Page 132 of Shamed
I drop my gaze to my hands. I washed them clean at some point, but there’s still blood on my jacket sleeve, and some on my pants. I feel sick every time I see it.
“I will, thanks,” I finally answer.
After she leaves me, I take a moment to pull myself together before I get up to follow the directions to Jayne’s room.
Now that it’s time to go in, I find myself hesitating, lingering on the other side of her door.
What am I even supposed to say to someone who just tried to end their life? Someone I love, no less.
What if I say the wrong thing?
After spinning my thoughts around for another minute, I suck it up and push through the door.
As soon as my eyes land on Jayne dressed in a hospital gown, sitting in bed, very much alive, relief and grief collide in my chest, choking out all words.
The solid front I just built crumbles in an instant.
Rushing to her bed, I climb onto it and grip her cheeks with my shaking hands, much like I did in her bathroom, just so I can look into her stormy gray eyes and reassure myself she’s really here.
My hands slide over her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her lips,everywhere, before settling back where they started.
Dark shadows occupy the space under her eyes, and her skin is still paler than usual, her hair a matted mess. But she’s here. She’s fucking here.
Jayne holds my gaze for only a moment before glancing away with tears in her eyes, her lips downturned. “I wasn’t sure ifyou’d come in here,” she says, her voice small. “I know you probably hate me now.”
My composure almost collapses. “Jesus, Jayne, I don’t . . . I don’t hate you. I’m so fucking happy you’re okay. I never wanted this. Never.” I bring her in close, breathing her in and kissing her forehead before pressing her head to my chest. “I was so scared,” I whisper, moisture blurring my eyes.
I keep wondering what would have happened if I went home instead of going to talk with her. My stomach lurches at the alternate possibility.
But then I remember the doctor’s words tostay positiveand shut down those thoughts immediately.
“You’re okay. We’re okay.” I keep her close, my heart slowly settling with her head resting against it.
We stay like that for several minutes before she finally pulls back, and I reluctantly release her. “I asked them to let you in because I wanted to apologize to you.”
“You don’t need to apologize—”
“I do,” she quickly says, cutting off anything more I might say. “I really do. I didn’t mean to put you through that, and I’m so,sosorry.” She looks down at her bandaged arm and a few tears drip onto her hospital gown. “I’m sorry you found me like that. I’m sorry I kept the truth from you. I’m sorry I put your friend in prison. I’m sorry foreverything.” The last words come out choked.
“Shh.” I rub her leg, my heart feeling like it’s being strangled. “We’ll talk about all of that later, okay?”
She jerkily swipes a tear from her cheek, shaking her head. “They, um . . . strongly suggested that I voluntarily accept the help they’re offering.”
“What type of help?”
“There’s an in-patient program, and I’m being admitted.” She wipes away another tear like she wants them to stop. “I know this is something I need to do, but there will be no contact with anyone.”
As in, no contact with me.
The uncomfortable hospital bed creaks as I shift, and the lights inside her room suddenly seem too bright, too harsh. “How long?”
One of her shoulders lifts and drops. “A few weeks in-patient, and we’ll assess after that.”
I nod, my gaze falling to her hands while I take hold of them. “You’ll be gone for Christmas?”
“Yes.”
There’s a twinge in my chest, knowing she’ll be all alone for the holidays. Then I realize it’s probably nothing new for her, and the twinge turns into a violent twist.
