shrugs, looking to the side. "It'd be boring to just stay inside your head for a few days without anything to do."

"But y-you could- you could dream something up."

"Maybe," she says, raising her brows. "But I wouldn't know what to dream of." She hums for a moment before looking at me. Her eyes gleam. "Maybe I'll dream of you."

"A memory," I suggest to this fantasizing idea. I begin to fiddle with my thumbs in my lap. "A-A f-few memories. What would you have thought of?"

Rudy shrugs again. Her eyes fly to the ceiling as if she's imagining the dream world right now. I follow her. Perhaps she's counting imaginary sheep.

"Eh. I dunno. There's tons of things that we've done together that's fun. I couldn't have played all of them at the same time."

"Then you could go through them one by one," I tell her. "It would be a steady process. O-One event after another."

"Chronologically?"

"Yes, ch-ch-chronologically," I stutter. "It'd warm your heart."

"Like an oven."

The sudden comparison throws me off, and I laugh suddenly. "An oven?"

Rudy beams. "Yeah. An oven. Ovens heat things up, right?"

"Perhaps phy-physically, but I wouldn't want to warm up someone's actual heart. Th-That'd be ridiculous." Oh, how I love her silly, nonsensical humor. It, ironically, warms up my heart.

Rudy hums again, her small fingers slowly tapping the edge of her bed. "Then what could we warm up? Something to eat?"

"Well, I ate over at Jess' house last week," I say. "They warmed up some food in the oven."

A sparkle dances in her eye. "You ate over at Jess' house? With his mom cooking everything? Aw man. I wish I could've been there."

"Ah, I'm sure his mother can cook something up for you when you get out," I encourage. My smile widens from ear to ear, the bell of warmth ringing in my chest. "She says you're a good kid."

"Fuck yeah I am."

"Swearing? Hmph. I don't approve of that."

Rudy giggles hoarsely. "Hey, I got stabbed. I should be allowed to say something."

"Good job," I compliment her, and we laugh yet again.

Hours pass. I stay in the hospital with Rudy. Sometimes I go to walk with Faith in the halls, chatting cheerily together. It all feels so refreshing. I barely feel the sour taste in my mouth, for it seems to have ran away from my tongue. Now I stand tall with a straight back and high chin. I want people to know that I am not even close to being ashamed to seeing my lovely little girl again.

But there isn't really anybody to judge me, anyway. Everybody keeps their distance. They don't notice me, but that's because they're not supposed to. I don't know the employees and they don't know me. At least they greet Faith and I every now and then.

Lunch comes quicker than expected. Faith attempts to invite me to join her, but I politely decline. "I want to get something for Rudy," I say. "Isn't there a gift shop on the bottom floor?"

She gawks at me, most likely because she didn't expect me to recover so quickly. But she picks herself back up, nodding. "Yes. That's mostly filled with toys and things for younger children, though. I don't think Rudy would like anything there."

"Hm."

"You could get her a balloon," Faith suggests. "Even something as simple as that can make her feel better." She pauses before smiling. "Or you don't even have to get her a gift. She's already happy enough seeing you."

I chuckle. I've been in a giggly manner ever since I saw Rudy. It's easy to tell the reason why. "But I have to get her something." I think about the things she already has at home. Her skateboard, her video games, her consoles . . . she has basically everything that she wants. And she has her favorite hoodie too. Though it is getting rather old.

That is when an idea pops inside my head. An obvious idea, but one that I like nonetheless. "I'll get her a new hoodie," I announce to Faith. "Something different from her usual one but something that applies to her tastes." I can't believe I'm literally wanting to analyze all of this. "Perhaps something fluffy? Something that'll make her extra cozy."

"Oh, you sound silly," Faith chuckles. "Just get her whatever you think suits her best. I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me."

"Alright," I sigh.

"Please don't be gone for so long," she calls as she walks away, and she leaves me at that.

I turn in my visitor's pass to the front desk and walk out. I keep note of where the hospital is. It shouldn't be forgotten that easily since it's one of the largest buildings in this town, anyway.

Through the empty streets, I find a small gift shop filled with items based off our state of Michigan. I enter it, having to duck through the doorway in order not to bump my head. The shopkeeper mutters a greeting to me without looking up from her desk.

I walk through arrangements of small, softly shaped sculptures and colorful chimes made out of glass. I run my hand through the chimes to hear them sing like little artificial birds. Rudy would name the chimes, surely. She'd give them silly names like "Bob" and "Kelly", and I would laugh with her after hearing them said aloud.

I pick up the sweet smells of candles and soap stacked on wooden shelves. One that is colored a light purple takes my attention. It smells of lavender, and I am beyond glad that I do not sneeze because of it.

Then I see what I am looking for. In a section in the back of the store is a set of clothes, mostly filled with hoodies. I feel a smile crawl to my face as I examine each one. I'm sure Rudy would like one that is fuzzy and is bigger than her usual size. I see her curl up in her old hoodie all the time. Like the picky man I am, I go through each one, trying to see which one would fit her tastes the most. I am a good father. I am a good father.

After a few minutes, I settle on one hoodie. It's rounded with pastel blue and pink, soft and fluffy coating on the outside, the words GREAT LAKES SPIRIT patterned in dark text on the front. Size small. And then another minute passes as I walk up to the counter, pulling out some money to pay with.

The shopkeeper tilts her head at me, smirking. "You use perfume?"

"Hm?"

"I like the smell of your perfume," she says, raising her brows. "What kind is it?"

The only thing I remember of Faith's perfume bottle is that it was pink. And from how I smell like, it isn't applicable to my own tests. "Um, well . . ." I shrug, sliding a few dollars across the counter. ". . . it's not mine. It's my friend's."

"Oh."

"It's a flowery scent, she told me."

"Oh. That's nice." The shopkeeper sheds a small smile as she puts the hoodie into a bag, possibly a forced one. "I like it. I hope I can run across it someday." She hands the bag to me. "Thank you. Have a nice day."

I leave, muttering, "It smells disgusting," underneath my breath.

I reenter the hospital, take back my visitor's pass, and travel to the floor of Rudy's room once again, this time on my own. Faith is most likely still eating or taking a break from guiding me. I don't have anybody at my side, but I stand tall. I greet the employees who greet me with my face in full view, my spine straight and my posture confident. There is nothing to be afraid of. Rudy is okay.

When I show her the hoodie in her little room, I do it as suspiciously as possible. I enter, hiding the bag behind my hip in a mysterious way and looking straight at her. "I'm back," I chirp.

Rudy takes the bait. She tilts her head to the side. "What'cha got there?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I sigh. "Just . . . not that important."

She squints at me, and it's merely impossible for me to suppress the cheeky grin on my face. I sigh again, sitting by her side and swinging the bag into my lap. "Fine," I announce. "I bought you something that I know you'll like."

"What is it?"

I unwrap the bag as neatly and proper as possible, teasing her in a way. Then I reveal the fluffy hoodie, holding it up so that it hangs over my head. I proudly exclaim, "Here it is!"

Rudy's eyes light up like fireflies, and even while trapped in her bed, she waves her hand a bit. "It looks so cozy!" she hisses. "Can I feel it?"

"It's yours to keep," I tell her, holding the hoodie for her to touch. A beam of pride - good pride - shines from within me. I've never felt anything like that in a long time.

I watch her as she marvels at the garment, tracing a finger across the words to the best of her abilities. "Great Lakes Spirit," she reads. "Huh."

"I bought this from a store that was entirely about Michigan," I explain. "I'm sure you would've liked something more independent, but-"

"Hell no. I love this. Thank you, Dad." Rudy hums for a moment, letting go of the hoodie as I place it back in the bag. "It makes me feel something. It makes me feel . . . superior!"

"As in Lake Superior?" I ask.

"I mean, sure. But just superior in general."

"Hmph." I begin to fiddle with my thumbs again, not noticing the boniness or gauntness of my pale, ghostly hands. "Why with this hoodie? I thought your other hoodie was your favorite."

She shrugs. "I like this one better."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Because you're the one who got it for me."

A flurry of warmth tingles in me like a fluttering butterfly, and I feel myself chuckle. "Well," I sigh, "there isn't much else I can do but get gifts and talk to you."

"Yeah. But I like talking to you and getting gifts, anyway." Rudy looks up to the ceiling. "It was boring yesterday. I couldn't do anything. What did you do when I was away?"

The smile on my face fades a little as I review my days of dread and loneliness. I still remember the new scars I have given myself, all over my already decorated arms and neck. Fortunately, they have healed up quite a bit, thanks to my uncanny, unnatural abilities. But they're still sore. Thinking about the day Rudy got stabbed causes my stomach to churn and my mouth to turn bitter. But what's the point of worrying about what has already happened when everything has already been solved?

Everything except the one mystery that I still don't know the answer to.

"Oh, Ratgirl," I say. "I felt terrible without you." I rub the nape of my neck, swallowing. "I'll . . . I'll admit. I did lose myself a few times. I got a bit hurt. My apologies for that."

"Did you drink?" she asks with a concerned tone in her voice.

". . . Yes." My eyes travel to the ceiling as Rudy's travel to my face. I can just feel her gaze pressing onto me. "I couldn't think of a good reason to not drink at all. I regret drinking those nights. And I'm sorry for it."

"Well, there isn't anything to be sorry for," Rudy tells me.

"There are plenty things to be sorry for," I respond quietly. "And I can be sorry for that if I want to be."

Rudy's fingers tap on the edge of her bed. "I'm not mad, to be honest. I kinda knew that you were drinking, anyway."

I blink in surprise. "Really? How?" She must have some kind of sixth sense.

But my suspicion of her psychic abilities is immediately shot down. "You smell weird. Like, you would never wear perfume. And the perfume you're wearing right now is definitely not something you chose on your own." She scrunches her stubby nose. "It sucks."

The dread in my chest vanishes, and I let out a chuckle that shakes my shoulders. Everything is alright now, I remind myself. Stop worrying about things that you don't need to worry about.

"Ah, it's Faith's perfume," I answer. Then I quickly add, "Jess' mom's perfume."

"I knew that," Rudy says. "Still, it sucks. Smells really bad."

"Well, it's better than nothing, isn't it?"

Rudy shrugs once more. "I guess so. It's better than the entire hospital."

"Yeah."

We stare at each other as seconds pass. I give her a small smile before looking at the devices beside her. There's a large remote. I trace it to the TV hanging in the top corner of the room. "Do you want to watch a movie, Rudy?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. Maybe later."

I swallow. There's a question that I'm itching to ask, crawling around the insides of my skull. I don't want to ask it, for this peaceful aura soothes me. It's nothing like I have ever felt before with anybody else. Only with Rudy. But still, I need an answer, and there has to be something that we can talk about.

I should really save the question for after she gets out, but . . .

I put my cold hand on hers, a gentle and fatherly manner taking over me. I clear my throat and look into her eyes, keeping myself calm. The smile stays on my face. "Rudy," I begin, "I don't want you to get upset, but-"

"What is it?" she asks, an almost innocent tone to her voice.

"The day you got stabbed," I continue, "investigators looked through the house and didn't find anything. And they couldn't ask you anything, of course, because you weren't awake. So I suppose I'll just ask you a- a question now."

Rudy's hand tenses underneath my own.

"Who hurt you?"

Her jaw clenches for a moment. Then she shrugs. "I dunno," she mumbles, looking to the side. "I couldn't really see anybody. It was really sudden."

I frown. She's a good girl with a good memory. "Are you sure?" I ask, squeezing her hand. "Are you really sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

My frown deepens. The joyous aura in the air suddenly tightens, a bit of negativity rising from her shoulders. Usually, I'd curse myself for having such ancient abilities to sense emotions, but now I realize how much I need it. I know more than everybody else in this building. Especially Rudy and her "sureness."

"You can tell me, Rudy," I assure her. "I won't get angry at whoever did it. Or kill anybody or anything." I do my best to sweeten the mood with a light chuckle, but it only seems to make her more tense.

Rudy sighs. "I . . . I don't think I remember anything."

"Yes, you do," I say before softening my tone. I squeeze her hand again. There isn't anything I fear more than making my little girl uncomfortable. "You don't have to lie. I won't get angry at all." I lean forward, tracing her cheek and pushing a strand of hair from her face. "Please, tell me. I need to know."

"Nah, it's fine."

"I just want to know."

Her hand squeezes into a fist underneath my hand. "What are you going to do to the person who did it?" she asks quietly.

I pause for a moment. My jaw tightens. "Not much," I reply, doing my best to keep my tone honeyed and gentle. "I'll just- I'll just have a little talk with them. I'll make sure they'll get punished, because I won't let anybody like them hurt you again." I huff. "Please. It doesn't matter, because-"

"Fine! It was me! I stabbed myself!" she hisses.

That's when I feel my entire body freeze. My hand feels like it's crushing hers. My fingers uncoil from hers as I stare at her in bewilderment. Did I hear that right? Did my little girl just say that? That sharp, pointed knife plunging into her stomach . . . it was all because of her. No, it was all because of me. Because I couldn't watch for signs of her turmoil beforehand.

"What?" I breathe.

Rudy avoids my gaze. "Yeah," she replies. Her words grow quieter as she trails on. "I hurt myself."

It's my fault. My fault. Because I'm the one who started hurting myself in the first place. Because I am her father. Because she looked at me and thought that it was an okay thing to do. It isn't. A wordless breath passes through my cold lips as I stare, unblinking. My little girl. Why?

"What?" I say again. "Why? Your life is perfect. Th-There's nothing-"

"There's a ton of reasons for it," she interrupts abruptly before growing quiet again. "I'm pretty sure I deserve it."

My blood begins to boil. How could she think about herself like that?

"Wh . . ." How? Why? The words spin in my head in endless cycles, never stopping and never starting. They are merely echoes of what I've asked myself before when I started to hurt myself. How could I have done this? Why am I doing this? What am I? Each sharp object I see today will still give me that same, tense feeling that quakes in my stomach and beats in my head, because sharp objects tingle my skin and play with my old scars. Deep down, I regret ever starting it, because now it has passed onto Rudy.

She swallows, staring elsewhere.

"What do you mean? You, I, you can't- you can't possibly think that!" I sputter. "Do you know how much you're worth to me? You're my everything! You're all that I have!"

"But you have everybody else besides me," she says. "You have Brody, and Jess, and Akilah, and-"

"But they aren't you, Rudy!" I reach for her hand. She pulls away just in time. "Goddamnit, you have to know how much I love you!"

"I know you love me," she mutters.

"Then why would you hurt yourself like that?" I exclaim, voice cracking. This is all too much to take in. Too much to endure. My fault. I am nowhere near a good father.

Rudy takes a deep breath, wincing. She sounds hoarse. If I had been home earlier, she wouldn't be here, trapped in this bed with stitches in her stomach. If I had known better, I would have comforted her dark thoughts - whatever they are - before they took control of her and that knife. If I were anywhere near being as perfect as she is, I wouldn't have to worry about a thing.

I don't care if she doesn't think she's perfect. I think she's perfect. She's everything. My treasure. My daughter. My sweet, precious little girl. I can't imagine losing her. Ever.

When Rudy speaks again, her voice trails into a soft whimper, like a lost, hurt puppy. "I don't know. I just . . . like . . ." Her head tilts back and forth, her cheek smoothing against both of her shoulders. "I felt like it was right or something."

"How could that be right?" I say, aghast. My own hands begin to shake as a lump builds inside my throat. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Her eyes are growing dewey. She can't bring herself to look at me, the man who inspired her. "But I felt like it was right," she says again. "It . . . It helped me."

"How did that help you? You can't just hurt yourself like that! I love you! I don't want you to kill yourself! I don't want you to die!"

Rudy sniffles. "But I've said before that I-I don't want you to get hurt," she whines. "And you hurt yourself anyway. Why can't I do it, too?"

Before I know it, my protective, fatherly mask breaks, and I hiss at her with shaking fists, "Because you're not supposed to do it! It's not something you deserve!"

"It's not suh-something that you deserve, either," she snivels. "But you still do it."

"What is wrong with you? I- I do deserve it, Rudy." I fight to give her a smile that contains more bitterness than I intend it to. "Do you know what I've done in the past? I've done horrible things. No one is there to punish me, so I have no choice but to punish myself." I have to make her understand.

But she refuses to. "How come you get to say all the stuff that I said and still be able to do what you want?" she cries. "How come I can't do what I want? How come I can't make myself feel better? How come you have to be protecting me all the time? I'm sick of it!"

I open myself to say something, but my tongue runs dry. I thought that we were safe in here. I thought that there was nothing to worry about. It seems that I was wrong. Again.

"I . . . I stabbed myself because . . . because I've been thinking of things," she snuffles. "You give me too much attention, and . . . a-and it makes everybody else feel left out. There's Brody, and- and Jess, and Akilah, and Elysse and even Winsome. They don't get the attention that you give me. And it makes me feel so selfish, you know?" She lets out a weak sob, shaking in a haggard way. "I know there's so many other ways to do it, b-but I don't think that I was . . . thinking right when I stabbed myself." She looks at me, eyes teary. "You know what I mean?"

And I do know what she means. It's exactly what I've been thinking of myself for the past week. I'm selfish. I give one person too much attention compared to everybody else. I deserve to get hurt and punished. I never would have thought that Rudy would think exactly the same way as me and attempt to do something so . . . shocking. My jaw clenches. The negative aura in the air is at its peak, and it will not back down.

I stay silent, taking a deep, shaky breath. Some sort of calm feeling drags over my shoulders. I'm not alone. Even mentally. Rudy thinks similarly to me and feels the same shame and guilt that is directed towards her as my own is directed to me. Slowly but surely, I start winding up a solution for this. We can both get help. This is none of our true faults because we don't know any better. We've been stuck in this sort of cycle of self-blame when there's really other things to be so worked up about. Just like how I was worked up about Rudy before, and that was what caused me to avoid visiting her in the first place.

We can both get help no matter what. We can both get better.

Rudy breaks the silence with two words. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Plump tears escape her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.

But I do not cry with her. I need to help her instead of sobbing along. I've cried enough already.

I bring a hand up to her face and wipe those tears away, turning her chin so that she looks at me. There is fear clear in those watery eyes.

"It's okay," I quietly console, standing up. "You're okay. It's not your fault."

"It is my fault!"

"No, it's not. You don't have to blame yourself for anything." I wrap my arm around her head, pushing her face gently into my shoulder and letting her soak my clothes with her tears. Her sobs are weak from the stitches in her stomach, but they make my heart ache nonetheless. Still, sometimes you have to let everything out, no matter how much it hurts you in the process. Because after you're done, you'll feel better. You won't have to do it again for some time.

"I'm- I'm sorry," she whimpers again, burying her face into my shoulder. "I shouldn't have done it."

"It's not your fault," I softly tell her. "It's . . . It's not anybody's fault."

It is nobody's fault. I don't think I've ever said that out loud before and included myself at the same time. But I know that there's no wrong in saying it now. It's true. It's nobody's fault because none of us expected or wanted this to happen. Rudy wasn't thinking right when she hurt herself. She just wanted something to break. I didn't expect Rudy to hurt herself in the first place. Wherever the blame is now, there is no use in weighing it down onto somebody. All we can do now is wait. Heal. Get better.

"I want you to get better," I whisper. "I want you to feel better, okay? Don't worry about it. I'm not mad."

She lets out more of her sobs, and I let her. There isn't anything I want more than my little girl letting go of her emotions. Her stress, her struggles, everything.

Through the sniffles and whimpers, Rudy manages in my ear, "Thank you."

Gently, I give her a fatherly kiss on the top of her head, holding her closer than ever.