Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 35: A Cat Named Carpet

The next morning, I woke up to the feeling of sandpaper. In my eyes. My head. My mouth.

Everything hurt. 

This was part of why I hated crying. It wasn't just that it made me feel weak--there were plenty of other ways to make me feel that way that didn't involve bodily functions. Crying left me with raging headaches that pulsed behind my eyes, which were left drier than the Sahara. No amount of ibuprofen could fix this kind of pain.

Eventually, after staring blankly at the wall for way too long, I flopped my way onto my bedroom floor, my heart aching just as much as my head. I didn't have the energy to react to the pain of my less-than-graceful landing. I just laid there for a moment, trying to find the motivation and emotional energy to do... anything.

The house was absolutely silent. Just like it always seemed to be.

There were no hurried footsteps as my parents scrambled to get to work on time. No shuffling as Ben once again danced around, cleaning the house in the least amount of clothes he could get away with. No arguments. No stumbling.

No Declan.

I felt a pang of sadness at the thought of my oldest brother. My parents had arrived late last night, with Ben trailing behind them. They told me that the hospital concluded that Declan had fractured several ribs, broken his right arm, and sustained a minor pulmonary contusion and a traumatic brain injury. He would wake up. He would make a full recovery, even.

Eventually.

But even when he woke up, even after his broken bones and bruises healed and his breathing went back to normal, there would be legal consequences. I had heard my mom whispering about it to my dad under her breath when they went to bed. Something about a DUI. License revocation. Possible mandated rehab. Even though his body would get better, his life would never be the same.

With great effort, I managed to push myself off my floor and come to a crisscrossed sitting position. I leaned forward so that my elbows were resting on my knees and put my face in my hands with a long sigh. Nothing was okay. 

I kept going back to that moment in the hospital when the staff had informed my family about the gun in Declan's passenger seat. Their faces had been grave, and I thought I remembered that same pitying look in their eyes that had been present when we'd been in the same hospital with Amy before. It didn't mean much to me at the time, but now that my brain was... not functioning but at least running again, the implication put a pit in my stomach. That dull ache behind my heart was back, too.

How would Declan go on living after he woke up, after everything?

How would Ben keep joking with everyone after we'd all seen him completely break?

How would I go on if I lost another sibling? If I lost two? All three?

It took everything in me to peel myself off the ground and trudge toward my bedroom door. 

People often described in stories the sensation of feet feeling like they're made of lead. Mine weren't lead. They were tungsten. Cold, dense tungsten, pulling my body back to the ground, where I might never get back up. The metal spread through my whole body until it was nearly impossible to move at all. The sandpaper lingered.

I practically fell into my stool at the kitchen counter once I finally made it up the stairs. I told myself that in just a second, I would stand up and make myself something to eat, but the longer I sat, the blanker my stare became as I started doom-spiraling again. 

What if the hospital was wrong? What if Declan never woke up?

I forced myself to pull my phone out of my hoodie pocket and unlock it. I had several texts and one missed call from Liam. My mom had messaged me early this morning asking if I wanted to visit the hospital later, and Ben was apologizing for "dumping on me" yesterday outside the ER. I also had individual texts from the twins, both demanding details about why I didn't go to the dance. Neither of them knew just how awful that night had turned out to be.