Not Looking For Love: Episode 1 (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dad's called me four times already. I could already be too late to say goodbye to Mom.

My hands are shaking as I run them across the floor, looking for my clothes. Only I have no clothes. I came here in my underwear, chasing something I don't even want. Panic grips me. I have no time to go home and change. Mom might be dead by then. She could be dying right now, and I'm frozen, thinking about what to wear. The familiar, terrifying abyss opens in my mind, sending the room spinning, feeding off my panic, turning the world to churning, bottomless darkness.
 

Scott turns on the light, and the sudden brightness pierces me like a knife. I'm seeing the room as though I'm looking through wet glass, but I won't let the tears flow, I won't cry. I'm rigid, my body so hard I might snap at any moment. I try to take long, deep breaths, but they catch in my throat, no air getting through.

"What's wrong, Gail?" Scott asks, his face right next to mine.
 

"My mom...I have to get to the hospital," I manage to say. I finally find my panties and rock back to put them on. My hands are shaking so hard, I can't even pull on my panties, let alone stand.
 

Scott gets up and pulls me to my feet. I finally manage to get dressed, tying the belt of my coat as tight as I can, the fabric digging into my waist. This is all I was wearing, because I am totally insane, and now I have to go to the hospital, say goodbye to my mom forever, wearing only underwear, the gardener's sperm still inside me, running down my leg. It's all too much. Thoughts jumble together in my head, bounce off each other, and the room keeps spinning. I don't know where I am, why, who? I can't let it go, and I can't think.

Scott's already got his jeans on. "I'll take you."

I don't want him too, but I can't see straight, can't breathe. I'm as brittle as a twig; a breeze could break me.
 

I jam my car keys into his hand and turn to walk out. My legs feel like lead, I can hardly lift them to take a step. Scott catches me as I nearly topple down the stairs, doesn't let go as we exit the building. It's too soon. The two months are not up yet. There's still four days left.
 

"Which hospital?" he asks as he pulls the seat belt over me.
 

I mumble the name.
 

Lights flash by, and he must be doing at least 200 on the thruway, weaving though the traffic, making me nauseous.
 

I open the window, but don't tell him to slow down.
 

The cold air feels like a slap, a belated one. I turn my face into the wind, let it beat against me, clear my head and blow away my insanity. Freeze my heart and turn it to ice. Dirty, gravelly ice, like the kind that forms on city sidewalks during dead winter nights.

The brakes screech, and we're at the hospital. A nurse is smoking a cigarette out front, chatting to the night guard. Crickets chirrup in the bushes leading to the entrance, dew glistening on the grass, reflecting the florescent light. It stopped raining while I was with Scott, and the sky is clear now, the moon bright and big, hanging right over the hospital. Nothing outside of this building suggests the horrors that happen within.
 

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Scott asks as he exits the car.
 

"No." It's the last thing I need. I slam my door hard.
 

Strong Gail is back, ready to face the abyss. There is no return from there, no going back. Nothing behind it and no future.

I walk away fast, buttoning my collar all the way and fastening my belt even tighter. I could be wearing a dress underneath this coat, I could.
 

The nurse tells me where to go. The red lights in the elevator take forever to flash up, up, into the abyss. The top floor, end of the line, the floor for the dying, well away from all who still hope to survive.

My dad is waiting for me in the hallway. He has a sweater on over his plaid pajamas, which sticks out of the zipper of his pants. I run to him, my heels clicking in the silence of the hallway, and throw myself into his arms, finally letting the tears come. He can comfort me now, tonight. I need him to get through this, and he needs me. It's only the two of us left. We are the only ones who can share this pain.

He strokes my hair and pushes me gently toward the door to her room. "She's better now. It's not as bad as I thought."

I sigh in relief, the ice in my chest crackling as I take a calmer breath.

Mom's sleeping. An oxygen mask is fixed over her mouth, misting slightly from her breaths. The heart monitor at her side is beeping steadily, a green light tracing the steady rhythm of her heart. She always had a strong heart. The thought brings a new wave of tears, but I manage to push it back. I sit down on the edge of her bed and take her hand gently in both of mine, careful not to upset the IV needle in her vein. Dad stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders.
 

I focus on our reflection in the window. An image of posing for a family portrait flashes through my mind. This is it, my family, what's left of it. It is what it is. For the first time, those words don't rile me, don't make me want to scream in frustration. We stay like that, perfectly still, as though we don't want to disturb the invisible painter as he takes our likeness, capturing this moment. Forever.

The doctor clears his throat behind us and adjusts Mom's IV slightly. "She can go home in the morning."

My dad's hands squeeze my shoulders then he lets go.
 

"She's in so much pain," he says to the doctor. "Can't you help her?"

His voice is quiet, broken.

The doctor shakes his head, and I walk over to the window. A more accurate scene is reflected behind me now. My family. My life. Mom sleeping in a hospital bed, a machine breathing for her, Dad's slumped shoulders and the doctor shaking his head.
 

Down on the street, Scott is still leaning against my car.

I mumble that I'll be right back to my dad and rush from the room. At the elevator, I jab my finger into the button as though it will make it come faster. The slowly descending red numbers once it finally does are pure torture.

Scott straightens up as he sees me approaching, yanking his hands from his pockets.

"Is everything alright?" he asks.

I don't stop until I'm right next to him. He reaches out like he wants to hold me. I slap his hand away.
 

"Leave." I order.

His eyes are a soft dark brown, like a blanket, and brimming with pity. Not what I want.
 

"Go. I never want to see you again." I push him, making him lose his balance and stumble back.

He has to go. Has to stop looking at me like he can help me, like he wants to. Because I don't want him to and he can't. Last night is eons away, all the warmth destroyed by the melting black ice. If not tonight, then tomorrow, very soon my mom will die. The stark contrast between the waves of pleasure I was riding only an hour ago, and the rigid, hopeless, cruel sorrow waiting for me on the top floor of the hospital is killing me. This come down is too hard. I was wrong. Utterly, stupidly, insanely wrong. I don't want to feel. Anything. Ever again.

"Gail—" I slap my hand across his mouth so hard it stings.
 

"Shut up and get lost!"
 

His eyes widen, and turn dark, cold, and menacing. He pulls my hand away, twisting my wrist painfully. "Crazy fucking bitch!"

I know I am. And he can hate me now; I don't care. It's better that way, easier. I run back to the hospital, back to my mom and dad. The only two people I will ever lose.
 

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thanks for reading! This story unfolds over a series of episodes in the form of short novels. The next episode of Not Looking For Love will be out in two weeks. Please sign up for my mailing list at
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About the Author:

Lena Bourne is a young writer, but she has seen her fair share of the world, of love and loss, and all that happens in between. Now she's here telling the stories you might otherwise have missed, which all are made up, of course, but could very well be real and true. Not Looking For Love is her first serial, a steamy New Adult romance, which will be released in five installments over the next few months.