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I swore then and there as I cradled her lifeless body to my chest that if the cops didn’t do anything to the bitch, then the club would. I didn’t give a fuck what they had to do to make that happen.
Just then, I heard a soft knock on the door.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I called out for whomever it was to enter.
Hearing the door creak open, I saw Stella’s black hair in a messy bun, and then I locked eyes with her, shook my head, then said, “God must have needed her back.”
Stella dropped her head, and then seconds later I watched as her shoulders shook.
Carefully, I stood up, turned my back to Stella, and then when she was ready and had herself under control, she walked over and carefully took the angel into her arms.
Getting dressed was a feat in and of itself.
I reckon that’s because, with every move I made, another tear would trail down my cheeks.
After I was ready, I walked out of the angel room in time for them to place her little body in a black bag.
Knowing Stella would give me the answer I needed tomorrow, I headed out of the neonatal floor.
Tears still in my eyes, knowing I wouldn’t be able to drive, I called the one person I needed. The one person I knew who would drop everything to get to me.
And he answered on the second ring, music and voices were plenty in the background, “Cookie.”
I sniffed back another set of tears, and said, “Daddy, I need you. I can’t drive safely. I’m at the hospital. They had a case.” And that was all the information my dad needed.
I heard a chair scrape back, and then, “Leaving now. Be right there. I love you, Cookie.”
I sniffled through more tears, “Love you too, daddy.”
And then I finished making my way out of the hospital and then sitting down on a concrete bench.
Closing my eyes, I sent up a silent prayer to the man above to let the little cutie become an angel. And then if it’s possible, send her back somehow and let her become the person that cures cancer, or global warming, or creates a magic pill to give everyone who thinks it's okay to be a shitty human being a killer death.
What I didn’t think about was Tank.
Nor did I think about Summer.
Or the red lipstick that was smeared on his lips.
I didn’t think about any of it.
Not only had I been a naïve and trusting fool, but I was an idiot.
Because yes, I thought about it.
And yes, I hated it.
Knowing that he didn’t care for me as I cared for him, hurt.
Because I know that no other man has ever put their hands on me in anything more than a hug.
But Tank has with other women.
And before my thoughts could go down a certain road that I never wanted to travel down; I heard that unmistakable sound.
Harley pipes.
I didn’t hesitate to fling myself in my dad’s arms the moment he stopped and dropped the kickstand.
