Safe

-59- Faking It

Luke "Coach Mo"Morrison

4 Months later

I've been sitting in my truck for fifteen minutes, watching the time count down.

I don't want to be there any longer than I need to.

But as the minutes pass, inching closer to my arrival time I grow more and more agitated. Giving up, I climb out and start for the hospital.

I'm regretting my decision to come alone. Wishing now that I had accepted Ava's or Ruby's offer to keep me company.

Stepping through the doors, I'm met with a blast of cold air, it's refreshing from the outside temps that are growing increasingly hotter as the day goes on.

I navigate my way through the hospital not asking for help even though I have no idea where I'm going but I can't trust myself enough to hold it together.

Stepping into an elevator, I hold the door for a woman, her arm linked through an elderly gentleman's as he shuffles along beside her.

She gives me a warm smile as they finally reach the doors, my arm outstretched over the door to prevent it from closing.

"Thank you." She beams.

"Not a problem." I smile back. "What floor?"

"Five, thanks." She says but I've already hit five.

Leaning back against the wall, I stare at the ground, trying my best not to role play the next hour or so out in my head. I need to stay calm, patient. Two things that are difficult for me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the woman lean over to kiss the elderly man on his cheek, rubbing her hands up and down his arms.

"I love you daddy." She whispers to him.

My eyes close, my thoughts wanting to drift to how things could have been. What it'd be like to be riding this elevator to go see my dying father who hadn't beat me for years. That I actually loved.

But I know letting myself dream only tortures me, it just makes my anger surface that much faster, that much stronger. And I'm not here to fight.

The elevator dings, the door sliding open and I once again stretch my arm over the opening of the doors to hold them for the woman and her father. The man is wiry and brittle, his boney fingers wrapped around a cane, his steps short and choppy. The woman smiles at me again but this time I notice the tears that are filling her eyes. I try to smile back but it doesn't come easily.

They turn the same direction as I need too, so I follow along behind them, quietly matching my pace to theirs so that I keep a comfortable distance.

I count down the room numbers as we go, it feels like I'm walking to my doom. Like all the times when I was a kid and I climbed off the steps of the bus and had to walk down the driveway and up the steps to the horror house that was my home. It's a mix of dread and fear and anger.

The woman and the man turn toward an open door and I hear the woman say "hey momma, daddy's here to see you."

I try to ignore the jealousy that wants to creep through me and push on to the room I'm in search of.