Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 52.1: 1995, Georgina

Chapter 52.1: 1995, Georgina

 

Darkness. Beeping.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A rippling cold slithered over my body.

No, this was not correct. Where was it- what-

The water. The bath. The hibiscus, his favorite apple soap. His face. His smile. His laugh. His warmth against my body.

His warmth against my body.

The cold.

His cold.

His cold body.

I began to scream. 

 

"Georgina. Georgina, its okay. I'm here now. Tell me what's wrong sweetie. Tell me. I'll listen." Cha Cha's warmth. Her warm accent. Everything warm. Her arms were around me, in the light.

"N- no...no, no...no..." I couldn't stop saying that word. It just came out of me. I couldn't control it.

"Sweetie. Its okay."

"No, its not okay. He's cold. I need to...I need to do something. I don't know...why is he... I was dreaming, I know that. But I need to... I need to do something..."

"What do you need? Anything."

"I need...I need to give him my blanket, warm him. I need to...take it... The blanket..."

I tried to take the blanket off of myself but she draped it back over me, the cheap hospital blanket. I sniffled and tears rolled down my face, fresh tears. I gathered the blanket about myself like she wanted me to. It wasn't good enough for him, anyway. But it was good enough for me.

Instead, aborting this plan, I cried. I just cried. It felt like everything was washing out of me all at once. I couldn't muster any embarrassment about it, which felt strange but so right.

"Do you want some strawberry milk? I remember he liked that. You were always drinking it with him. You told me you like to drink it when you're sad, too. Do you want some?"

Rolling sobs were her answer because he'd never drink that again. Not with me or by himself. No, I didn't want any. I wouldn't be able to stomach it. Oh god, Frankie. Oh, Jesus...

"No. No, no, no."

"Are you sure? I know you like it. It tastes good. Sweet."

"No. No, I want... I want..."

"Hm? What do you want?" She leaned in. I knew I was being too quiet but I had no control.

"I want... I want Frankie..."

Her face fell. I stared at her, seeing her features blurry but obviously losing the veneer of hope.

"I know, honey. I know. I'm sorry." Warm again. Her arms were around me again, cradling me. Not letting go. The warmth. I became a ragdoll in her arms. Losing everything completely, not able to move. The tears stopped, replaced with numbness. Strange satiation. 

She didn't seem to have any other words to say. And that was okay. I felt it was okay. I didn't know why. A fog of confusion descended over my senses, unkind.

A knock.

"I brought it for her. Where do you want it?" A male voice. One I recognized.

"Give it to me. She seems to have calmed a bit, but I still want to try it."

They were talking about me even though I was right here. So strange. Part of the warmth disappated, then it left entirely. I was left leaned over my body, sitting up but not able to support myself. Curled upon myself. I stared at the cheap blue wool of the hospital blanket. Or was it even wool? But that was good enough for me. I didn't really deserve anything. 

Snap, clack. "Here, Georgina."

Had I even deserved him? Boldly, my brain answered the question without hesitation: no. No, I hadn't deserved him. All that he gave me. He treated me like a queen. A real queen. Gave me everything. I threw it all away, and he treated me no different. Loved me. For what?

"Georgina. Milk."

"I killed him."

"What?"

"I killed him."

No sounds. 

I killed him. It was me. 

My breath swooped backwards into my head as it erupted into tears, and the sweet fake strawberry smell of his favorite drink hit me as if he'd punched me in the face. Socked me right in the nose. 

But the effect.

The pain feeling went straight to my stomach. And I started to heave. My dinner came up, and I couldn't stop it. Tears and nausea, tears and chicken soup. 

Oh god, that young boy. I bet he still believed in Santa Claus, he was so innocent. And I killed him. 

I killed him. I killed him, because he loved me.

"Georgina! Oh my god- Derek! DEREK!"

I coughed, empty. But this was familiar. All those many nights with the bourbon. The guilt. This was what I deserved. This. Nausea and sick feeling, drowning. Hating myself.

Strong hands met my shoulders, forcing me back. The air was cold. I felt so cold. I closed my eyes.