Secret Lucidity(6)

The way he says my name causes the world to slip from its axis, leaving me hanging in suspended time. In an instant, everything goes silent except for him.

“Your dad didn’t make it.”

His words strangle me, taking away my ability to breathe.

What did he just say?

I’m paralyzed, crippled mentally and physically, unable to react. My eyes lock to his, dissecting the truth from them. They’re bloodshot and puffy.

He’s been crying.

“Cam?”

“I’ll give you two some privacy.”

When the nurse closes the door behind her, Coach sits on the edge of the bed.

“Say something.”

“Where’s my dad?” My voice cracks, and when his face pains, I try to deny the meaning behind his reaction. “I don’t believe you,” I whisper as the horror of the truth splinters its way into my soul.

He takes my hand, and I jerk it away. “No!”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Where is he?”

He takes in a slow breath and, with agony-drenched words that will haunt me until my last breath, tells me, “He’s dead.”

Two words rob me of everything. I want to scream and throw my fists through the walls, but my body is in too much pain. All I can do is wilt away in a drowning of tears that burn as they dig their claws into the flesh of my cheeks.

Pink drips onto the white sheets, and when I touch my hand to my face, I feel nothing but bandages.

“You got some pretty bad cuts from the glass.”

I don’t give a shit about cuts.

“I want my dad.” I beg through my growing sobs, as a tiny voice in my head tells me it’s impossible.

He leans down and gently wraps his arms around me, and through my cries, I continue to plead for what I know will never come.

“I want my dad!”





COACH ANDREWS HELD ME WHILE I cried myself into a deep sleep, and when I woke this morning, he was gone. Nothing seemed real. It was as if I was wandering around in an alternate universe.

That is, until, right now.

My mother stands in my doorway, and I’m slammed back into the reality I’m not ready to endure.

It’s been a solid day, and here she is, facing me for the first time since the accident. Facing the remains of what’s left of her love, her husband, my dad. One look at me and she crumples to the floor in a fit of torturous cries.

I want to jump out of this godforsaken hospital bed and join her on the floor in her misery, but I can’t, so I weep alone and without the comfort of my mother’s arms around my broken body—my broken soul.

Her usual poised appearance is now pitiful. Beneath tear-soaked cheeks are the remains of yesterday’s makeup, smeared under her swollen eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do this,” she mutters before standing and walking out, leaving me all alone and without a single touch.




“Baby, I’m so sorry I couldn’t get up here sooner,” Kroy says with a vase full of flowers in his hand. I can’t bear to look at him—it hurts too much—so I turn my head on the pillow and stare out the window as the sun melts into the horizon.

Maybe this is how it felt for my mother when she looked at me. It seems everything is a reminder that he’s gone. Faces and noises. Nothing is the same anymore.

I listen to Kroy talk, wishing he wouldn’t say a word. When he asks me questions, I don’t respond. I can’t. Because everything hurts. Talking, moving, sleeping, breathing, existing.

Eventually, he kisses me and leaves.




Another day passes, and it seems that every time I wake from a nap, there are more flowers, more cards, and more balloons. It’s as if a child’s birthday party threw up in here.

A colorful smiley face balloon floating in the corner of the room reads: Get Well Soon!

What a load of crap. Well wishes and condolences do nothing for morale and mental healing. If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d stab that foily piece of fake cheer so it would stop taunting me about what will never be.

Because I’ll never be well.

Because well doesn’t exist in my world anymore.

“Hey.”

I don’t need to turn my head to know Linze is here. Her voice is unmistakable.

“I shouldn’t have waited this long to come see you, I just . . .” Her voice drifts in uncertainty. “I just don’t really do good in situations like this.”

Yeah, me neither.

“How are you doing?”

I’ve got a skull fracture, a sliced-up face, my collarbone is separated, my mom is too devastated to visit me, and oh, to top it all off, my dad died. But other than that, I’m peachy.

I choose silence over pessimistic replies.

Truth is, I want to die.

Alone.

With no witnesses.




The morning is filled with wind and rain. Gray clouds hang low in a rippled veil as I stare out of the rain-slicked window. It’s been five days since the accident, and I’m still stuck in the hospital, and although they say today is the day I get to go home, I think I’d rather stay here. I have no interest in braving the world beyond these walls.

I don’t want to go home.

I don’t want to walk into that house if he isn’t going to be there.