Mercy

June 22nd
3:05 a.m.

Richie ties my shoes for me while I try not to cry like a little bitch. All he did is slide the damn things on, but already it feels like, in doing so, he popped every single one of my stitches. However, the lack of blood says otherwise. Adrienne stands guard at the doorway as Rich finishes lacing me up, her eyes wide in anticipation. The adrenaline coursing through her is almost intoxicating enough to eradicate the pain I’ve been feeling since the nurses unplugged me, but I can only thrive on her for so long. Once we’re on the road again, the excitement she’s producing now will fade fast, and my injuries will be able to wreak havoc on my vulnerable body once there is nothing left to fight them off.

Adrienne gives me a skeptical sideways glance, and for a moment I’m paranoid she knows exactly what I’m doing. It takes me a minute to realize that she’s staring at me because I’ve been staring at her. Shit. She’s smiling now. She thinks it’s a goddamn compliment. Richie witnesses the agitated face I pull in response to Adie’s smile and mistakes it for a grimace. He feels guilty for potentially hurting me, and without a word he snatches the empty shoebox off the bed with a gleam of determination in his eye. He opens every cabinet in this room and piles all the medical supplies he can get his hands on into the box. Band-Aids, gauze, medical tape, ointments, thermometers...it didn’t matter. He puts it all into the box until it’s filled to the brim.

“There,” Richie grunts after putting the top back on the shoebox to conceal his stolen treasures. “I gotcha covered, Little Brother. You get hurt again on my watch, ‘n’ I can take care o’ you. Fuck comin’ back to this place.”

I smile. I mean, how couldn’t I? Richie’s always been as protective over me as a parent would be for their child, but ever since the incident in the bar he’s been a complete Momma Bear. I’m betting that he would literally tear anyone apart if they tried laying one finger on me. Hell, he’s already tearing himself apart for not defending me that night.

“You’re actin’ a bit paranoid, don’tcha think?” I chuckle as Richie’s handoff is stopped short in surprise. He was in the process of handing his Box o’ Goodies off the Adrienne, but my verbalized observation has him frozen. Adie stares at him, bemused, before taking the box. His arm stays outstretched for a second or two before deflating at his side.

“They were fixin’ to kill you, B-Joe,” he whispers. “You tried to kill yourself.”
“Yeah, but they di’n’t, ‘n’ for fuck’s sake, I was drunk that night!”
“But you still wanna die.”

My fists and jaw clench tight on impulse, but I can’t do anything else. I’m a fucking cripple now. Any advances I make can easily be thwarted without much effort. Besides, I couldn’t hit my brother for merely speaking the truth.

I guess I’m just not used to having the psychic thing used against me.

Adrienne grins from where she stands in the doorway. I’m sure she’s relishing this moment and dreaming up some smartass comment about karma to spit at me later when Richie’s not around to defend me.

“You’d wanna die too if you was me,” I mutter. I try not to say it loud enough to be heard, but of course Richie understands right away. He doesn’t need to actually hear me to grasp what goes on in my mind, anyways.

For once, I’m able to appreciate the vulnerability Adrienne must feel every time I carelessly throw her own emotions in her face. There’s a reason humans aren’t generally mind readers. The power would drive everyone mad.

“That’s why I got the gauze. If you try ‘n’ slit your wrists on me, boy, I ain’t gonna let ‘em bleed. You ain’t dyin’ on me.”

I’m dangerously close to losing it. All this talk of suicide makes me think of Jason. If I ever finished myself off, would I see him again? Is he waiting for me?

Or is he waiting for a boy with gray eyes?

“Stop it,” I whimper more to myself than to Richie, but it does little to help. For the millionth time in a span of a few days, I begin to cry.

My brother doesn’t apologize. Instead, he nods to Adrienne, who peers out the door one last time before nodding back at him. She clutches the shoebox close to her chest and walks into the desolate hallway. Not a soul is around to witness our escape. Once Richie is satisfied by the lack of hospital personnel on our floor, he scoops me up and carries me out. I sling my arms around his neck to keep from falling, clinging to him despite how I know he’d never drop me, and bury my face in his shoulder, still crying.

Shit, with how pathetic I’ve been lately, you’d think I’m the one with the nasty pregnancy hormones instead of Adrienne.

Rich makes it out to his truck where Adie is already waiting. The shoebox is still hugged tightly against her breasts as she leans on the truck for support. Her eyes are closed, and her face is oddly contorted, but even with the tiniest of glances at her could determine that she is experiencing an indescribable moment of bliss. It baffles me, for I’m far too exhausted to even bother reading into the reasons behind her happiness. As it turns out, I don’t even have to.

She hears Richie approach, and at once, she blurts, “He’s moving, Billie. I can feel our son moving.”

My brother nearly drops me. Apparently, that was one fragment of information he’d failed to pick up from either of us.

“Wait…Beej…I’m confused. I thought you were sleepin’ wit’ Jason,” Rich splutters.

I keep my head glued to his shoulder to keep from having to make eye contact as I murmur, “I was.”

“‘N’ you were sleepin’ with Adie?”

I hate this. I feel like a tramp the further the conversation progresses, and judging by the horrified tone in Richie’s voice, he’s thinking the same damn thing about me.

“Don’t forget Jason’s boyfriend. You fucked him too,” Adrienne chimes in, her use of profanity matching the hideous hostility in her voice. “Richie, aren’t you proud of the whore your brother turned out to be?”

For a while, my sobs are the only interrupters of the silence my evil princess created. I try to stifle them, to keep from making myself appear even more ridiculous, but I simply can’t do it. She’s right. I’m disgusting.

Rich grunts and begins to speak. He stops, unsatisfied with his primary choice of words, before growling, “Who he’s fuckin’ ain’t no bus’ness o’ mine, ‘n’ I dunno why it should be any bus’ness o’ yours.”

“I’m carrying his child! I have a right to know who he sleeps with!” Adie shouts, oblivious to the scene she’s creating. If it had been any other time of day, a crowd might have gathered around us, but it’s barely four in the morning. The only ones around to leer at our family drama are the creatures of the night.

“Well, if I’m understandin’ this right, he was with Jason first. I b’lieve that makes you the whore,” Richie snaps. Like a fish out of water, her mouth opens and closes as she desperately struggles to respond. She fails.

I nestle closer to my brother and try to hide my grin, but I can’t. Someone finally saw her fantasy for what it is: Bullshit.