Page 93 of Trusting Skulls

My father changes the subject. “They’re kicking us out of here,” he says, pulling the clothes they brought for me out ofthe little closet in the corner. “You know insurance these days. They don’t like to pay for one extra day, but miraculously they did approve physical therapy. The hospital was nice enough to recommend someone local. She’s coming to the house tomorrow.”

He rattles on, but I quit listening. Graham survived the fall and … and he’s a pedophile. Oh my god. My heart beats out of my chest, and I feel like I need to run. Unfortunately, I can’t even walk at the moment.

“We’re going to have an ambulance service give you a ride home. I don’t feel like fighting our way through the media or that damn club.”

“They’re here?”

“The police have pushed them off the property, but they’ve all set up camp across the street. I don’t know who’s worse, the reporters or the arrogant assholes who think they know my daughter better than I do.”

“They do.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

His brows jump off his face, surprised at my backtalk. “That was uncalled for.”

“I think we both now it wasn’t.”

The afternoon moves slowly as they process me to go home.

“She can take two of these as needed,” the nurse says, handing my dad a prescription. “Get this filled for her on the way home. She’ll need her next dose in an hour.”

“Could you give me a script for the Valium, too? It’s really helped me stay calm,” I say, giving her my biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll go ask the doctor.”

One ambulance ride, and fifty times of me wanting to end my life, we finally make it … home.

I stare at a new ceiling. Not new, but it somehow feels new. Were there always little pink crystals hanging from the light above my bed?

My mom comes in and busies herself setting up my nightstand with my prescriptions, water, tissue, and about ten other things I could care less about. Just give me the pills and excuse yourself.

“Here, sit up,” she encourages.

I do, for the sole reason I don’t have energy to argue with her. She begins to brush my hair for me.

“I brought you a new hair pin.” She hands it to me and then goes back to brushing.

It’s beautiful.

“A man in Italy carved it by hand.”

Oh yeah? Well, I have one at home that was made by someone who loves me. Not some man I’ve never met from a country I’ve never been to.

She takes the pin from my hand and slips it into my hair. “There. Always so pretty,” she praises, patting my back. It’s awkward.

My dad walks in, pulling her attention away from me.

“One of your old classmates dropped off a get-well gift. I think her name was Kelsie.”

He sets the package at the end of my bed.

They both wait for me to open it, and when I don’t, they excuse themselves.

Immediately I pull the pin from my hair, then use it to rip the tape off of the box. Not one piece of me hesitates because I know this package is really from Ash, and unlike last time we were apart, I’m not going to let them pile up.

Thank god my parents don’t know Kelsie’s dad is a Skull. They’ve forbidden me from talking to anyone from the club.

It’s filled with all of the wood carvings he made for me while he was in treatment. I hug the box to my chest and cry. I miss him so much it hurts.

The lid on the little wooden jar he carved falls off and there, shining at the bottom of it, is the dragonfly necklace Daisy gave me. I forgot I had put it in there for safe keeping. I pull it out and fasten it around my neck.

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