My head was going around in circles, and I was trying to get my thoughts in order when she asked for a phone book and then mentioned staying in a motel. A rat-infested motel. A motel where she would be alone. There was no way in fuck I would let that happen, but she was fighting it all the way. So, I did what I had to do. I messaged Chelsea and Amelia and set a plan in motion. I stayed up all night playing it over in my head.
"That woman in there looked like the floor was going to open and swallow her," Amelia says, pointing at the bathroom door. The sound of the shower is still going. My eyes stay on the door as I wonder if she is going to be okay.
"She looked scared to death,” Chelsea says in a whisper. “Did you not tell her?"
"Kind of," I start to say, and they both give me the death stare.
"Kind of?" Amelia says, and she folds her arms over her chest. "Kind of,” she says between clenched teeth. “What does that mean exactly?"
"It means," I start to say, looking at them, and I know that the minute I lie, they will both smell it. "It means that I told her.”
"And she told you fuck no," Amelia fills in the blank. "Idiot," she mumbles under her breath as she shakes her head.
I throw up my hands. “I mean, not in those words exactly." I look at them. “You don’t know what I was going through."
"You are out of your mind, Quinn Barnes,” Chelsea says, walking over to the chair and sitting down. "Forget about you, jackass." She puts her hand on her forehead. “Can you imagine what she is going through in there?"
"I can tell you what she isn’t going to go through." I look at both of them. “She is not going to go through the fear of not knowing where she is going to sleep. She is not going to go through wondering if she can shower today or tomorrow. She is never going to miss another fucking meal in her life." I stare at them. “Unless she fucking wants to."
"Did you tell her all this?" Chelsea asks me. I open my mouth to say something, but then I close it when she tilts her head to the side, waiting for me to stick my foot in my mouth.
"What do you think?" I look at her, my hands getting clammy. “Do you think I could tell her all this, and she wouldn’t fight me?" I look at both of them. “No matter how much I would have told her, she would have fought me." I don’t add in that she always fights me with everything.
"Her whole life has been someone deciding things for her. Dictating where she lives, when she eats, if she showers,” Chelsea says, wiping away a tear from her face. “And as much as I know that you are only doing this to help her."
"She needs to be able to decide for herself," Amelia says. “She needs to feel in control. For once in her life, she should be the one in control."
I run my hands through my hair. “What if she chooses to go to that motel? What if she decides that?” I look at them. “Then what?”
Amelia laughs at me. “Well, then you aren’t doing a good enough job."
"I agree with Amelia,” Chelsea says.
"Shocking,” I say, shaking my head. “You guys are always ganging up on me."
"No, we are just smarter than you,” Chelsea says. “Now, when she gets out of that shower, you are going to ask her where she wants to go."
"And what if she says no?" I look at them both. “What if, after all this, she says no?"
"Then you ask her why," Amelia says. “You ask her why, and you give her reasons,” she says, and I’m about to say something when she holds up her hand to stop me. “And because I said so isn’t the answer to anything." I laugh. “I’m not kidding, Quinn."
"She’s not kidding," Chelsea tells me, and we both stop talking when the door opens.
Willow walks out of the bathroom with her hair to the side. “Um,” she says, and I see her in the hospital gown again. “I don’t have shoes.”
“I have some,” Chelsea says, getting up and getting the bag that they brought in. “I didn’t know if you wanted flip-flops or running shoes.” She unzips the bag. “So I brought both.” Taking out a pair of each. “If they are too small, we can trade.”
“I’ll take the flip-flops,” Willow says. “That way, if they’re too small or too big, it won’t matter.” She smiles shyly at Chelsea. “Thank you."
"Did you need help with your hair?" Amelia says, going to her, and she just looks at her. "I broke my arm last year because someone didn’t watch where he was going."