It Just Had to Be You

Chapter 3

Catalina

I was struggling to think of how my life could possibly get any worse, but then Scott Carter waltzed into the alleyway behind the diner and showed me. He's a great guy, that Scott, so generous. Plight after plight, he just tosses them out in wild abandon. The shit he distributes is as abundant as his wealth, and he just can't seem to stop giving it to me.

The last two weeks have been hell. My left arm is broken in three places (two on the radius and one on the ulna), and a few of my phalanges and metacarpals are fractured. The doctors tell me that it will have to be in a cast for at least the next twelve weeks. We don't have health insurance. The medical expenses have been piling up, and because I only have one functioning arm, I lost my job. So now we have more bills and less money. Thanks, Scott. You really shouldn't have.

And this one arm business is no fun. I'm uncomfortable all the time. There's a pain in my shoulder I can't get rid of because I can't stretch out my arm properly. It itches under the cast and I can't scratch it. This thing is clunky and annoying, covering my arm from my elbow all the way down to the tips of my two fractured fingers. No one realizes how important fingers are until you can't use them anymore. I struggle with the most basic things. My mom has to help me dress and undress. Showering is a nightmare because I have to try my damndest not to get it wet, so showering with this weird plastic sleeve on has now become part of my daily routine. I can't even style my hair, so it's just this frizzy abomination on top of my head. Look, it's been a frizzy abomination since my dad died and I stopped caring about my appearance. But if I look a hot mess, I would like it to be out of choice. I've had to completely change my way of life because of one run-in with that douchebag.

I'd like to say that because I'm at home instead of at the diner, I can help more around the house, but no such luck. I can't wash the dishes. I can't do the laundry. I can't sweep. I can't vacuum. I can't do a damn thing. I'm deadweight in my household, and my mom and Isa have to take on those additional responsibilities when they're already so overburdened with just trying to put food on the table.

Now, I wish we could claim damages from good, old Scott seeing as though he's the reason I'm in this position in the first place, but we can't. We can't afford a decent lawyer and even if we could, the attorney for the Carter family has already contacted my mother and warned us, very explicitly, to not pursue any legal avenues or try to exploit them in any way or we will regret it. His mother then called me and told me, in not so subtle terms, to keep my mouth shut and not mention to anyone that Scott was with me that night.

But wait. It gets worse. A few nights ago, I overdosed on painkillers. The agony was just becoming too much, and I'm not sure which pain I tried to ease with the tablets, but I ended up taking way more than my recommended dosage. Now I'm right back in the hospital, racking up bills that we can't pay for. They decided to keep me for a few days because they all think I tried to commit suicide and while the thought has crossed my mind a few times, I would never do that to my mom and sister. But nobody in this God-forsaken hospital believes me. They keep sending in this looney psychologist, Dr. Burkman, who is trying to get me to open up and tell her why I thought taking my own life was the only option.

I eventually told her about the bullying and the abuse I've endured at school but also explained that even that wasn't enough for me to break my mother's heart further. That got the ball rolling and we finally reached a compromise this morning. Dr. Burkman will discharge me on the condition that I give her permission to share all my information with the school's guidance counselor and continue to have regular visits with Ms. Jeffries going forward. I have never agreed to anything so fast. She booked me off from school for the rest of the week, but I have to go back. I've already missed out on two weeks of work. I have to catch up because failing is not an option for me. I take a deep breath and brace myself for tomorrow. All I can do is pray that I don't get a two-for-one deal at Scott Carter's shit distribution depot.