Page 83 of I Love to Hate You
“I found you in the basement,” he begins to explain, “with an empty bottle of Jack on the floor. You were passed out and had thrown up a little on your pillow. When I moved you, you threw up again before slipping back into unconsciousness. I carried you out of the house, put you in the back of my car, and drove you here to Kensington Hospital. We’ve been here a handful of hours now. After they pumped your stomach, they waited an hour to make sure you were good before they let me in. Once you were in the clear, the doctors told me you’d make it just fine, but you’d feel like shit for a while. The IV in your hand is to give you fluids and flush your system. The important thing is that you’re going to recover with no issues. That’s all that matters.”
Listening to it all hurts just as much as talking, but I squeeze his hand with love knowing that he swooped in for a second time and saved me once again. The first time he did it, he rescued me from two assholes trying to assault me. This time he had to rescue me from myself.
“Thank you,” I say through a groan. “You’ve saved me twice now.”
He chuckles, but there’s pain in it. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
I want to say more to let him know how much I appreciate him, but I’m distracted by another thought. I hate to think about him at all, because one of the last vivid memories I have before the world cut out is my father berating me and placing a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels at my feet. He has been my tormentor for so long that I shouldn’t even care where he is, but the fact that he’s not in here sitting next to Kendrick is enough to break me.
Why does he have to be this way? Kendrick hasn’t done anything wrong, and I’m his daughter. I’m the only piece of my mother remaining on this earth, and he chooses to not be by my side as I awake from consuming the alcohol he gave me. It’s ridiculous, but sadly, nothing new. I suck in a breath and force the words out again.
“Where’s my dad?”
Kendrick flinches, his expression tightening as the muscles in his face stiffen and dread shadows his eyes. He looks miserable in the blink of an eye, and my heart begins to thud when he looks down at the bed to avoid meeting my gaze.
“Kendrick?” I say, fear slowly consuming me.
“Umm, Maya, I don’t know how to say this,” he starts, and I’m instantly covered in hot pinpricks as he goes on, confirming my fear. “I’m so sorry, Maya, but your dad died. He died in the house.”
The anguish that wraps its arms around me is aggressive and all-consuming. It weighs me down, pinning me to the bed until I’m completely immobile, capable of nothing but crying. In an instant, I begin to sob, my stomach clenching so tightly that it cramps, adding to the misery. Kendrick keeps holding my hand as he sits down on the side of the bed with his head down, his own eyes filling with unshed tears. He gives me the time I need to accept the news, and after five straight minutes of bawling, I’m finally able to ask the question.
“How?” I ask. “I remember him having a gun. Did he use it on himself? Did he finally get tired of being miserable without my mother and end it all while I was in the basement?”
Kendrick swallows hard as I await the answer, and I notice when he slides his hand away from mine. He clears his throat and lets out a long sigh.
“Maya, I need you to listen to everything I say very carefully,” he starts, barely managing to keep eye contact with me. “When you didn’t show up to work this morning, I panicked and went to your house, kicking your front door in like the police in order to find you. What I found first was your house in complete ruin. Then, as I made my way inside, calling your name over and over, I found your father passed out on his bed. I went to ask him what the hell was going on and realized he had a gun lying next to him. It made me think he might’ve used it on you, so I ran out of the room and flew down the stairs where I found you. After I got you out of the house, I went back in to get your father, but he'd thrown up all over himself while still on his back. He was choking, and I knew that if I didn’t move him he could choke to death. I went to roll him over on his side, and when I did, he grabbed the gun from the bed and pointed it at me. I jumped out of the way and he rolled back to his original position on his back. I could still see that he had vomit in his mouth, but he’d pointed the gun at me, and I needed to get you to the hospital. So I left him there and sped like hell to bring you here.”
“You left him?” I ask.
Darkness creeps around the edges of my eyes, and I can’t tell if I’m about to pass out or lash out.
“Yes,” Kendrick replies.
Heat and anger mix with my already debilitating grief and form an uncontrollable, uncontainable plume of toxic rage. All of my emotions combine and come out at once.
“What the fuck?” I yell. “How could you? Are you telling me that you killed my father?”
Kendrick stands up, his hands in the air. “What? No. He pointed a gun at my chest as I tried to help him, and you were in the car dying. What was I supposed to do?”
“Help him!” I bark with a croaky voice so loud I know the nurses will come running in any second now. “He was too drunk to use that gun. All you had to do was take it away. How could you leave him there with vomit in his mouth? You left my dad while he was choking to death. You left him to die.”
“I had no choice, Maya,” Kendrick explains, but I can barely hear his words past my own mania. “When I brought you in, I told the people in the ER that he was still there at the house, and to go get him. They went there because I told them to, but by the time they arrived, it was already too late. He’d choked to death on his own vomit, but I tried. I told them he needed help and made sure they went to go get him. I tried to save you both. I swear I did.”
“Bullshit!” I bellow, ignoring the fire in my throat. “You wanted him dead. You probably thought I’d be better off without him, huh? You thought you could be my savior? Well he was the only parent I had left. He was all I had. Now I’m twenty-three years old withtwodead parents. I’m all alone. Thanks, Kendrick. I can’t fucking believe you left my dad to die. I can’t believe you. Oh, my god.”
My words melt together to form a terrible wail of torment just as the door to my room opens and two nurses come rushing in. They sprint to the side of my bed, moving Kendrick back to check on me. I completely break down, weeping harder than I ever have in my entire life, because this time I’m crying over two parents instead of one.
Kendrick watches as the nurses try to calm me down to no avail, and when we make eye contact, I continue my barrage.
“Get out!” I yell at him. The nurses turn to look at him, and I keep going, completely unhinged. “Get out of my room, you fucking murderer. I never want to see your face again. Get out!”
Tears stream down Kendrick's face, but his expression is stone as he looks at me and then to the nurses who are walking toward him.
“Sir, the patient has asked you to leave, so you need to go,” one of them tells him, and he doesn’t put up a fight. He nods to her and then looks at me.
“I’m sorry, Maya,” he says, slowly walking toward the door. “I’m so sorry.”
“Just get out,” I reply, unable to think clearly.
