Page 5 of Angel
I swallow.
“She’s just focused on gettin’ healthy. Doctors said….”
“Angel.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Is she okay?”
That’s the question, ain’t it? And I don’t know the answer.
“She’s tryin’ so fucking hard,” I say quietly. “And I don’t know how to help without makin’ it worse.”
Carrie shifts Polly higher on her hip.
“You don’t fix this by lettin’ her disappear.”
“I’m not…”
“You are,” she cuts in gently. “You’re watchin’ her drown because you’re afraid of sayin’ the wrong thing.”
That one lands hard and right in my chest.
“Sometimes,” Carrie adds softly, “lovin’ someone means sittin’ in the mess with ‘em. Even when it’s ugly.”
She kisses Polly’s head and walks away, leaving me standin’ there with a knot in my chest and too many fuckin’ thoughts.
That night, I sit on the edge of the bed while Stevie showers. The water runs too long, and steam creeps under the door. I listen, not for crying but for silence. Because that’s what scares me now.
She comes out wrapped in a towel, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat. Her eyes go straight to her phone on the dresser.
“Can we talk?” I ask. She freezes, just for a second.
Then nods. “Sure.”
That scares me too because she used to argue, fight, and feel. Now she just agrees.
I pat the mattress beside me. She sits with the towel tucked tight, her body angled away like she’s bracin’ for impact.
“I’m worried about you,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” She stiffens.
“You’re disappearin’ right in front of me.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m tryin’ to fix this.”
“This ain’t somethin’ you fix alone.”
She finally looks at me then, her eyes sharp.
“What’s the alternative, Angel? Give up?”
“No.”
“Then let me do this.”
“At what cost?”
Her lips press thin.
