Page 30 of From the Ashes
And the guilt…thatwas the worst part. Every waking moment of every day I had to deal with the fact that I survived and she didn’t. I had to go on living and breathing while she was rotting away in the ground at some cemetery I’d only been to once. I knew it was every kid’s destiny, hopefully, to outlive both of their parents. But I was barely nineteen, and I didn’t even know how to be an adult yet. And now I had no one to teach me, no one to lean on, and no one to watch me succeed. I wasn’t going to succeed anyway. I’d slept through my scholarship, and I felt horribly guilty for that too. Mom had bragged all around town about how smart I was for landing that full-ride. But it was gone too, just like everything else.
Between the guilt, the anxiety, and the constant state of overmedication that I had to be in to remain calm, I quickly came to the conclusion that I was right to push Phoenix away. He was passion, fire, and a free spirit. While I was never those things, I at least hoped we could find some common ground. And now I knew we never would.
The doctors had laid it out for me. The next year of my life would consist of physical therapy, monthly check-ins with physicians, and a lot of medication. On top of that they wanted me to start seeing a shrink so I could balance my meds and live a morenormallife, whatever the fuck that meant. Oh, and I still had to sort out my mother’s entire estate, live in a house that still smelled of her while not falling to pieces at every turn, and somehow find a job so I could pay for the damn thing.
Because I was out of the hospital, all of that responsibility startednow. The very thought of it made me dizzy and I felt myself sway away from the cane. My hip struck hard on the edge of the counter, but it stopped me from toppling onto the floor at the very least.Pain radiated through my side, and I knew there would be a bruise there come morning. I glanced at the pile of mail, the untouched dishes, and the gift card thrown angrily to the side. All of it was just toomuch.
Leaning against the cupboard, I sank to the floor, my now bony frame hitting the vinyl tile. I was surprised that it hurt, my butt offering no padding anymore. I barely had enough muscle to hold myself upright and all the fat I’d accumulated throughout my childhood was gone, lost to the four months I spent wasting away in a hospital bed.
Tears of frustration, anger, and grief ran down my cheeks all at once. I kicked out at the cupboard weakly, hoping it would help quell some of these horrible feelings consuming every fiber of my being. The door smashed loudly against the cabinet as the top hinge broke, the bottom corner of the door hitting the tile. Inside the cabinet was a single bag of marshmallows, the big puffy kind that I always bought for Phoenix and I when we went to the creek.
Picking them up, I stared at the bag for a moment, all those good memories flooding back to me. But they no longer felt good. They just seemed to taunt me, showing me what I used to have and what I’d never have again. With a cry of rage, I reeled back and hurled them across the kitchen. The bag tore as it left my fingertips, marshmallows scattering across the kitchen with dull thumps.
Phoenix and I would never make s’mores together again. That Charlie was dead, and he was never coming back.
I sobbed as I reached into my pocket, grabbing the pill bottle I’d been sent home with from the hospital. There were only two pills there, meant to calm me down in an emergency until I could see a psychiatrist tomorrow.
For half a second, I found myself wishing there were more so I could take them all at once. But the moment the thought crossed my mind,I hurled the bottle across the house, watching it disappear somewhere in the living room.
Miserable I might be, but I’d live, anyway. My mother would never forgive me if I did something stupid. So, despite the tightness in my chest and my racing heart, I abandoned the medication and curled up on the kitchen floor, tears quickly slicking the cold tile pressed against my cheek.
She’d promised me she’d always be there. She’dpromised.
And yet, I was alone.
And that’s how it was going to stay. For the first time since waking up at the hospital I was forced to face the realization that every bit of normalcy and peace in my life had been burned away in a split second. And now I was left with nothing but ashes and no idea of how I was ever going to recover.
CHAPTER 12
Phoenix
“Are you serious, Anthony?” I sighed into my phone. “Why did you agree to that?”
“Oh, you’re full-naming me now?” he chuckled, his tone sarcastic as usual. “Am I in that much trouble?”
“YouknowI hate public events! And now you want me to do twenty-five of them back-to-back? Why the hell would you put me through that?!”
“Youare putting you through it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s in your contract,” he laughed. “You know the one you signed when the company gave you a half a million dollar advance?”
I reached up, pinching the bridge of my nose as I sighed into the phone once more. Thatfuckingcontract was going to kill me. I was starting to wish I had never signed it. Well, that’s not true. I was glad I did because yay money and success, but I was tired of the never-ending stream of tasks that the lawyers had apparently baked in.
“What is the absoluteminimumamount of work I have to do for this?” I asked, walking over to the couch and flopping down on it with my arm thrown over my eyes. “Because I’m not gonna do anything more than that.”
“They aren’t gonna be happy about that.”
“Like I give a fuck,” I snapped. “I’m number one on every list in the country. They’re making plenty of money off me, Tony.”
He sighed as well, knowing I wasn’t going to give in. Being my agent, he was used to putting up with myartistic eccentricities, as he called them. According to him, all artists, whether writers or painters or photographers, were all the same. They were emotional, hard to work with, and prone to fits of being illogical. Secretly, I agreed with him. But that would never be spoken aloud.
“You need to go to the twenty-five events in bookstores across the country. They have to be at least three hour long signing events. You’re not required to speak at them, but it would make the company happy if you read aloud at a few of the bigger venues.”
“I’ll read aloud if that means I have to sign for less time.”
“That’s fine. We can have you pre-sign copies on the bus.”