Going Deep (Imperfect Love 2)

I walk into the house to find Giselle and her sister talking. Their words come to a halt when her sister sees me. “Who’s this?” she asks, and Giselle introduces us. “This is Killian, a friend of Nick and Olivia’s. He brought me here.”

“Thank you.” She wraps her arms around Giselle in a hug. “I’m so sorry. She won’t come out, and I have to get back to school. I didn’t know—”

Giselle pulls back. “It’s okay,” she says, cutting her off. “Go, and don’t worry about a thing. Just focus on your classes. I will make sure mom is okay. I promise.” She gives her sister another hug, then pushes her out the door. Once it’s closed, her back hits the wood and she lets out a deep sigh. Her eyes close, and for just a small moment, she appears softer. She doesn’t look anything like the closed-off ice-cold woman I’ve come to know the last couple months. That is until she opens her eyes back up and speaks.

“You can wait outside. I don’t need you here.” Her blue eyes are once again hard, and she glares at me like I’m the enemy. Without waiting for me to speak, she blows past me down the hall. I’m about to go back outside when I notice she’s trying to pry the door open with a screwdriver.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” she snaps. “I’m having a fucking tea party? I’m trying to open the door! My mom locked herself in there.”

I walk down the hall and take the screwdriver out of her hand. “That’s not going to work.”

“Well, I need to get in there. Can you break it down, please?”

“You sure?” I ask. “The doorjamb will probably splinter.”

“Yes. My mom…she could be…” She doesn’t finish her sentence with words, but instead with her terrified eyes. I tell her to stand back, then I kick the door, and just as I predicted, it opens but the frame splinters, and pieces of wood fall to the ground.

“Thank you.” She rushes into the room while I stay in the doorway. Her mom is on her bed, sobbing, and Giselle climbs on to the bed and pulls her head into her lap.

“He’s gone,” her mom cries. “He left me.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Giselle says in the same melodic tone parents use when trying to soothe their upset babies.

Wanting to give them their space, I back out of the doorway and walk back down the hall to wait in the living room. I haven’t even sat down on the sofa when I hear screaming and shouting coming from the bedroom.

“It’s all your fault! I hate you!” The voice isn’t Giselle’s, so it must be her mother. I start to walk back toward the bedroom.

“Mom, please calm down.”

I stop in my tracks, unsure of what I should do. Then I hear something crash, and then Giselle says, “Mom, stop, that hurts.”

My feet move of their own accord into the bedroom, where I see Giselle’s mother dragging Giselle by her hair to the center of the room.

“Mom, you’re hurting me!” she yells, but her mom doesn’t stop.

“Everyone left me! You, your sister, now your father!” When her mom turns her back toward me, pulling Giselle into a standing position, I come up behind her and cage her arms in my own. I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing, but I can’t just stand here and watch her hurt her daughter. Giselle’s mom appears to be shocked at first, her head tilting back to look at me, but then she starts to fight back. For a tiny little thing, she sure is strong. She thrashes about and tries to kick me in the groin, all while screaming for me to let her go. Giselle runs out of the room, and a few seconds later, returns. She stabs her mom with a needle to her neck, and a few minutes later, her mom’s body feels like dead weight in my arms.

“You, umm…you didn’t kill her, did you?” I ask nervously.

“No, it’s a sedative. We try not to use it unless it’s necessary. I knew there was no way I would be able to get her to swallow her pills. Thank you for holding her down. Usually her nurse is here, but she has the weekends off when my dad is home. You can lay her down.”

Carefully, I lift her and set her on the bed. She’s definitely out.

Giselle walks over to the dresser and opens the drawer. “Damn it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My dad really did leave. All of his clothes are gone.” She slides open the closet door and there’s a huge empty spot.

“What’s wrong with your mom?” I ask.

“She suffers from depression, and we can’t seem to find meds that work.” She pulls out her phone and dials someone. “Donna, it’s Giselle. Listen, my dad left. All of his stuff is gone. Until I can figure everything out, can you stay with her?” She goes quiet, listening to the person on the other end. Then she says, “Yes, of course you will be paid accordingly.” She listens some more and then says, “Okay, thank you,” before ending the call.