Unworthy Of Love (BXB)

28. The Homecoming

They keep telling me it's going to be a slow process. That it will take months of physiotherapy to regain the full use of my arm and my leg. The man with "Dr. Frank" on his name tag gives me a detailed explanation, with pictures of muscles and bones and my X-rays. He pats me on my good shoulder and says that since I'm so young, I'm likely to recover well. The arm will probably be fine, but the damaged tendon in my thigh might cause a slight limp that is unlikely to ever completely go away.

I sit in my bed and nod and ask questions, even though it doesn't feel quite real to me. I'm still weak from all the blood loss but it feels good to at least be able to sit and talk, so I don't care nearly as much as I should about the meaning of the conversation. I don't grasp the most important thing, not until he leaves, and Catherine sits down on my bed, and then she tells me.

"What do you mean?" I say, stupidly.

"You won't be playing baseball," she repeats. "Not professionally, at least. With the damage to your leg...and they say the limp will remain...you won't be able..." Her calm mask shatters, and she hides her face in her hands. "Oh, Jamie, baby, I'm so sorry...you loved it so much...it meant so much to you..."

I blink at her, trying to grasp what she says. No baseball? But that was my future. Diamond fields, cheering crowds, teammates, success. That was supposed to be my life. The picture was always there at the back of my mind. When I try to scratch it out, there is only an empty, scary nothingness underneath it. I've always known what I wanted to do. I never had a plan B.

Catherine's sobs bring me back to reality. I reach out and pat her on the shoulder, then try to pull her into a hug, but she moves away, shaking her head.

"I'm so stupid, stupid," she moans. "I brought it on you...on us. They told me, he's trouble, he can't be fixed, and still I had to --"

"Don't say that. You always said that no one is beyond help."

"I was wrong." She rubs her eyes. "He is. Anyway, I'm not going to talk about him."

"You have to." This is not the first time in the last few days I've tried to ask her about Raven, but she refused to talk about him, even though she was eager to indulge my every other wish, trying to make my time in the hospital as comfortable as possible. Still, I must know.

"Mom, please." I catch her wrist. "You have to tell me. Have you sent him away?"

"I wish I had," She snorts and wipes her tears with her other hand. "The little shit had to have his way in that, too."

I wince at her swearing—another thing she didn't do before. "What do you mean?"

"The police brought him home to gather his things and they waited for him downstairs. Then they went upstairs to check what was taking him so long, and the window was open, and he wasn't there."

I stare at her, stunned. "He ran away?"

"Yes. His backpack was gone, too, with most of his stuff." She looks at me. "The things he left behind, I've burned."

"What has he left behind? Was there a note?"

She shakes her head. "No note. Just clothes and posters and some disgusting magazines. His phone, too. Guess he didn't want to be tracked by it."

I frown. There's no way he would just disappear like that, without leaving me a note or something. And where would he go? He's got nobody to turn to.

"Are you all right?" She peeks at my face. "Should I bring you anything?"

"I'm fine," I say. "Can you ask them when I can go home? I just really want to go home."

Still, it takes another two days before I'm discharged. Catherine tries to act excited and upbeat, but by the time I manage to get inside the car, the bandages rendering my leg stiff and unbendable, she's crying again, even though she tries to hide it by looking away and turning the radio on.

We drive in silence interrupted only by the inappropriately cheerful 'Surfin USA' by The Beach Boys, and it makes me think that surfing is perhaps another activity I won't be able to do now. Catherine thoughts probably run along the same lines, because she switches the radio off and then it's only silence until we arrive home.

I insist on going upstairs by myself, even though it would take me half the time had I accepted her help. I can feel her eyes on me as I make my way slowly from one step to another, but by the time I get to the second floor, I can hear her clattering dishes in the kitchen.

I limp along the corridor, holding on to the wall. The door to Raven's room stands open. I peek inside. It's empty and faceless, the desk clean, the bed sheetless, the walls stripped of the posters and the pictures.

I turn away and head to my room.

It looks pretty much the way I left it. I stop in the doorway, looking around. Perhaps Raven has left something here, a note saying where to find him—or at least saying goodbye. After the things that happened to us—between us—he couldn't have just disappeared on me.

I look around, trying to see if something looks different, and at last, I spot it. The little wooden box with a picture of a yacht on the lid, where I keep the money I have earned mowing lawns. The cash to buy the 'Fake Drug' tickets came out of it, too. There's still about eight hundred dollars left. I usually keep it on the bookshelf, but now it stands in the middle of my desk, very visible, as if placed there deliberately to catch my eye.

I limp forward. This makes sense. He must have left a note in the box, knowing Catherine wouldn't touch my things.

I lean heavily on the desk with one hand and flip the lid of the box open.

It's empty.

I stare at its wooden bottom as if expecting for something to emerge out of it, but there's nothing. He's left no message. Or, rather, the empty box is  the message. Telling me that I meant nothing to him, and if I thought otherwise, it was only my imagination. He's just ruined my life, stole my money and fled, leaving me to deal with the consequences.

I stare at the empty box, my chest heaving, my head beginning to hurt. I can feel how all the mixed, contradictory feelings inside of me merge together and consolidate into a fierce hatred; and I know that I will find him, no matter what, and he'll pay for making me feel like this.

*** I bet you don't like Raven very much right now... ***