Status: In Progress
Falling Into Place
Chapter 23.
The hospital must like me. I don't know ,really. This is just another part of my nightmare. Sitting in the waiting room, waiting and hoping everything would be okay. That he'd be okay. Everything scared me right now, like it was all falling out of place. Tears traced my cheeks and I choked.
"Jack, please be okay," I whispered looking out the huge windows.
The sun was slowly setting over the tree tops. I walked to the windows and pressed my hands to the window, it was cold. Through my tears the trees seemed to be ablaze. I slowly closed my eyes and just cried, hoping and praying we'd be safe after this. My body rattled with every tear. Suddenly a heavy hand rested on my shoulder.
I twisted away and stared up at the face of a lady in a business outfit. She seemed so distant and unworldly to me as she looked down at me through her glasses. I knew what she was. She was a social worker.
"Are you Summer Clemens?" she asked and I merely nodded," I'm Rebbecca Lyle."
"What do you want?" I asked blandly.
"I have some questions, please come with me so we can talk in private," she said turning slowly.
"No, we can talk here. I'm not going anywhere unless it's to see Jack," I told her and turned back to my view.
"Are you entirely sure?" she asked slowly.
"I am," I said without any feeling, not caring who heard my story.
I watched her reflection sit down near me as she pulled out some papers and pushed her glasses into place. With a heavy sigh, I knew I'd pushed her out of her comfort zone. That's fine, her presences sabotaged mine.
"How long has your father been violent with you and your brother?" she started as I thought back.
My earliest memory must be my second or third day of kinder garden when I was getting off the bus. I'd walked home holding Jack's hand. He always held my hand when I was little, sometimes even now he will. He was never scared. He had a bruise on his chin.
"Since 2000, for as long as I can remember. He didn't start beating me until I was nine," I told her.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I was scared I'd never see Jack again, and they're my parents," I told her mindlessly, "I love them."
She continued quizzing me and I gave her honest answers. Finally she stood and walked over to me. The sun was gone and so was my hope. I didn't believe I'd see Jack again, that was my worst fear. Then my heart countered it with my mind voice, hope is all you have so you can't let it go.
"Clemens? Summer Clemens?" a nurse called as I turned and limped to her with my crutch.
"That's me! I'm Summer!" I shouted as I ran to her, tears and all.
"Your Jack's family?" she asked.
"I'm his sister," I breathed.
"He's in critical condition ,but he's stable enough to be seen," she told me.
"I want to see him," I told her ,but my mind stopped on critical condition.
"This way please," she whispered, I followed her without looking back to the social worker I left at the window.
When I got to Jack's room I shut my eyes then slowly opened them. He wasn't awake. His hair was all cut on one side. I could see where he was shot, along the side of his head. It was the type of wound you see on TV shows.
It didn't matter. This was Jack, my brother, and that was all that mattered. I moved to the chair at his bedside and just sat there. An IV in his wrist, tubes in his nose, he was breathing on his own. That was good to know. I took hold of his hand. Jack's cup was one full of Crown Imperial.
"Jack, I'm never going to let you go," I whispered as tears streamed from my eyes, "I love you so much Jack. I'm sorry this happened, I love you."
He looked to be asleep. His heart beat was steady, his breathing was regular. All good signs. All very good signs.
"Jack, you have to get better. I need you," I cried.
"Jack, please be okay," I whispered looking out the huge windows.
The sun was slowly setting over the tree tops. I walked to the windows and pressed my hands to the window, it was cold. Through my tears the trees seemed to be ablaze. I slowly closed my eyes and just cried, hoping and praying we'd be safe after this. My body rattled with every tear. Suddenly a heavy hand rested on my shoulder.
I twisted away and stared up at the face of a lady in a business outfit. She seemed so distant and unworldly to me as she looked down at me through her glasses. I knew what she was. She was a social worker.
"Are you Summer Clemens?" she asked and I merely nodded," I'm Rebbecca Lyle."
"What do you want?" I asked blandly.
"I have some questions, please come with me so we can talk in private," she said turning slowly.
"No, we can talk here. I'm not going anywhere unless it's to see Jack," I told her and turned back to my view.
"Are you entirely sure?" she asked slowly.
"I am," I said without any feeling, not caring who heard my story.
I watched her reflection sit down near me as she pulled out some papers and pushed her glasses into place. With a heavy sigh, I knew I'd pushed her out of her comfort zone. That's fine, her presences sabotaged mine.
"How long has your father been violent with you and your brother?" she started as I thought back.
My earliest memory must be my second or third day of kinder garden when I was getting off the bus. I'd walked home holding Jack's hand. He always held my hand when I was little, sometimes even now he will. He was never scared. He had a bruise on his chin.
"Since 2000, for as long as I can remember. He didn't start beating me until I was nine," I told her.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I was scared I'd never see Jack again, and they're my parents," I told her mindlessly, "I love them."
She continued quizzing me and I gave her honest answers. Finally she stood and walked over to me. The sun was gone and so was my hope. I didn't believe I'd see Jack again, that was my worst fear. Then my heart countered it with my mind voice, hope is all you have so you can't let it go.
"Clemens? Summer Clemens?" a nurse called as I turned and limped to her with my crutch.
"That's me! I'm Summer!" I shouted as I ran to her, tears and all.
"Your Jack's family?" she asked.
"I'm his sister," I breathed.
"He's in critical condition ,but he's stable enough to be seen," she told me.
"I want to see him," I told her ,but my mind stopped on critical condition.
"This way please," she whispered, I followed her without looking back to the social worker I left at the window.
When I got to Jack's room I shut my eyes then slowly opened them. He wasn't awake. His hair was all cut on one side. I could see where he was shot, along the side of his head. It was the type of wound you see on TV shows.
It didn't matter. This was Jack, my brother, and that was all that mattered. I moved to the chair at his bedside and just sat there. An IV in his wrist, tubes in his nose, he was breathing on his own. That was good to know. I took hold of his hand. Jack's cup was one full of Crown Imperial.
"Jack, I'm never going to let you go," I whispered as tears streamed from my eyes, "I love you so much Jack. I'm sorry this happened, I love you."
He looked to be asleep. His heart beat was steady, his breathing was regular. All good signs. All very good signs.
"Jack, you have to get better. I need you," I cried.