The look of total bullshit must be all over my face because both Abigail and Mom are staring at me like I'm about to lose my mind. It's like I've known for years, I talk but they don't hear me. Abigail shows me my past due homework she's been collecting and offers to help me with it. Mom sits and tries to talk about how the 'family' is doing at home and that they are excited to see me come home. I don't respond with many words, just non committal grunts and shrugs. A woman shows up and asks Mom and Abigail to step out for a moment so that we can talk privately. I have no clue who the wide and older black woman is but she pulls up a chair anyway.
"Hello Guy, I'm Doctor Hill. I'm here to check in and see how you're doing," the new doctor says and I feel like I'm being probed, not physically thank god.
"I'm doing pretty freaking fantastic Doc, I was worried there for a while but after the drugging and being restrained to a bed I have the support of someone else's family to make sure that I know just how fucked up things are," I decide to pour on some sarcasm to get the point across.
"Well at least you are still showing good mental acuity and can recognize the situations around you. I am one of the resident psychologists here at the hospital and after reviewing your case I informed them that restraints and drugs were inadvisable given your history," she says and I give her a skeptical look.
"Wonderful, so when can I leave," I ask and she looks at her watch.
"Anytime you want provided you can walk on your own," she says the words and I sit up a bit then stop with more than a little discomfort," You ready to go?"
"Yeah just let me get my feet under me," I tell her and she moves back from my bed.
I dangle my feet over the edge and feel them hit the cold floor but the second I attempt to stand I'm in a world of hurt and pull myself back into bed.
"Didn't work out too well? You've been on bed rest for a day over two weeks now, the stab wound you suffered is mostly healed however you were beaten pretty badly. I am here at the request of your step father to help him find out where you are at," she says the words and then sees my face," Psychologically, not physically that answer is easy."
"Yay you, you can read my mind. So where am I," I ask leaning back on the bed.
"In pain, it's not an unfixable situation but it's up to you whether or not you want to fix it," she says and I shrug," that would be the biggest problem right there. You don't seem to believe that you have any problems."
"I have plenty of problems; my problems even have names and faces. I just accepted the fact that no matter what I attempt to do I won't be able to stop them," I state holding my ground," What I will not accept is a lie."
"What lie is it you are speaking of? The denial of your existence to the outside? The question as to whether or not your mother loves you or the fact that you feel betrayed by your father," She says the last part and now I'm angry.
"Get the fuck out," I growl and she looks unamused.
"No, I am paid to be here by your step father, not by you and if you haven't noticed yet nobody is coming in here to drug you so you can get away from me. I know almost everything that has happened in your life from everyone's point of view except yours. You had a lot of bad things pile up in your life and it took a major catalyst to cause everyone to look at you and realize what they did. Now there is a family, one that should have been there since the beginning that wants to bring you where you should have been. I want to help facilitate that as best I can," Dr. Hill states my situation in her mind and her agenda.
"Good luck," my only words to add to her plans as I lean back and stare at the far wall.
She talks to me, I sit and say nothing. She calls me on my childish behavior, I continue to sit and stare while saying nothing. Finally she asks me what I want and I take a deep breath before continuing my vigil of nothing. I must have taken an hour for her to finally give up and leave except she made sure to add that she'd be back tomorrow. Mom and Abigail return to the room with sodas for them but not for me. I get brought juice by the nurse who drugged me and sit as Abby catches me up on my class assignments. She brought me a bag with some school supplies but none that are mine. I sit and work for a while with Mother content to quietly watch us from the side of my bed as I get through three work packets in two hours. Abby finally stops and takes the items back before giving me a smile and leaving the room. Now I'm alone with my mother and she wants to talk.
"I am a bad parent, I've been a bad parent for a long time," she tells me quietly and I shrug.
"You won't believe me but I'll say it anyway, I don't care. What has happened has happened and now I move on," I tell her and she places her hand on my cast.
"I want you to talk to me about it, all of it. I won't force you but I want to hear it. Scream at me, call me names, hurt me but I want to hear it," Mom says before standing up," I have to get dinner ready for the family but I'll be back early tomorrow. We can get a wheelchair and some food if you like.``
That's how the third and only fully conscious week of my stay in the hospital went. Mom would come and spend part of the morning and part of the afternoon with me, Abby would come in the afternoon and bring some of my easier to get through school work with her. When they were gone Dr. Hill would come in and try to talk to me, have me open up about things that have happened or I'd be with a physical therapist working on walking again. I don't exactly need one mind you but I have this desire to not stand up straight or put one foot in front of the other without blinding pain and the random guy they have who shit talks me when I'm struggling helps. I finally got released from the hospital and taken back home by Mr. Delauter and Mom. I still have the patch on my eye but I can see out of it and the cast on my arm but for the most part I'm healed. I took my seat riding in the back alone and for a while nobody was talking till I thought about it and suddenly the switch in Mom's brain went off.
"We cleaned up your room a little, Mark insisted he go through it first for 'just cause' reasons. We didn't throw anything out either, it's just cleaner but I did move a chair into the room," Mom informs me as Mr. Delauter adds to it.
"I bought a chair and she wanted it in your room," He says, clarifying.
"Yes so that when I'm up there, or someone is up there they have a place to sit," Mom finishes her update on my room.
"Doesn't matter, I'll be out of the house by January," I say the words for the first time out loud and I can tell it causes them both to think for a moment.
"We spoke with your counselor at school, we can't change your class times and schedules anymore since you are technically an adult now but we'd like you to consider not rushing your classes and attending your graduation," my step father says almost formally making the request.
"Things are going to be different from now on honey," Mom says and I shrug but she can't see it.
"If you break a dish and apologize to it, does it fix the dish," I ask and again they are silent for a moment.
"No, you get glue, you take time and you put the pieces back together one by one till it's whole again," Mom says being overly optimistic," Besides it's Halloween this week. We are having a party at the house; Bethany is hosting it and wanted to make it a welcome home party for you and your friends."
"My friends," I ask and another quiet moment.
I knew the campaign to 'make things better' would not stop until I am walking out the door but Bethany is planning a party for me? I don't know who grounded her into this idea but I'm really not interested in the least. The car is parked and I'm walking at half speed up the stairs and into the house. I'm not five steps in the door and my step siblings are coming out to greet me. They smile but the smiles are nervous and in Bethany's case almost forced. I walk past them, say hi to Rosa, and take the stairs up to my room. I don't have my clothes from the incident three weeks prior, hospital policy states that if there is blood on them they have to be disposed of as a biological hazard. I liked those jeans. I don't have a lot of speed to my gait but I'm not super slow as I get out of the sweats and t-shirt that mom brought me from home and into camo pattern cargo pants and a green shirt. I do something next that I don't normally do, I get onto social media. I have a Facebook page in the same way that someone has a pet rock. I know it's there, I see it, every once in a while I look at it for a bit then I put it away and wait a few weeks. My logging on has me prompted a password which is easy then it loads and I'm seeing friend requests and messages. I don't mean two or three people have tried to add me as friends, one hundred and fifteen friend requests. I spend a minute looking at the names and aside from Abigail, Bethany, and Mark there isn't anyone I really know. I don't accept or reject the requests either; I simply put them in limbo and check the thirty something messages. The first message I found was from Sydney. She wants to talk and hopes I'll get back to her. I don't bother to reply. Then I run into the message wall of 'Dude I had no idea you were their brother' and 'How did you keep that a secret' to the popular 'We should hang out and get to know each other better' and finally I find one that makes me pause. I read the title of the message and then I reread it… 'It wasn't us'.