Falling (Bits and Pieces, Book 1) (55 page)

“Huh?” Stop what? I was confused.

Mrs. Connor looked concerned. “Liz, dear, are you okay?”

Why were they looking at me funny? “Yeah.” I responded hesitantly.

“Lindsey, maybe you should go find a doctor for Liz.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just… thirsty.” I suddenly realized I was parched. My throat felt raw.

“I’ll get some water. Mom, do you want anything? Coffee?” Lindsey volunteered.

“Whatever you bring is fine. Thank you, sweetie.” She squeezed Lindsey’s hand. Lindsey left in search of drinks. I think she was glad to feel useful. Mrs. Connor smiled lightly at me, it was the first I’d seen all night on her. She seemed to be in a little better mood, considering her eldest son was lying in a hospital bed. “That was a beautiful rendition of that song.”

Oh my God. It clicked why my throat hurt. I wasn’t singing in my head, it was out loud. I was mortified. The strain in my throat had to be because I wasn’t at full volume. At least that was something. “I’m
so
sorry. I thought I was just singing to myself. I didn’t mean to…” I put my head down on the edge of the bed.

She chuckled. “No, it’s fine.” She patted the top of my head. “There’s a calm that comes over you when you sing and it’s contagious. We needed it.”

I lifted my head and managed a quarter smile. It felt good that I was able to help her in some way. “Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “And that’s one of my favorite shows. Have you seen
Les Miserables
before?”

“Once in junior high. We had gone to visit my godmother in
Seattle
. She had tickets. I fell in love with it.” My mom couldn’t wait for it to be over. “Eponine sings some of my favorite songs.”

Lindsey returned with water and coffee. We talked about theater, a welcome distraction. They had seen a lot more than I had dreamed of. Their family had season tickets every year to the Broadway-San Diego shows at the Civic Theatre.

They had a whole tradition that I envied. They took turns picking the restaurant for dinner, go to the show, then out for dessert and coffee. I could only long for one night like that, let alone many nights during the course of a year. Unconsciously, I squeezed my hands. I had forgotten that I was still holding onto Patrick’s hand. That’s when I noticed, his hand twitched. It wasn’t much movement, but it did move.

I stood up from my seat, still holding his hand and ever so lightly shook him with my other. “Patrick… Can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes.” It was a cross between ordering and begging.

My heart felt lighter once he slowly opened his eyes. He looked around the room at me, Lindsey and his mom. “Mom? Lindsey? Liz? What happened? Where am I?”

I smiled as his mom told him everything was going to be okay. It was. For once during this never-ending night, I felt that it really would be.

* * *

The police came by to talk to him before he was discharged. He didn’t have much to add except that the only person he accepted a drink from was Becca. Mostly because he couldn’t remember much after that. He didn’t remember me talking to him or my fight with Becca. Apparently, it was very common for someone who was roofied to have a complete blank of the night. It usually was other things that would tip the victim off that something bad happened. In his case, waking up in the hospital.

The crew didn’t wait long after I called them to stop by for a visit. They wanted to see for themselves that he was fine. Aside from having no memory of last night after our time in the game room, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him. Lindsey took the opportunity to convince her mom to get some air and something to eat.

Up to that point, I had successfully avoided telling him the details of how we got him away from Becca. Lindsey knew I was concerned about how Patrick would react to me retaliating, in any way, to Becca. Of course, at the time we talked about it, I didn’t think I’d be trying to get Patrick away from her for his safety. Still, it was something that could wait until he was out of the hospital. He would eventually find out. No doubt, it would be part of this year’s epic stories of Dylan’s party.

It was easy for Patrick to ask them what happened. They came in, excited to see him and talking about how worried they were. Emily seamlessly switched gears from sharing her fright to her awe and amazement. “You should have seen it, Patrick, Liz was amazing. I couldn’t believe it. She really let Becca have it.”

Great. So much for waiting until he was out of the hospital. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. Emily and Cassie were more than happy to share what happened. I just sat there on the little couch barely moving and carefully watching his reaction.

They told him how we were singing, then how I got worried and went outside when he didn’t return. From there, I hadn’t heard her version of the night. Hearing about the night through her perspective was surreal. Did Patrick feel the same way? He attentively listened and occasionally would look over at me, frozen in my seat.

He almost looked like he was hearing a story about someone else. Not me. Not him. When he glanced at me, it was with disbelief and shock. The crew sang my praises and credited me with his safe escape.

His brows raised and head shook in disbelief. “Wow.”

Bobby stared at Patrick, me, then Patrick again. “You didn’t know?” He turned back at me. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I was going to… later.” Eventually.

Patrick’s gaze was intense. “Come here.” He waved his hand and motioned for me to stand next to him.

I walked over and circled around the crew, who stood on both sides of his bed. I hid even more behind my hair, keeping my head tilted down. It covered the half of my face that made the most contact with Becca and the ground. I stood next to his bed, closer to him than I had all night. He brushed my hair aside to see my entire face and tucked it behind my ear. My scars and stitches exposed. My chest tightened and my face scrunched up. Without turning, he asked the crew, “Can you guys give us a minute?”

I heard them leave, wishing they wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do, but what he might say. What if I presumed wrong last night? I didn’t think I did, but what if? What if he was mad that I was in a knock out, drag out fight with Becca, especially the way Emily told it? Even though they broke up, I knew he still cared about her, maybe even loved her.

“Relax.” He gently spoke, carefully lifting my chin. “Please look at me.”

I looked up to meet his eyes, frightened at what might be coming next. I held my breath.

He searched my face and finally spoke, “I’m not mad. If that’s what you think. Not at you, at least.”

My voice cracked. “You’re not?” Surprised, I started to breathe again.

“Of course not.” He chuckled softly. “You’re my hero. My own personal Superman. Or should I call you Wonder Woman?”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Ow.” The sharp pain in my side reminded me that I wasn’t invincible like a superhero. “I wish I was.” I pulled my arm close to my side, as if to protect it.

Patrick winced in sympathy and worry. “Are you okay?” He reached out to me, but stopped like he didn’t know where to put his hand without hurting me.

“I’ll live.” I simply said. Hoping he wouldn’t notice I really wasn’t answering his question.

He did and sighed, “That’s not an answer.”

I bit my lip, trying to think of what to say that wasn’t a lie. The silent seconds ticked by which felt like minutes.

He broke the silence. “That bad huh?”

My face fell. I felt like I let him down. I wanted to be strong, I just wished it didn’t hurt so much. Because it did, I was afraid that I wasn’t. But if there was anyone I could always be completely honest with, it was Patrick. “Yeah.” I reluctantly whispered. I didn’t want him to feel bad, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“How bad?” His voice was steady. If we weren’t in the hospital, I would never have thought anything had been wrong with him.

“Don’t be mad.” I begged him.

He shook his head. His voice was incredulous. “Why would I be mad at you? You saved me from…”

“Yeah… I know.” It was at that instant that I knew what he must have felt when he heard what happened to me in
San Francisco
. Only, he was hearing about it after the fact and there was nothing he could do to stop any of it from happening. I was in the position to do something about it. I had the same rage last night that he had the day of the trial. I threw myself in front of a train to stop him from getting hurt. I know he would have done the same for me.

I knew what he was feeling at that moment. When you realize how close you were to being raped. Petrified isn’t strong enough. Terror, maybe? Disconcerting doesn’t cover it. It’s like the foundation of yourself has cracked and you falling through some chasm. No matter what people or logic says, you feel like you shoulder at least part of the blame. You know you shouldn’t, but you do.

I slowly lifted the side of my shirt up to reveal the palette of reds and purples. I carefully watched his reaction. His eyes widened in disbelief. He reached out to touch my side. I braced myself for the contact. His fingers lightly touched my bruises, it was like a feather, so it barely stung. Maybe it was also because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

His eyes were warm and grateful. “Thank you. It doesn’t seem to cover it. I just wish you weren’t hurt.”

I lowered my shirt and took his hand. I didn’t want him feeling guilty. I
had
to be strong, so he wouldn’t feel that way. “I know. But I’d do it again if I had to.” I thought for a second. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I healed first.” I cracked a little smile to let him know I was really okay with it all.

He laughed. “Deal.” He gave my hand a squeeze and smiled. “Seriously though, thank you.” He pulled my hand to his face and kissed it.

EPILOGUE – SEASONS CHANGE

The next morning I awoke feeling somewhat rested. I should, I slept for fourteen hours. Of course, I didn’t really sleep the night before, so I still was kind of tired. At least now, I felt like I could function.

I glanced at my calendar. Oh crap. I had a scholarship application that needed to be postmarked by today. I immediately knew which one it was. It was one that I kept procrastinating on. I can’t put it off any longer. I needed to get it done.
Now.

I sat at my desk, turned on my computer and pulled out the application.

Describe a significant event in your life and how it changed you (Minimum: 750 words).

A wave of warmth washed over me. I smiled. Two months ago, this prompt seemed impossible to answer. And a 750 word minimum was a Herculean task. Now, it was easy.

The event? It seemed innocuous enough, changing seats in class – physics class. But it saved my life. How did it change me? I was no longer alone. I know now that friendship, love and hope are possible.

I finished my essay and my phone rang. I printed out my paper.

It was Patrick. “Hey, Liz! I wasn’t sure if you’d be up yet. Whatcha doing?”

“Been up for a bit. I’m just printing out an essay for a scholarship.” I took the printed pages out of my printer and folded it together with the application.

“Got any plans today?”

“Just the post office. This has to be postmarked today.” I addressed and stuffed the envelope.

“Great. I’ll pick you up. We can grab something to eat.” He offered. I could hear his keys jingling in the background.

“Okay. How about Beach Burgers?” I suggested. I was craving one of their messy, juicy burgers and a chocolate shake.