Ashes, Ashes (READ THIS ONE)

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve
I'm caught in the rain, caught in the rain.
Lea Michele, 'On My Way'

"Did she help you?" Maxx asks once we're back in the car. "Nope." I say. He starts the car, but doesn't pull out of the parking lot. "She didn't? What did she tell you?"
"She didn't really tell me anything. She showed me."
"What did she show you?"
I recount everything I can remember from the memory Ursula showed me. Already, the details are getting fuzzy. "Sounds like you were in a hospital."
I nod. "I was, for a weak immune system. I told Ursula that, and then she told me that it seemed like a lie. I'm starting to think she's screwing with us."
"Are you sure it was for a weak immune system? It might've been for something else. Would asking your parents help?" Maxx starts to drive us home, and I look at the clock. Five minutes until midnight.
"I don't know," I say. "I asked my mom if I'd ever been scared of monsters -like, really, really terrified of them- and she freaked out and wouldn't answer me."
Maxx looks at me. "Didn't that nurse ask if you'd seen monsters lately? Think it's connected?"
"The monsters thing? Maybe. But how do I bring this up? 'Hey, Mom, yeah, I was wondering if you'd been lying to me about why I'd went to the hospital when I was younger. Did it have anything to do with my irrational fear of monsters?' It'll totally work." I roll my eyes.
"Saying that might actually work. I could come in with you and bring it up?" he offers.
"No, no, no, no. That is not a possibility. If I take you inside, I'll get grounded for life. Hanging around with the boy that my parents believe broke my arm and then taking him to my house is not a good idea. Not in a million years." I punctuate this with a hard shake of my head.
"They seriously think that I broke your arm?"
"I don't think they -or Renee- are ever going to let it go. They hate your guts."
Maxx looks insulted. "My guts do not deserve hate. I feel offended on their behalf."
We make it to my house in ten minutes. "There you go," he says once he drives up the long driveway. "Home safe and sound. No broken arms, except for the one I did on purpose because I'm evil."
"So evil." I say. "Thanks for taking me with you. It was the most fun I had in a long time."

"Did you have fun?" Dad asks as I walk in the door. I step out of my shoes and brush a stray piece of bloody hair out of my eyes. "Yeah." I say, smiling. "I have a question."
"Ask away," Dad says. I follow him up the stairs to the kitchen and dining room. He sits on one of the barstools in front of the granite top island, and I sit on the one next to him. "When I went to the hospital when I was younger, was it actually from my weak immune system? Or was it from something else?"
Dad's clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not really the best one to talk to about this. You should bring this up to your mom."
"I'm sure you know some things. You were with Mom when I was in the hospital a few times."
Dad exhales. "When you were younger, you were terrified of monsters. They carried into when you were older, and as you aged, the worse they got. When you were six, they just had you in therapy. Everyone thought it was because your dad had died the year before."
"But then it got worse. They had you in a short-term care facility. You went four times a week, and the monsters stopped. When you were ten, that was a year after I started living with you guys, you had monster episodes once or more a week. You stayed in the hospital for three months that year."
"The month after you turned twelve, they started again. They got worse. But each time you went, you didn't recall the visits at all. They told us it was from your dad dying. Amnesia caused by a traumatic event. They didn't think the amnesia would be selective in that you only forgot the hospital visits and that was it."
"But why didn't you tell me after?"
"We tried, baby. You wouldn't remember it after we told you. We wanted you to learn on your own, and it looks like you did. Don't be mad,"
"Mad? Don't be mad? After you lied to me for half of my life, you tell me not to be mad? You're right. I'm not mad. I'm pissed. I can't believe you thought that it would be okay to just lie to me. You tell me to tell the truth, and then you look me straight in the eyes and lie to me. When else have you lied to me? Who else knew the real truth?"
"Abbi . . ."
"No, Dad. Don't try to teach me something from this. I want the truth. I want to know when else you lied to me. "
"Abbi, we didn't want to hurt you. We wanted to make sure you didn't-"
"I don't believe you. I see no reason to want to believe you right now." I stand up and go to my room without another word.

She's in the backseat of a car. She's much smaller, barely four years old. Addison is sitting beside her. Abbi struggles to see over the car seat in front of her. The booster seat she's sitting in makes it easier, but not by much. "How are my princesses doing back there?" he says, glancing in the rear view mirror at them.
Then
everything
slows
down.
The car makes a horrifying sound, and all three of them scream.

Then I wake up with their screams shattering in my eardrums. My shirt is plastered to my back with sweat. I don't remember how I got here, or when I changed my clothes. I look outside my window, and find the sky a pinkish blue. I check the alarm clock next to my bed. 7:30. I'm never up this early unless I absolutely have to.
I really don't want to go downstairs and have to deal with my parents, so I end up staying in my room all day. "Abbigail!" Mom calls at about 5:30.
"Come downstairs!" Something is making her excited. When I don't make any moves to go downstairs to see exactly what she wants, she makes her way up to me. Her eyes are sparkling in a way that I haven't' seen in a long time. "Someone wants to see you."
This gets me intrigued. I follow her downstairs, still in my pajamas. In the kitchen is Addison. I scream like a girl who has just seen her favorite band member and run towards Addison, attaching her with a tight hug. I don't want to let go, but Addison makes me.
She pries me off of her. "I've missed you so much," I tell her. She nods.
"Abbi, I think you should let her go upstairs. She doesn't want to talk." Both Addison and I nod. She goes upstairs first, and I follow close behind. Even though my sister came home, I still don't want to talk to my parents. Still very, very pissed at them, and that probably won't change anytime soon.
"Hey, Addison?" I say. "Can I talk to you?"
"Yeah," she says. I can't describe how much I missed her voice. I follow her into her bedroom, and sit beside her under her blankets. "Did you know why I was really in the hospital?"
"Your weak immune system."
"No. How I was in the hospital because I was -am- crazy."
"You aren't crazy." she says. Her voice is quiet and she doesn't seem to want to talk as much as she used to. "I did know, though."
I roll my eyes. "So everyone knew except me. This is great."
"How did you figure out?" she asks.
I give her a rundown of what happened. I'm amazed she hasn't mentioned my cast. "Hey," I say, picking at a string on her bubblegum and mint green blanket. "Did-" I really don't want to talk about this. "Did you know about Nathan?"
"What do you mean?"
"How he. . . how he hit me. More than a few times."
Addison nods, refusing to make eye contact with me.
"You knew?!"
"Technically."
"What do you mean, technically?"
"I knew he got mad easily. I didn't know he actually hit you."
"God, it's like everyone knows everything about my life, except for me."