August // Taylor Swift

Holly

Jackson hasn't been back in my life for very long. And now he's only been gone for a day, but it feels like a lifetime without him. I don't remember life before. What did I do with my time? What did I have to look forward to?

It's now when I'm faced with missing him that I realize how dreadful my life was before. I was breathing in and out, waking and eating and sleeping. And that's it. There was no joy, no anticipation. Nothing to look forward to. No one to confide in. Jackson became all of those things to me, every important piece of who I am. It's all wrapped up in him.

The day without him here shouldn't feel much different. We've texted the same, constantly. We talked a few times, but he was distracted with packing, I think. He seemed distant. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe he's just busy. But for some reason it felt like he was somewhere off in the clouds while we were talking. Like he was thinking about other things. Other people.

I know I'm working myself up into a spiral of negative thoughts. Jackson told me he was coming back tomorrow. There's no reason I should feel this anxious with him only being gone a day and a half. I've read enough self-help books to recognize the pattern. I'm positive I need therapy. Between my ailing mom and my nightmare of a dad, professional help is the only way I'll really overcome my messed-up thinking. Jackson made all of that go away, at least for a little while. But I'm wise enough to know he isn't a quick fix for my problems.

Being with him the other day, for the first time so intimate and close, pushed my feelings right to the surface. He told me he loves me. And I love him, too. It's like a dream, feeling this way. The highest of highs when we're together. I felt so safe, so seen. More so than with anyone from my past, including my parents. My mother doesn't have the strength to really be there for me. And my father doesn't have the heart.

But I don't want to think about him.

I rush through my end-of-day routine at work, wiping down equipment and making sure there are enough supplies for our residents. The facility where I work isn't very big. We have less than a hundred beds, with a few that have opened up recently. It's part of this job; getting to know the people living here then eventually watching as they pass away. Over the years I've built up the ability to detach from whatever is happening around me. With Jackson, I never needed to. Even at home with my mom—who I've left alone more and more over the weeks so I can be with Jackson—I've been more open, less detached emotionally from her. Although things have been good lately, so I haven't needed to escape. Her strength seems better, her stamina and energy are good. We're all thriving with Jackson back. It makes me miss him even more knowing all the ways his presence has been a blessing.

I wrap up my duties, say goodbye to the other staff and head home for the night. I had the evening shift today and I'm on schedule for morning shifts over the weekend, so I'll be back in the morning. Whoever made it a thing to schedule someone back to back like this should be fired. I suck it up, though, because the money is decent, and overall this is a good place to work.

I set up my phone on Bluetooth in the car and head home. The drive isn't long, but I'll call mom and let her know I'm on my way. I'm just about to make the call when my phone rings. I don't bother checking the caller ID before answering because I'm positive my mom beat me to it. She knows my schedule and often calls just as I'm heading home. Plus, in the back of my mind I'm hoping its Jackson. He knows my schedule too.

I'm disappointed when the caller speaks, and I realize it's not either of them. It's so much worse.

It's my dad.

"Where are you," he barks through the speaker. I immediately turn the volume down.

"Why?" My stomach is in knots. I don't usually question him, but he's been gone a long time. And I'm not the same person I was when he left.

"Answer me." His voice is cold.

"On my way home from work."

"Who's watching your mother?"

"What do you mean who's watching her? She's a grown adult. No one's watching her. I'm going there now."

"You been leaving her alone a lot lately."

It should be a question. Right? My entire body reacts to the stress. My heart is racing and I start to sweat. I almost feel sick to my stomach.

"No more than usual. For work and errands." I leave out spending the night with Jackson not three nights ago. He certainly doesn't need to know about that.

My dad grunts in response. "When I'm gone, she's your responsibility."

I swallow my reaction. When he's gone? She's always my responsibility whether he's gone or not. My instinct is to curse him out, but I bite my tongue instead. Calling him out on his bullshit is a jail sentence.

"You hear me?" His tone sends a shiver down my spine.

"Yes." I can't hold back much longer. As it is, my yes was filled with distain.

"Watch it. Show some respect." He grunts again, makes some other sort of disgusted sound before he finishes with a cruel laugh. "I can hardly wait for the day when you get the hell out of my house. So fucking ungrateful."

My jaw drops. "Are you serious?"

"UNGRATEFUL!" he shouts.

"I pay all the bills. How am I ungrateful? You give me nothing. Less than nothing." My heart is racing. My mouth is dry. I know I've stepped into murky waters with my reaction but who could blame me? My only saving grace is he's still on the road not waiting at home for me.

Unless that's exactly where he is and why he called to ask where I am. I don't dare try to clarify. I'll drive by the house and look for his Semi cab. If he's home, I'll leave. I'll go to Jackson's place. I've got a spare key.

I come out of my thoughts to realize my dad never responded to me. I look over at my phone, seeing the call is no longer on the screen. He hung up.

Fuck. That can't be good.

I drive a little faster than I should, suddenly anxious for answers. Is he there? I turn corners left and right until I'm in my neighborhood. I'm forced to slow down. Don't want to draw attention to myself. I make the last turn onto my street and breathe a sigh of relief. No truck in sight. He's not here. I still wonder what that call was about, sick to my stomach about the potential aftermath. But that's a future me problem. Right now, I'm desperate to get into the house and check on mom. I have a bad feeling.

I park on the street rather than the driveway. It feels more proactive, like I have a better chance to escape. I get out with eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. I feel paranoid but rationally, I know I'm not. My dad actually is paranoid, and I could imagine he might park out of sight. I'm not in the clear yet.

I get to the front door with nothing outwardly amiss. The screen is closed, and the door is locked as usual. When I get into the house its quiet. I should at least hear the T.V. in my mom's room. She keeps it on constantly for the noise. It makes her feel less alone.

My gut twists with guilt, knowing I've been leaving her alone a lot lately. I put down my lunch and work bags but hold onto my purse, in case. It's late, maybe Mom is asleep. She usually waits up for me, but maybe this time she was too tired.

I get to my mom's room to find the door open and just the dim side table light on. Her bed is empty, the blankets in a ball at the foot of the bed. I touch the mattress, finding it still warm. She must be in the bathroom.

"Mama?" I call to her, "I'm home."

"Hooo—"

I hear a weak response, not even my full name, coming from the bathroom. As relieved as I am that she's alive, I notice with panic there is no strength in her words, like she has no energy left more than she's just tired.

I knock on the door and press my ear against the wood.

"Mama? Are you okay?"

"Mmmm."

She doesn't sound okay. I giggle the handle, but the door is locked. I've told her not to lock the door when she's home alone because I can't get to her if there's a problem. Like now.

"Mama, hang on. I can't get the door open." I rush back to the kitchen to look for a screwdriver. I need something to take the handle off, or the hinges. Something. I dig through the drawers in a panic. We've got to have something in here!

"I don't know what to do." I stand up in the kitchen and press my hand to my forehead. I've got to calm down. She's been so sick for so long. It wears on a person. Especially when that person is the only caretaker. I've been the only one doing anything for her all these years.

It's time to get more help.

I pull myself together enough to grab a large knife, hoping I can jimmy the lock. It's not that strong. I rush back to the bathroom door and start jamming it between the lock and the threshold. The door jam is so weak and splintered that the movement of the knife cracks it further, popping the door open. I push into the room and throw the light switch on

Mom is lying on the floor, motionless. My heart stops because she seems too still. How sick is she? She's been so much better these last few days. But working where I work, doing the job I do, I of all people should know that often times a chronically ill person will have some of their best days before the end. The realization hits me with such force I cry out.

"Mom!" I make it to her side and immediately start checking her breathing and pulse.

"Baby girl," mom says.

"Why didn't you call me." I'm not a nurse, but I can tell her breathing is shallow and her pulse is weak. Something is definitely wrong. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No, baby. I'll be alright." She coughs. "Just get me to bed."

I help her to her feet and stumble with her to the door. Now I wish I hadn't parked on the street. The walk to the car is that much longer. Something in me man's up, or woman's up I guess, and we make it down the walkway to the passenger side. I've still got my purse and keys so I open the door and get Mom situated. Then I run back inside to grab her shoes and a coat. I toss them in the backseat after locking up the house then drive straight to the hospital.

I need answers. I need help. Mom needs more care than I can give her. And I have no idea how I'm going to pay for any of it.

I wish Jackson was home already. He's in the back of my mind when I check her into the ER and when I sit with Mom in the chairs of the waiting room. But my focus needs to be on her. I'll talk to Jackson later. I'll need him. I can't do this alone.

The drama in this one had me...what about you? I honestly thought this might happen a few chapters from now but the way the words flowed told me otherwise. Buckle up for the next few. Just saying...

Okay, this song is not the perfect pick, tone-wise overall, but it felt like Holly at the beginning of the chapter so that's why it went here. 

https://youtu.be/nn_0zPAfyo8

Thanks for reading!! I'm still off kilter with my writing and my responses. I got sick last weekend, booooo! One of these days I'll be back to my usual, interactive self!