“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t be the first to see him. Please, Graham? Please go first so you can tell me how he is. Please.”
“Okay,” I told her, still a little worried about not being there to hold her up. Before I could say anything else, Lucy was standing on the other side of Mary, holding her hand tight and promising me with her gentle eyes that she wouldn’t let go.
“I’ll take you to the room,” the doctor told me.
As we walked down the hallway, I tried my best to keep it together. I tried my best to not show how much my heart was hurting, but the moment I was left alone with Professor Oliver in that room, I lost it.
He looked so broken.
So many machines beeping, so many tubes and IVs.
I took a deep breath, pulled a chair up to his bed, and then cleared my throat. “You’re a selfish asshole,” I stated, stern, angry. “You’re a selfish asshole for doing this to Mary. You’re a selfish asshole for doing this to Karla weeks before her wedding. You’re a selfish asshole for doing this to me. I hate you for thinking if I knew, I’d run. I hate you for being right about it, too, but please, Professor Oliver…” My voice cracked and my eyes watered over. They burned, the way my heart was burning from the pain. “Don’t go. You can’t go, you selfish fucking
asshole, okay? You can’t leave Mary, you can’t leave Karla, and you absolutely, one hundred percent, cannot leave me.”
I fell apart, taking his hand in mine, and I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in as my cold heart that had only recently thawed began to shatter.
“Please, Ollie. Please don’t go. Please, I’ll do anything…just…just…”
Please don’t go.
Christmas Day
He hadn’t liked her gift, so he allowed himself a drink. Kent never only had one drink, though. One led to two, two led to three, and three led to a number that brought out his shadows. When Kent lived in his shadows, there was nothing able to bring him back.
Even though Rebecca was beautiful.
Even though Rebecca was kind.
Even though Rebecca tried hard each day to be enough.
She was more than enough, Graham thought.
For the past five birthdays, she’d watched him blow out his candles.
She was his best friend, the proof that good existed, but that wouldn’t last, because Kent had had a drink—or ten.
“You are shit!” he screamed at her, throwing his glass of whisky at the wall, where it shattered into a million pieces. He was more than a monster, he was darkness, the worst kind of man that ever existed. Kent didn’t even know why he was so angry, but he took it all out on Rebecca.
“Please,” she whispered, shaken as she sat on the couch. “Just rest, Kent. You haven’t taken a break since you started writing.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. You ruined Christmas,” he slurred, stumbling over to her. “You ruined it all, because you are shit.” He raised his hand to take his anger out on her, but before he could slap her, his palm slammed against Graham’s forehead as he stepped in the way to protect Rebecca. “Move!” Kent ordered, wrapping his hands around his son and tossing him to the side of the room.
Graham’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his father hit her.
How?
How could he hit someone so good?
“Stop!” Graham cried, rushing over and hitting his father repeatedly. Each time Kent would push him away, but Graham didn’t stop. He kept rising from the floor and going back for more, unafraid of how his father would hurt him. All he knew was that Rebecca was being hurt, and he knew he had to protect her.
What lasted for minutes felt like hours. The room spun as Graham got hit, and Rebecca got hurt, and it wasn’t until both lay there still, not trying to fight back, that it finally stopped. They took the hits and punches, and stayed quiet until Kent grew tired of it all. He wandered off to his office where he slammed his door and probably found some more whisky.
Rebecca wrapped her arms around Graham the second Kent was gone, and she let him fall apart in her arms. “It’s okay,” she told him.
He knew better than to believe such a thing.
Late into that night, Rebecca stopped by Graham’s room. He was still awake, sitting in the darkness of his room, staring at the ceiling.