Sunday, December 12, 2010

Chapter 39

I've been working on this chapter forever and I still don't feel like I got it right. It feels like Gabby is too bitchy and bitter, but I guess she has a reason, right? Oh well, here it is. And if anyone cares, the song for this chapter is Bridges by Lifehouse. For some reason I couldn't get it to upload so I just wanted you to know.




















I woke up in the morning to see Patrick sitting in a chair next to me, asleep in an uncomfortable position. I had no idea how long he’d been here, but I knew that he’d hardly been away from my side for the past three days. All except yesterday, when he’d been gone for most of the afternoon.

We hadn’t talked much, not about what really mattered anyway. He hadn’t asked what was going to happen with us when I got out of the hospital, and I hadn’t initiated conversation either. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell him how I felt, that I didn’t want to apologize, it was that I was scared that despite the fact that he’d been here, he wouldn’t forgive me.

He began to stir as I watched him. I smiled when his eyes opened and he glanced over at me, like I was his first thought upon waking up. He smiled back when he saw me looking at him, grinning like an idiot.

“Good morning,” I joked as he yawned and stretched out.

“I was tired!” he defended himself. I felt my mood darken slightly.

“You don't have to be here all the time you know,” I told him. His smile faded too.

“I know that.”

Those words hung in the air, the real meaning behind them going unspoken, but clear as day. We were both quiet as we kind of took it in, wondering who was going to speak first, what we should say. We had to talk. It had to happen, and now was as good a time as any. I just wasn't used to talks like this. I finally opened my mouth to say something when the door opened.

My mouth closed quickly as my eyes widened in complete shock. I could feel my heart start to race as I saw who was in the doorway. I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment before opening them again and seeing that what I had seen was not a hallucination. They were really standing there in the doorway to my hospital room. I just didn't know how that was possible.

I swallowed what felt like a basketball sized lump in my throat as they took a few steps into the room. Then I watched as my parents looked from me to Patrick. They gave him weak smiles and nods and he returned the gestures. What the hell was that?

“Hello, Patrick,” my father said to him.

“Sam, Vanessa,” he returned. I looked between my parents and Patrick, utterly confused. How the hell did they know each other. What was going on? “I'll wait outside.” I watched as Patrick stood up from his seat and walked out of the room, giving me one last glance before he did.

“Oh, Gabrielle,” my mother sighed when the three of us were left alone. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to just tell them to get the hell out, to not even pretend that they cared I was laying in this hospital bed.

“Are you okay?” my father asked. I choked back the laugh that threatened to leave my mouth.

“I'm in the hospital on strong painkillers with a couple fractured ribs, a concussion, stitches in my face, and recovering from a rape. Other than that, I'm just fine,” I responded.

My words had their intended effect, on my mother at least. She let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. My father stood there, his face like a statue, not displaying any emotions. Something he'd learned in politics that he now used on his own daughter like I was a stranger.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We came to see how you were,” my mother said, her voice shaking slightly.

“Now you've seen me.”

“Gabrielle, please,” my mother begged.

“Please what? Be grateful that after 10 years you showed up for once?” I was past being diplomatic when it came to my family. They'd inflicted so much hurt, even after all this time. I knew I'd never fully heal if I couldn't tell them how I felt.

“Don't talk to your mother like that,” my father scolded me, like I was still 8 years old.

“Mother?” I laughed derisively. “Mothers don't abandon their children when they need them. Neither do fathers now that I think about it.”

“I told you this was a mistake,” my father said, turning to my mother who looked like she was about to break down.

“Can't handle the truth, Dad?” I asked. He turned back to me, a glare fixed right on my face.

“Let's go, Vanessa,” he ordered. I wasn't done, however.

“Wait, please. You came all this way. We should have a talk.” My father shook his head and took my mother's arm, pulling her toward the door.

“Sam, wait,” I heard her say to him. He looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it and turned back around. My mother turned her teary gaze back on me. “Say what you have to say.”

I took a moment trying to figure out exactly what I did and didn't want to say. I hadn't had time to prepare, to think this out. I didn't want to just go off on them. I wanted to let them know effectively what they'd done to me. I wanted them to see that I'd turned into a good person, and I'd done it without them. I wanted them to see what they'd lost. There was just one thing I had to know first.

“How did you know Patrick?” I asked.

“He came to see us yesterday,” my father replied.

I was surprised by that since Patrick hadn't said a word. Why hadn't he told me what he was doing, even if it was after the fact? Why had he done that? Those were questions for him however, and right now I had my parents to contend with.

“I spent my whole childhood wishing that you both would love me even a fraction as much as you loved Rachel and Bailey. I felt then that you didn't, and I know now that you didn't. Even so, I did everything I could think of to prove to you that I was worthy of love, that I wanted nothing more than to have you proud of me.”

“You had a funny way of showing it,” my father interrupted. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You know what? When being good didn't work I thought being bad might be how I'd finally get your attention. I'd spent too many soccer games and concerts looking into the crowed to see the empty space where you two should have been. I figured it was easier to ignore the good things I did than the bad, so I rebelled. I did it on purpose just so you'd notice me.”

I took a moment to let that sink in. I watched as my mother's expression transformed from sadness to surprise to understanding. I looked at my father waiting to see what his reaction would be, but it was stone cold. There was nothing in his eyes that told me he gave a damn about what I was saying at all.

“When you kept ignoring me I did things that were worse hoping they would work. Eventually I got out of control and I couldn't stop. I needed help. I'd never needed you more than I did then, and you still ignored me. All you cared about was your stupid public image and not your own daughter. I was beaten, raped, and pregnant as a result and you weren't there. I got clean for Quinn and then overdosed after a panic attack and almost died. Your response was to kick me out instead of getting me help. What kind of parent doesn't even try?”

“Until you raise children, you can't ask that question,” my father said through clenched teeth.

“You wouldn't let me raise my own! You took her from me! Maybe I wasn't ready to be a parent then, but I changed. Olivia took me in, sent me to rehab and to school. I cleaned up, I got better. I made something of myself and you ignored every phone call, every letter I sent trying to tell you. I went through family counseling sessions without family, had no one there for either of my graduations, and had no one to call when I got my first job. I stopped trying after a while because I realized you would never be back in my life. I accepted that. You never cared about me or loved me, and that's fine. I survived and I became a good person without you.”

Telling them all this was draining. I could literally feel my energy just leaving my body at every word I spoke. Oddly enough though, I didn't want to cry. No tears threatened to fall and I figured that was a good thing. I was now officially over my past.

“Look around at everything in this room. This is how much I mean to the people I have in my life now. I don't need you to be happy anymore, because the people I have in my life now have shown me what real love is. Love is filled with laughter, caring and charity, not faked obituaries.”

Finally there was a crack in my father's shell. It was slight, but I saw the flash of embarrassment in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth. So he did have a soul. My mother on the other hand was visibly crying now, hit the hardest by my last sentence. I wasn't happy to see her cry, but they had to know what they'd done.

“Thank you for coming to see me. I really do appreciate it. I'll never forget it.”

My mother looked up at me through wet eyes and looked like she wanted to say something, but my father didn't give her the chance. He took her by the arm and led her out of the room. I watched them until they disappeared from view. That was when Patrick came back into the room.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I thought for a moment and then realized that I was smiling. He looked at me strangely as my smile continued to grow bigger.

“Yes, I really am.”