She nods quickly, her lower lip trembling. She turns from me, fumbling with her keys. Finally, she gets her door open and slides into the driver’s seat. In seconds she’s squealing tires outta the parking lot.
I’m left standing there, watching her go, wondering what in the goddamn hell is going on tonight.
Chapter Eight
Mandy
There’s a knock at my door, before someone pushes it slightly open.
“You’ve got a package.”
Those are the last words I expect to hear. Especially after only being here for a little while. I didn’t even know I could get packages yet, or who might have actually sent me one.
Getting up off the bed, I walk over. “Do I?” I open the door all the way, holding my hand out for it.
“You’ll notice it’s open,” the nurse says. “Because we check it for contraband, and we verify you can have what’s inside. If we’ve taken anything out, there’ll be a note attached, and you can speak with your therapist about it at your session tomorrow.
Pushing my hair back, I nod, trying to figure out how all this works. She hands me the package, giving me a smile before she’s off to the next room.
Sitting back down, I turn the package over and over in my hands. Trying to figure out who it’s from. The return address is the clubhouse address, so it could be from any number of people.
When curiosity gets the better of me, I put my finger in the small hole they’ve made and finish re-tearing the package open, before dumping it out onto the bed.
A smile works its way across my face when I see all of my favorite things.
A couple of notebooks.
My favorite pens.
And colored post-it notes.
Bath wash and shampoo.
Even a little bottle of my preferred body spritz.
There’s a short message from my mom.
Mandy,
I hope this finds you well, and gives you something to do. We all miss and love you.
Mom
Excited, I start to shuffle through everything, planning how I can situate it on the small desk I have in the corner of my room.
The nights in here, by myself, are the worst. This bed is so empty without Dalton. Which is odd, considering we spent so much time apart the last few months. I thought I’d become accustomed to sleeping without him. Most nights I craved the loneliness, I reveled in it, because it felt like I deserved it.
But now I’m slowly learning I deserve love and I’m learning to write out all my feelings. It’s still hard for me to say them, but writing them out has been even more therapeutic. Cathartic even.
Glancing over at the bedside clock (I still can’t have a cell phone), I see it’s still early.
“Mandy.” My head raises at the sound of someone in the doorway. “It’s time for your nighttime pills.”
My whole life I’ve been against taking medicine, probably because I saw so many of my childhood friends get hooked on pain pills. However, I’m beginning to learn that while they can be problematic, they can also be helpful.
“Thanks.” I get up off the bed and walk over to the nurse.
She hands me a small condiment cup and a bottle of water. When I’ve swallowed them, she motions for me to open my mouth and lift up my tongue. At first I’d been taken aback by the lack of trust.
Then I realized how hard it is for me to trust, and I’ve slowly come to understand. I move my head to the left, then to the right, showing her I’m not hiding the pills. She hands me back the bottle of water.
“Have a good night.”
“Thanks.” I grin. “You too.”
I’m filled with the need to do something tonight, an emotion I haven’t had since I’ve been here. Looking up at the calendar I have hanging in my room, I see it’s been almost three weeks since I arrived. If I can make it thirty days, I can have my phone back. At sixty days, I can have visitors, and then at ninety, I can go home.
Going home has always filled me with dread, even before I came here. I’d sit in my car, wherever I was, to avoid driving out to the home Dalton and I shared. All it did was remind me of what I lost, of that empty room that’s sitting there decorated, waiting for a baby that never came. It’s covered in darkness, the loss of hope and despair, cloudy with a haze of I don’t give a fuck. Which was exactly how I was feeling toward the end.
But at the same time, that house holds the memories of Walker as a baby, of Dalton and I as newlyweds, of happier times. Every single milestone Walker has experienced has been there, but I’m wondering if the same darkness exists there for him now, too.
Opening the bedside table, I pull out the notebook and pen I’ve been using to write letters to myself. Tonight, I have a desire to write one to Dalton. I miss him more than I ever thought possible and I think he needs to hear it.
Dalton,
I miss you.
I need you.
I love you.
I know I haven’t been the easiest to live with - ever. But you’ve never made me feel less than the woman I am, not the woman I see every time I look in the mirror. You’ve always done everything I’ve asked you to, even to the detriment of your feelings and our marriage.
This is me taking responsibility for it.
This is me telling you I realize what kind of position I’ve put you in, and I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry I’ve always cared more about myself than my family. It’s not been intentional. Never was it intentional. I just couldn’t see my way out from under the pressure and grief I’ve been under.
But you…
You’ve always been the best part of me, Dalton. Always. I can still remember the first time you told me
