This One is For You

Chapter Fifteen

Hudson

I'm racing down the interstate, in a mix of panic and shock.

Rylie called me frantic, saying that she was pretty sure our mom had overdosed.

My baby sister, all alone. Even though she's fifteen and plenty old enough to understand, she shouldn't have been alone with my mom when it happened.

Rylie shouldn't have had to ride in the ambulance with our overdosing mother.

The drive that would normally take thirty minutes in Atlanta traffic only takes me fifteen. I broke every traffic law imaginable on the way here.

I park haphazardly between the white lines and rush inside to find my baby sister.

"I'm looking for my mom." I tell the lady at the front desk. "A-and my sister. Rylie. She's-she—"

"Hudson!" Rylie flies around the corner, tears streaking her face. "She's gone."

The words don't register as Rylie falls into me. I grab her tightly, supporting her as she falls heavy in my arms with sobs.

"She's gone." She repeats, and finally, I understand.

Our mom. Gone.

It cuts me as the realization that every made-up scenario in my head about our mother getting clean one day will never come true.

"It's okay." I put on my brave face for my sister. I'm aching for her. I should've been there. "It's going to be okay, Rylie."

The room tilts, but I take steady breaths to focus my vision. How did my day go south so quickly?

"Fuck!" Rylie screams, alerting some of the people in the waiting room. She thrashes against me, and manages to get out of my hold. "She was supposed to get better."

The sheer brokenness on my little sister's face nearly brings me to my knees. Rylie is right. Our mom was supposed to get better. Even if we never really believed it would happen, I think both of us always held out hope that maybe one day things would change. Maybe, somehow, our mom would wake up sober and decide she's missed us all these years.

But that's never going to happen.

I guess we never realize how much we rely on hope until all hope is lost. When it's gone, it leaves an empty pit in its place.

I step towards Rylie, trying to get her into my arms again, but she pushes me off.

"She wasn't supposed to die like that! What a worthless, sorry excuse for a mother. She never loved us! She never loved me." Rylie's voice cracks at the end, and my own eyes begin to get misty. "Fucking bitch! I hate her. I hate her!"

"Rylie, stop."

A couple nurses have crowded around us now, giving me the sympathetic warning glare. I nod to them, signaling that I've got it.

I scoop Rylie up, carrying her like a baby in my arms and right outside the ER to the hospital's prayer garden.

"I know it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm sorry. But we're going to be okay, Rylie. We always have been. Nothing is going to change."

"It's just us now, Hudson." Her anger has melted into sadness, and I sit down on the bench, holding her in my lap. "It's only us left. We only have each other now."

"No, Rylie." I soothe her hair. "It's been just the two of us for a long time. For eleven years it's been you and I. Do you understand? We'll figure this out just like we've figured out the rest."

Rylie shakes against me. Her green eyes are bloodshot when she finally looks up, out at the garden. Right now, she looks more like an adult and less like the little kid I raised.

I don't care if it's wrong, I silently curse whatever entity is responsible for the hand of cards we were dealt. I pull Rylie in for another hug, feeling hopeless that I can't make this better, and wishing that I could shield her from the absolute bullshit that is this world.

But I'm eleven years too late.

"Excuse me, Rylie Thomas?"

"Yes." Rylie gets up, sniffling and wiping her face. I stand, too, as we draw our attention towards the doctor.

"Your mother..." He pauses, taking a long breath. "She passed away of an overdose."

I figured, but still, hearing the finality of it all makes my stomach feel heavy.

"We're running a toxicology report, but I can almost guarantee you it'll be Fentanyl. It's sadly common these days."

Fentanyl.

I don't know much about it, other than what I've heard other people say. Apparently, sketchy dealers will mix it in with their shit, so they can sell a bigger quantity of product and make more money.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss. If you would like to see her, you can follow me."

"I don't!" Rylie blurts, looking panicked all over again.

"That's okay..." I turn to my sister, "I would like to see her. Can you wait here? Will you be fine?"

"Yeah." She nods, "Go."

I follow the doctor down the bright, sterile hallway. My shoes squeak against the clean floor as we go. While the sun is just now starting to lower, it may as well be midnight. Everything feels dark.

He opens the curtain to the ER room, and I steel myself as I look inside.

My mother lies on the hospital bed, looking just about the same as she did on our couch all these years.

Her dirty blonde hair that neither me or Rylie inherited sits in a mess sprawled out around her head. Her always-pale skin is a light shade of gray now. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was sleeping.

I can't help but picture her how I saw her as a young child. Before she chose drugs over us.

When she would smile at me and chase me through the apartment, tickling me until I cried form laughter. The days where she loved me more than she loved the high.

I wipe at my face, blinking away the emotions that are spilling down my cheeks.

"Mom." I break out the word, and for the first time since I was twelve, I'm tired of being the strong one. I'm scared. I'm hurt. I'm fucking sad. "Fuck. I wish I could hate you." I say to the corpse. "You used to love us. You loved me and Rylie when dad was around. When he left... you gave up on us. You left me to take care of Rylie, mom. I was only a kid." My chest shakes with the sob. "We struggled, mom, while you sat high out of your mind and watched us grow up behind your glassy eyes. Rylie deserved better. I deserved better. And still, after all that, I don't want you dead."

I pull at the ends of my hair, pacing back and forth beside her bed. My lungs crave for air. I'm not getting enough despite my deep breaths. "If you're sober in the afterlife, watch over us, please." I lean down, looking at her face and half-expecting her to open her eyes. But she doesn't. "Please, look after us, mom. Be decent dead since you couldn't be decent alive."

With that, I turn on my heel and leave her behind.