Storyteller

Chapter 12

Faith POV:

"Tim!" I scream, shaking him. He's limp, and gurgling. I turn him onto his side to prevent him from choking, as I let complete panic set in. The girls are beside me, staring in horror as they watch their father, who has nearly drank himself to death. I'm completely aware that he could be dead right now in my hands, but I'm trying not to let that though get to me. Chris finally finishes calling, and arrives to my side. "Should I try CPR?" I ask, my hands trembling over him. She shakes her head.

"He'll just cough up more blood." She says, turning him onto his stomach. I cover my mouth, and become crippled by the situation. I start weeping, watching him lay there beside the blood he's coughed up, swelling from his likely burst liver. Chris sees me, and places her hands on my shoulders. "Faith, snap out of it, alright?" She says sternly. I shake my head.

"He's dead! He's dead... Oh my god..." I start to scream. "No... No please..." I cry out, clenching my stomach which churns as the thoughts slam into me all at once.

"No, he's not yet. Faith, you need to calm down." She pleads, looking between me and the girls. I shake my head, and grab his hand, which is now freezing cold. I let out a howl, as I squeeze it tightly. If he's still there, he'd squeeze my hand in response.

That's when I feel his finger twitch. The feeling is only granting me relief, until he comes to, and starts crying again. He quivers, before screeching. Chris stands by the girls, predicting this could be Tim's final moments. She's tried to convince them to go upstairs a few times now, but they refuse. It's until Tim soils himself that she forces them to leave. They watch him twitch in utter horror, as they slowly walk up the stairs.

I lean down, and press my lips behind his ear. I whisper to him, praying it will keep him calm.

"I love you..." I release, sounding more like a whimper. He squeezes my hand tighter, as if to say he loves me too. "It's okay. I'm not mad, honey. I love you." He releases a grunt, before a high pitched weak scream, that's almost too high to hear. "I love you..." I repeat quietly, not sure if he's going or not.

He places his hands on the floor, and pushes up, in an effort to get up. He fails, and falls back to the ground, before trying again, and again, and yet, again. I press him down, feeling my heart break at the sight. He resists me, continuing to try harder, and harder each time. He bites his lip, as his trembling arms push up.

"Tim, stop, please. Just lay down." I plead, tears flowing freely from my eyes. He grunts loudly, extending his arms fully under him. He gets his knees under his stomach, and manages to crawl a few feet. He cries out in pain as he crawls into his office. I follow him, not wanting to stop him at this point. He's obviously driven to find something.

He tears drawers out quickly, and desperately, in search of something important to him, when he finds it in the bottom drawer of his desk. He weeps, as he wraps himself around a small, dingy white rabbit stuffed animal. It only takes only glimpse to recognize its origin. I feel weak at the knees as he buries his head into its belly and sobs. I sit beside him, and lay my hand on his shoulder, making sure my presence is known to him.

Tim looks like hell as the doctor discusses what life with this new liver is going to be like. He's still a little dopey from the painkillers they've given him. The doctor explains how Tim should not drink with the new liver, and how Tim's stance as a public figure is the only reason he got a transplant. Tim stares at the white rabbit, which sits on top of a duffle bag full of his clothes. He studies it, making my heart sore. I had no clue he kept it.

"So even though you haven't listened to a goddamn thing I've said, I'm hoping we didn't just waste a second chance on you." The doctor says, glaring at an absent minded Tim. Tim doesn't even blink. The doctor sighs, and leaves the room, leaving us alone. I rub my hands on my thighs, feeling uncomfortable.

"I've only touched that rabbit twice after...." His rough voice sounds, looking to me now. His eyes are bloodshot, and dry. "I had it with me when I tried to kill myself in rehab, and when you guys found me." He clears his throat, and takes a quick breath. "I've only touched it when I thought death was inevitable for me, because she'd protect me. She'd make sure I'm okay." He looks down at his hands, as I watch a tear fall onto his tight knuckles. He wipes his eyes quickly, and licks the front of his teeth.

"You're going to get better." I spit out like a script, wanting to say a billion other things. He stares at me and shakes his head. I feel a cold wave come over him, as if he'd just opened a window in the middle of a winter storm.

"You should've let me die for her, Faith." He releases, tears falling. "I should've died for her." My heart breaks as it becomes hard to breathe. I want to reassure him, but I'm not sure what to say. He bites his lip as he looks back to the rabbit, leaving us to sit in silence.

Chris drives us home, to where we will have to start a new awkward living situation. Chris will be my supervisor, while I'm Tim's sober companion and guardian to the kids, with the help of Chris. Chris seems to be anxious about something though. She unlocks the front door, where Tim's manager is watching the TV in the family room, along with our publicists. I walk in slowly, not sure whether or not I want to turn and run away from the situation.

The TV blares CNN, which airs a reporter talking about Tim's near death experience, which then cuts away to another reporter, this time stationed in Start... I watch hesitantly, as the reporter asks people from the town about their opinion on the issue. I see our old high school english teacher emerge in the background, forming a lump in my throat. The loud mouth makes her way to the front, and pushes up to the microphone.

"I had both Faith and Tim in english. Tim's always been a boozer. Faith used to drink alcohol like it was water too, but she cut it out after Blaire died." Our teacher says, acting so caring and calm. I feel my chest cave in, as Tim grabs the back of the couch for strength.

"Who's Blaire?" The reporter asks, interested in her story. "And are you saying they both were here in Louisiana for high school?"

"Blaire's their baby girl who died when she was seven. And yes, they both went to Rayville High." She says. The reporter begins to believe that she's full of shit, and questions our old teacher further.

"Is there anyone else here who can confirm Miss..." the reporter asks for the teacher's name.

"Porter." Miss Porter confirms.

"Miss Porter's story?" The reporter calls out. Miss Porter grins, as the entire town gathers around the camera, holding up their hands, talking about the diner we went for dates, the church I sang at, and the funeral. CNN then places a Breaking News banner on the story, saying McGraw-Hill Mystery Child?

I want to die...