Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
It’s like she put him through so much stress and devastation in the past that he’s learned to compartmentalize it all.
“Did you see this?” Wren whispers as our dad and Finn sit down on the plastic sofa in the corner of the room. I look over to see she has a small disc in her hand and quickly realize it’s what our mom set down before she left my room.
4 Months, the sobriety chip reads.
“Is that how long it’s been since…you know?” she asks, her voice still a whisper, and I force myself to nod.
It only makes me angrier that my mom thinks she’s in the top fifteen on my list of things to worry about these days, four months sober or not.
Where in the hell am I supposed to go from here?
A week ago, I was staring toward a bright future, but now, all I see is a dark tunnel filled with obstacles and challenges I never in my life thought I would face.
“Scottie, do you want a sandwich?” my dad asks, and I shake my head.
“You’re going to have to eat something, sweetheart,” he urges, but I have no appetite at all.
It’s hard to feel hungry when you’re watching all your hopes and dreams go up in flames.
“I will,” I lie. “But I think I’m going to take a nap first.” I attempt to turn over on my side, but struggle with my body’s new normal. Wren and Finn stand up to help me, and I have to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from crying.
It’s demoralizing, to say the least.
They go above and beyond to make me comfortable with pillows and adjusting my blankets over the legs and feet that I can’t fucking feel, and I stew on the pot of steam boiling deep inside. When they’re finally finished, I shut my eyes and try like hell to fall asleep.
Unsolicited tears escape, and I discreetly lift my blanket to cover my face.
I don’t miss that the lights of my room are turned off after that, Finn and my family trying everything they can to help me.
But every help they offer is a reminder of how much help I need in the first place, and I can feel anger seeping into all my cells one by one as they do.
What good is a light at the end of the tunnel if I have no chance of reaching it on my own two feet?
Wednesday, April 16th
Scottie
“Hey, Lonnie,” I hear my dad’s voice, and I open my eyes to find him on the phone. He stands up from the sofa to walk over to the windows. “Yeah, I know… I’m not sure when I’ll be back at work… Scottie is still in the hospital in Daytona… The doctors want to transfer her up to New York soon, but they want to send her to St. Luke’s in the city because they think their medical team is the best for rehabilitation.”
He pauses and sighs. “How much PTO do I have? I didn’t realize I was that low… Yeah, I hear what you’re saying… Okay… No, Lonnie, I’m planning on getting back to work as soon as I can… I’m going to need it…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I know Scottie’s medical bills aren’t going to be cheap. I can’t afford to miss paychecks right now…”
My heart breaks a million times over the stress and financial struggles my injury is going to put on my dad. My whole life, I’ve been focused on me, me, me, never really thinking too hard about all the sacrifices he’s made to help my cheerleading dreams come true.
And what has all of that gotten him? A daughter who will probably be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more worthless than I do right now.
My dad ends his call, and when he turns around, he sees that I’m awake. Thanks to all the feelings I’m having with literally no way to run away, I’ve been making excuses to sleep—or at least feign it—a lot. “Have a good nap?” he asks, his voice way too jovial for a man who’s currently trying to figure out how to keep his job while his daughter is in the hospital. “It’s getting late. I thought you might end up sleeping right through the night.”
I can’t even answer his question, my mind too focused on all the things I’m currently putting him through.
“I’m so sorry, Dad.”
His brow furrows. “Sorry? For what?”
“For this,” I say, and my lip quivers with unshed emotion. “For being here. For making your life harder. For all the times you’ve had to sacrifice I don’t even know what to pay for training and gymnastics and everything else that comes with a daughter who wanted to be a competitive cheerleader.”