Abby

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Abby, you have visitors." Abby was still hurt and bitter. She hadn't seen or spoken to anyone in her family for over a week. She'd hoped they'd get the picture and stay home. But they'd shown up.

"I don't feel good. Tell them to go home." Her therapist sat on the edge of her bed. They sent the big guns in instead of a nurse. Even her favorite nurse couldn't break this funk.

"Abby, this isn't going to work. Shutting them out because you feel hurt isn't going to help anyone. It will only make your transition out of here that much harder. And I think you know that." The therapist gently warned her.

"Just keep me here forever. I'll only fuck it up again." Her therapist came out and walked over to her family.

"I'm sorry." She apologized. "I tried. I think she'll come around. Just not tonight." She felt the worst for the brother. He looked heart broken.

"Can you give her this?" He asked, handing her an envelope.

"Absolutely." The therapist agreed.

...

Abby wanted to die. But death was too easy a punishment. She deserved to suffer, to rot here in this bed. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn't. Her body was starving, and it kept her awake. She rolled over and stared at the envelope. She hadn't read the letter Aaron had left for her. She knew it would be painful. Her mother continued to call daily. Abby continued to turn down her calls.

...

Abs,

I think it's kind of shitty that you kicked me out. And even more shitty that you won't take mom's calls. She cries every night for you. Dad and I take turns sitting with her. And now that I think about it, it's just as shitty not to see us when we come. It's important for us to see you and talk to you. Those moments, they're all we have left of you. So stop acting like an entitled brat (I really want to call you worse, if the twin thing hasn't kicked in yet to let you know).

Love,

Aaron

P.s. You're still my favorite person in the world. I just kinda sorta hate you right now. If you were a boy, I'd punch you.

Abby smiled while she cried, and then she got angry, and then the depression swept through her. She let it suck her into the darkness of sleep.

...

She dialed the number she'd known by heart since she was old enough to dial a phone. She called after dinner time, hoping it would be him that answered. It was not.

"Hello?" Mrs. Harris.

"Good evening, may I speak with Mr. Harris please?" She cursed herself for calling him Mr. Harris.

"Yes." Mrs. Harris said, tentatively. A shuffle or two later, Mr. Harris answered.

"Hello?" She felt lightheaded. It must have been from the lack of food. She had done this on a whim. She hadn't thought it through. "Hello?"

"Hi." She said quickly. Silence. "I'm sorry to bother you." She continued.

"Abby." He said quietly.

"If you don't want to speak to me, you can hang up. It's okay." He didn't reply. "I just called to..." She didn't know why she called. "I don't even know..." She said mostly to herself, but he heard. He sat quietly on the other end of the line. "I just I feel-." She stopped, losing her voice to tears. "I just feel bad for my dad, mostly." She confided. "He has you as a best friend- And he sees your daughter living the life I should have. I'm glad they went to her party. I hope she had a good birthday." And she couldn't control the tears any longer. Mr. Harris listened to her cry. Mrs. Harris and Sierra listened too. He'd put the call on speakerphone when the sound of her name had garnered looks of suspicion.