it? It’s not about what I want. It’s about what she needs. “Maybe she needs me?” I say out loud, trying to convince Elia. She wouldn’t be able to stop the Nick of before from doing whatever he wanted, but I’m trying to listen to reason. I’m trying to do the right thing.
“How are you?” She asks, and her question throws me.
“Who cares how I am? Amelia is what matters,” I reply.
She nods. “You’ve been sleeping on this couch for days. You’ve missed classes and practice.”
Lincoln texted me about missing everything too. I explained to him what happened. “I told one of my friends. I’m sure he’ll cover for me. Not that it matters anyway,” I tell her, feeling the anger start bubbling up within me. “None of those things are important.”
Elia gets up and walks over to me. She takes a seat next to me. “You lost a child too.” She says, bringing her hand to my shoulder. My anger dissipates, replaced by a sense of loss I don’t want to feel. A feeling I’ve tried to push away. Bury it so deeply inside that hopefully it disappears.
“I’ll be fine as long as she’s fine.” I get up from the couch and start pacing back and forth.
Finally deciding enough is enough, I walk down the hall and toward Amelia’s room.
I close my eyes and think about whether I should be doing this. We’re supposed to be a
team. I should be there for her. I should at least try.
With that in mind, I knock on her door slowly. Hearing nothing, I knock again.
Maybe she needs more time away from me but I want nothing more than to be with her right now. I lean my forehead on the door, aching to be near her. To take away her pain.
“I’m still here,” I tell her. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here the whole time.” I’m not sure if she’s hearing me but I say the words anyway. Because I want her to know. Because I need her to know.
36
AMELIA
I wake up the next day and I feel like I’ve lost track of time. I have locked myself in my room, only going out when absolutely necessary. Usually doing my best to avoid seeing any of them.
Locking myself in.
Making no noise.
Pretending I’m not even here.
Wishing I weren’t.
And in a way, I’m not.
Crazy how something that seemed so remote a couple of months ago could become the center of your life so quickly and then destroy everything in its path.
Someone knocks at my door and I sigh in frustration. “Leave me alone!” I scream.
“Sweetie, let me in,” the voice on the other side of the door says.
I spring out of bed, run toward the door and unlock it. “Mom,” as soon as those words leave my mouth I throw myself in my mother’s arms and begin to cry again.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she responds. My legs give out from under me and I find myself on the floor. Crying. Sobbing. My mother comes down to my level. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. I’ve got you.”
Her words are exactly what I didn’t know I needed. I embrace her. Hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s my fault,” I tell her the words that have been running over my head since it happened. “It’s all my fault,” I say again.
“I’ve got her,” Mom says, and I don’t have to open my eyes to know my sister and Nick are the ones checking, wondering, asking if Mom needs help. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see them. Not wanting them to see me.
When I hear their footsteps retreat, I open my eyes and look at my mother, the strongest person I know, looking back at me. Tears pool in her eyes. “Come here,” my mother says, picking me up from the floor. She closes my bedroom door and leads me to the bed.
She sits at the head of the bed, then pulls me into her arms. I crumble in her hold. I fall apart while my mother plays with my hair and tells me everything’s going to be okay.
“It’s my fault,” I say again and again in between cries.
“It’s not your fault, sweetie. It’s not,” she tells me and, more than anything, I want to believe her.
I cry in my mother’s arms for what could have been hours. I cried so much I didn’t realize when I fell asleep. When I wake up, she’s still there. Holding me. Caressing my hair. I’m comforted