Alex

Chapter Three

Rosie

"I made you some fresh chicken noodle soup. Here are some of your favorite books to read. I got you a few crossword puzzles that you used to enjoy doing in the yard." I rambled on as I cleaned his hospital room.

I took out the old flowers I bought him and replaced them. I made sure he had clean towels, extra pajamas, a new toothbrush, and some bar soap since he hated the liquid one.

"Janice tells me you've been feeling very tired lately, so I spoke to her and made sure it was okay, but I got you some vitamins." I placed them on the bedside table.

The man laying down on the bed was looking too old, too weak, and frail, and I bit back a million emotions as I sat down next to him and reached for his hand.

So weak. My heart panged and ached in my chest as I brought his hand to my mouth. I kissed him there and looked up at him. He didn't look like my father and my guilt ate at me at that thought.

"Rosie, I'm fine."

I nodded my head, ignoring how fatigued he looked and sounded. My father used to have shoulder-length hair and now it was gone, a bald head in his place, a smaller face, and there was always a tremor in his voice and hands, and it hurt.

It fucking killed me seeing him like this knowing I couldn't do anything about it. All I could do was pray he gets better, hold his hand, and be there for him. The job I was working made me enough to pay for his hospital bills, but I was lacking from the house bills.

I wasn't that good at waitressing that men wanted to tip me a thousand dollars, but I wished I was. The house I was living in belonged to my great grandfather and he passed it down to my father, and it was this close to getting taken away from me, but I could only do so much, work so much.

I was working every single day without a break, twelve, sometimes thirteen-hour shifts, and whatever I made went straight to my father's hospital bills.

He needed this treatment, needed to get better, and I'd work forever without a break if he got better.

"I know, dad," I murmured. "You look better today." I willed myself not to cry as I smiled at him.

I saw his eyes flutter and his already weak hand go limp in mine. "I'm going to get some..." He mumbled trailing off and then his soft snores filled the room.

I stood up, covered him up with the blanket, ran my fingers over his head, and kissed his cheek, before grabbing my bag and heading out. Once the door shut, I leaned against the wall and felt the tears betray me as they fell down my face.

"Fuck," I swore under my breath as I wiped them away, but they wouldn't stop. "Stop crying." I scolded myself. "He's fine,"

I let out a ragged breath of air and wiped my face with the sleeves of my shirt. He'd be fine. I knew he would. He was strong and a fighter and I was just like him. I stepped out of the hospital feeling heavy, the weight of taking care of everything getting to me as I walked to the bus stop.

Exhaustion and I have become very intimate lately and I fought to stay away so I could get home, get dressed, and head back out. I made some coffee after my shower and put on some Frank Sinatra as I got ready.

My father's records were the only music I listened to, so I swayed and cried as I got dressed to go sell myself for the night. I never thought I'd ever allow myself to be the person I was when I headed to work, but I reminded myself drastic times called for drastic measures.

I wasn't doing this to boost my confidence or to find a man. I was doing this for my father, to help him, to take care of him, just as he took care of me when I was a child. He was the only family I had left, and I needed to do whatever I could for him.