All the Little Truths (English Prep 3)

“What?” Ollie yelled.

Even though my hands were dirty, I still brought them up and ran them through my hair, pulling on the ends. “He went to shoot her mom, but Madeline blocked her.” I looked them both in the face. “He was abusive. Had been for a very long time. Whenever he’d come home, he’d hit Madeline’s mom for stupid shit. But…” I could barely get the words out. This was partly my fault, and it was difficult to accept. “When everything at school went down, Headmaster Walton had called Madeline’s dad and told him what was going on with Madeline. He must have shown up at their house, ready to fight, because when I walked in, Madeline’s mom was already bleeding. There was broken glass on the floor, and Madeline was scared to fucking death. There was a gun. It happened so fast. She was too quick.” Something tore inside my chest, and I quickly turned around and punched the wall behind me, my knuckles crumbling in agony.

I didn’t care, though. Not a single bit.

Pure anguish went through me. It was maddening. I was lost. There was something tormenting about wanting to fix something that was completely out of your hands.

Arms wrapped around me; I wasn’t sure whose until Christian said, “Your knuckles have had enough, Eric.”

“If she fucking dies, Christian,” I bit out, resting my head against the cool wall with his arms still around me. “I will never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I should have protected her better.”

“She’s not going to die, Eric. It’s fucking Madeline. She’s too much of a fighter to die.”

I fucking hoped so.

“Your dad is here,” Ollie said.

Christian’s arms dropped, and the moment I swung around, my father’s frantic eyes found me, and he rushed forward. I stood back, unable to do anything but just keep myself standing. I wanted to fall onto the ground.

“Eric.

” His hands went around my biceps, and he squeezed hard. His eyes watered as he cupped the back of my head and brought it toward him in a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

A soul-wrenching sob clawed out of my chest and ripped through the room like an earthquake. My father’s hand tightened on my head as he kept my face down. Fuck.

“I’m here, son. It’s okay.”

It was funny how something so pressing in my life didn’t seem all that big anymore. My hatred for my father was overshadowed by the fact that Madeline’s life was hanging in the balance because of a mistake I made.

“What if she dies?” I asked, pulling myself back. I felt the moisture on my cheeks, but I made no move to wipe it.

“She won’t.” He was confident with his answer.

“How do you know?”

He gave me a look. “Because your mother is the best goddamn nurse there is. She won’t let her die.”

The sound of swinging doors tore us away from each other as my mom came tumbling out. She was still covered in blood, but she looked relieved to see us standing there. Her mask was pulled down as she gave me a sad smile. She wrapped her arms around me quickly before backing up and peering up into my face. “She’s okay.” She pushed my hair off my sweaty forehead. “The bullet missed the important stuff. Her lung did collapse, but we got the bullet out and fixed her up. She’s in the ICU for now, but I think she’s going to be okay, baby.”

She was okay?

“God,” I croaked, almost bending over to steady myself. “Are you sure?”

Her hazel eyes shined. “I’m sure.” Then she looked over to my dad. “How is her mom?”

“They brought her in shortly after the police showed up. She was incoherent. They think she has a concussion. I stayed and gave them a run-down of what happened.” He glanced away before shaking his head, coming to terms with something. He reached his hands out and pulled my mom into his chest, wrapping his arms around her small frame. His cheek rested over her hair, and he whispered, “I thought the second gunshot was headed for you.”

“I did, too.”

“Put things into perspective pretty fast for me.”

She pulled away for a moment, a single tear rolling down her cheek and landing on the floor. “Me too.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes.

In all my eighteen years of life, I didn’t think I’d seen them express that much emotion in such few words. Something began to heal between them, and that was okay with me.

“Now”—my mother pushed away and gave me a look—“you need to go get cleaned up.”