Dust

Chapter 22

Faith POV: I drive out to the middle of nowhere, trying to keep my trembling hands from veering off into a ditch as I go. I hate this... I would give anything to make this much more simple. I pull off once I get far out into the country, throw the car in park, and I jump out, gasping for air. Tears are pouring down as I hit my knees. My fingers clench onto the grass on the side of the road, as I try not to puke again. I normally never become this psyched out over something, but this is different... 

My whole life has been like some sort of  mirage. Everything that seemed so sure and simple is now just a blurred picture. My head begins to pound as I start throwing up again, holding my stomach as I do. I don't know what's wrong with me.

I sit against my car, and try to catch my breath. I feel like my world is spinning.

Suddenly, I can't fight the urge to shut my eyes. My eyes keep rolling to the back of my head, making me feel even more dizzy. I've never felt like this before.

I feel myself fall over on my side, but I can't open my eyes again. My chest hurts, as I hear myself begin to make gargling noises. What the hell is happening to me? 

After what seems like a lifetime, I hear a car pull up. Somebody hops out, and gasps. 

"Oh my god, is she dead?" A woman cries out. Somebody else draws near, and checks my pulse. 

"She has a slight pulse. Baby, go get my phone." The man says with a heavy southern accent. I feel him pull back my hair, and hold tight to my hand. "Just keep fighting, honey." He says quietly. I feel my body shake as the two sit with me, awaiting an ambulance. Am I dying? 

"What do you think is wrong with her?" The woman asks, this time much calmer. The man begins to push back my hair again. 

"She seems very sick... Maybe bad food poisoning or a concussion or something." He says, being gentle with me. I hear the sirens draw closer as they both try to calm each other down. 

My hearing has degraded to the point where I feel like someone has placed a plastic bowl over my head. Things echo, and the loud noises burn more than expected. I still can't open my eyes, and I haven't been able to say a word. I've been able to feel the IV injections and blood drawls. I don't understand why I can't just open my eyes.

That's when I hear him... And feel him. 

His hands tremble around mine as he places his lips against my forehead. 

"It's okay baby... Just hold on, baby." He repeats. I can feel the tears that have landed on his lips as he continues to speak. "We are going to get you all figured out, honey, okay? It's okay..." 

Tim sniffles, when a loud click turns off all hearing and sensing I held moments before. 

After a long drawn silence, my eyes are open, assaulted by the bright lights in the room. A shadow hangs over me, while I look around the room quickly. My hearing begins to resume as I see an impressive amount of people jammed into this tiny room. A graying, familiar man holds tight to my hand as the whole room holds their breath. My eyes stare at the man, trying to make sense of it all. 

"It's okay, baby." Tim says, running his fingers through my hair. His hands shake as he does so. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He knows what questions I have. "Your liver failed." He places his chin on his knuckles, and leans against the bed. "You received half of my liver, and luckily it's been doing well." He says, with a slight smile. He clears his throat, some tears coming out with his smile. 

"Faith, you're lucky to be alive." A doctor speaks up behind him. "Your organs were beginning to fail when they brought you in. This extreme trauma had led you to fall into a coma. Now, we believe this sort of long term failure has led for your disorientation mentally." Tim cringes a little, and looks at me in search of a reaction. I nod slowly, trying to not completely lose my mind. "You're mobility is limited, as well as your speech. Overall, you're a miracle." The doctor begins, making Tim crumble. The stress looks like it has beaten him down. He covers his mouth and tries to hold back tears. "Do you need a moment?" The doctor asks. Tim shakes his head quickly, and clears his throat again. 

"I'm good." He says, looking down at his feet. 

"How long was I out?" I spit out quickly. Tim flinches at the question. 

"About a year and a half, Faith." The doctor answers, causing my chest to tighten profusely. I look at Tim for some kind of reassurance, hoping he'll break out laughing, claiming it's all a joke. He looks down at the ground, praying he can keep it together.

Tim opens the door for me, letting me into his house. The place looks the same, with the absence of a few decorations, and Kristen. He told me that he asked for a divorce the day after our venture. He got a call in the midst of their argument saying I was dying in the hospital. 

Tim helps me stagger into where his office had once been. Now a bed is set up where his desk was. I stare at the tiny bed, feeling my chest become tight. 

"You're going to stay with me, right?" I ask, turning toward him. He nods, and rubs the back of his neck. 

"They told me to set up something temporary, until we can really gage what you can and cannot do." he says, squeezing my hand unintentionally. I feel my muscles ache as he helps me lay down in bed. He lays down beside me, and holds me as I begin to cry. 

"I don't want to be like this..." I cry out, feeling my chest ache again. He cringes, and kisses my shoulder. 

"It's the price we had to pay... What I'd give to take the pain for you." He whispers, running his fingers through my hair.  "I should've done something sooner to make you stop drinking, baby." His voice rasps. 

"I'm sorry." I cry. He places his thumb on my chin and shakes his head. 

"It's not your fault. You had no control." I can tell these years have aged on him. His hands are shaky, regardless of the task. His stress wrinkles are deep, just above his eyebrows. The bags under his eyes appear permanent. 

"I should've been there." I say, rubbing his cheek. His mouth hangs open as he starts to crumble. "You shouldn't have had to do that by yourself." I lay my chin against his shoulder as he tries to hold back tears. 

"Brett's okay now... He's in a better place. That's what you just have to keep telling yourself, if you want to stay sane." he says, practically panting. He shouldn't have to feel this pain. I wish I could help him... 

"Do you wish you could've stopped it?" I ask. Tim takes a moment to process what I mean. 

"If I could've... I wish that..." He stops for a moment. "I wish I could've. But he deserved so much better..." Tim says, swallowing hard. "His lungs couldn't handle it, even with the transplant." 

My father managed to get a hold of Brett, about a year ago. Brett received a lung transplant, and was able to come home, but he was only home about a week before in the middle of the night, Tim heard a shriek. My father held him under in the pond behind our house, just like my mother did to the girls. By the time Tim made it down the stairs, Brett was gone. He could only hold his breath for about fifteen seconds, and it took about a minute to reach the pond from Tim's bedroom, running full speed. Tim beat my father so badly, that my father can't walk. He's rotting away in a nursing home far away from here. 

He had to bury Brett, our baby... He and the girls were the only ones at the funeral, as well as Mark. The girls had never truly seen him before, and Tim tells me that he didn't do enough for Brett. I know that's not true, but he doesn't understand that there's nothing he could've done differently.