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“She’s okay. Nothing too serious.”
Not this time. My heart gives a hard thump. “I know.”
“But she should go into rehab. You know we have doctors here who could help her.”
“I know. But she’s an adult and has to agree first.”
Unfortunately. She always refuses. I wish I could force her into therapy, get her well. Get her away from my dad and the eternal fighting that made her turn to drugs in the first place.
The nurse passes me a candy as consolation and gives me the room number. I thank her and head off to find my mother, munching on the candy. I know the way.
I find my mom asleep on a narrow bed, a sheet pulled up to her chest. She seems so small and fragile like this. I stand there, helpless, staring at her faded blond hair spilling on the pillow, her prematurely wrinkled hands relaxed against the white cotton.
Christ, Mom…
Turning around, I walk blindly out of there and head out to the parking lot. I need fresh air. Tapping a smoke out of the pack, I light up and stare out into the early evening.
Jeez. I rub at my eyes.
I’ll talk to Mom again about rehab.
Like you talked to Xavier? Like he shoved you and ran away into the night, with a bag of whatever damn drug he had there?
Fucking hell.
I’m so lost inside my head, I don’t notice the glittery pink-and-white apparition until she’s standing right in front of me, head cocked to the side and hands on her hips.
“Are you following me?” she asks.
***
I choke on my smoke and bend over to hack—then groan when that pulls my back. Christ, gimme a break.
“Brylee?” I rasp.
“Don’t pretend not to know me.”
The watery winter light glitters off her tiara. Her lips are ruby red, her neck encased in what looks like diamonds. Her dress, no, her gown flows to the ground. It also gives me a good view of the top of her tits.
She’s dressed like… a princess. A Disney princess.
“Didn’t I tell you I can’t go out with you?” she demands, ruby lips pursed. “Why are you here?”
I struggle to get my breathing under control. “Are you serious right now?”
“Why is everyone asking me this?”
Gee, I don’t know…
“In any case, I can’t,” she says resolutely.
“Can’t what?” I throw my cigarette to the ground, step on it. She’s close enough that I can smell her light scent and see the darker flecks in her honey eyes.
“Fall for you.”
“That’s okay,” I tell her gently, because something in that statement touches all the sore spots of my heart. Who has ever fallen for me, anyway? “I can’t, either.”
“Can’t let me fall for you?” She blinks.
