Give Me Reason (The Reason Series) (8 page)

"How, Vivienne? How on earth do you plan to do this on your own? You can't even afford to feed yourself, let alone that beautiful baby."

My heart flutters at his words, which make me feel weak and unable to take care of myself. So many things start flying through my head about my past. Mom’s boyfriends calling her useless, then Riley making me feel as though I couldn’t make it without him. I’m trying so hard to leave those ideas behind.
 

"I will get a second job. I'll go back to the shelter. I don't know, Mikah, but this is not your responsibility. It is mine."
 

"Damn it, Vivienne, please don't be so stubborn. I just want to help you."

"Mikah, we've had this conversation already. I will find a way on my own. I'm capable of it, I've done it for years."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Vivienne, you are skin and bones."

All the years of not fighting back pour into what comes out of my mouth. "Stop it, please, just stop. You make me feel like a complete imbecile when you say shit like that. I'm not stupid, despite what you think about my job, and I'm smarter than I look. Just because I don't have some Ivy League education doesn't mean I'm not capable of taking care of myself. I will not be treated like this by you or anyone else." Fury races through my body. "Forcing me to take your help – demanding that I bow down like some servant at your feet while I gulp up all the help you can offer – will get you nowhere with me. If you want to help me, Mikah, forget about me. Go back to the life you had twenty-four hours ago. I'm not worth it."
 

The tears flow harder, faster, and I break out into full-on sobs. I pull my hand from his and rub at my eyes, burying my face in my hands. He reaches up to take my hand, but I pull it away from him and turn to face the opposite direction.
 

"Vivienne?"

I don't answer him. I‘m afraid my answer will just piss him off, and I don't want to know what the outcome of that will be.
 

"Vivienne. Please? I'm sorry," he pleads.
 

"Just get out," I say.

"No, I want to stay."

"Damn it, Mikah, get out of here! Go home, go back to work, go...wherever it is you feel you need to be."

"I need to be here, with you."

"No, you don't! Now get out before I call the nurse!"
 

I feel the air around him go cold. My body starts to shake as panic sets in. I’ve upset him, made him mad.
 

The bed jerks slightly as he pulls back from it. I hear him stand and walk to the door. The knob turns, the door clicks. A couple more steps and I hear the door swing closed behind him.
 

The sobs start immediately. What have I done?

Riley's voice comes back to me, blasting through my ears and my brain.
You're a no-good whore. You’re good for nothing, you will always be nothing, and you deserve nothing.
 

My whole body convulses with sobs. I can't stop. I can't breathe. I pull in quick breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation.

I can't. I can't do this. What was I thinking? I can't possibly do this on my own. All he wanted to do was help, and I pushed him away. For God's sake, he was red eyed after the ultrasound. He was here, holding my hand, stroking my hair, supporting me, being here for me, and I just threw him out of my room.
 

I really am hyperventilating now. I’m not getting enough air, and I can’t seem to calm myself down. I manage to press the call button. A glance up at the monitor confirms that my heart rate is climbing. I hit the button again and again. Then suddenly I hear feet running in the hall, shouts coming from outside the door. I’m desperate for air. Just as the door flies open I vomit all over the bed and black out.

ELEVEN

I come to slowly, my eyes fluttering before opening, and the first thing that hits me is that I’m in a different room. This one’s decorated in a soft pink, and the lights are dimmed. I hear paper shuffling to my left and I close my eyes again, tight, hoping it’s not him.
 

"He's not here," a female voice says. Dr. Alston? "He left just before you lost consciousness. Said that you asked him to leave. Why?" I just shake my head. "He was quite upset when he left here."

"I asked him to leave because he sees me as a charity case."

"Sometimes our pride gets in the way of seeing the truth," she says softly. I open my eyes and look at her. She is sitting in a small recliner, a binder on her lap. She’s wearing dark-framed glasses, and her platinum blond hair is no longer pulled back. Instead of scrubs, she’s in a full-length black skirt and sequined blouse that shimmers in the soft light.
 

She notices me staring. "Sorry. I have a benefit event to go to in just a little while,” she explains. “But I wanted to stay up here as long as I could. I was hoping you’d wake up. I wanted to talk to you about your blood work."

"Is everything alright?"
 

She nods. "Everything is okay under the circumstances. You're pregnant and undernourished. Your white blood cell count is low, and that means you're more susceptible to infections. But the good news is, you don’t have any of the more serious conditions that usually cause white blood cell counts to be low, so I'm guessing that a healthier diet will boost that right back up. In the meantime, I've given you some vitamins through your IV that should help start the process. You need to finish it by eating and getting more sleep."
 

I try to nod, not sure how I'm going to manage what she is asking me to do.
 

"I've made a couple of phone calls for you. Have you ever heard of food stamps or W.I.C.?"
 

"No."

"Well, food stamps are part of a state-funded program that allows people and families with limited income to obtain food, and W.I.C. is a program available for children and pregnant woman. It provides food vouchers for additional things that you need."
 

"I never knew." How could I have not known all this time there was help available? Why was I not told about this at the shelter? Or why didn’t Yvonne, my social worker, tell me?

"Well, now you do. There are also other programs out there that can help you. I've made an appointment for you for Monday morning with W.I.C. The details are in the pile of papers on the tray next to you, along with some more information about food stamps and W.I.C. In the meantime, H.C.M.C. is a county hospital, and we have a couple of programs that provide emergency assistance to patients. I've taken the liberty of arranging for some emergency food stamps and emergency cash. This will help get you home as well as get you some much-needed food. I can only lead you to it, though. You have to do the rest."
 

I nod. "Thank you."

"You need to take care of you. And that beautiful baby you're carrying." She closes the binder and stands up. "Believe me when I tell you, pride can be a royal pain in the ass. Sometimes you have to let it go."

"I'm trying, but it's hard."

"I know, and I understand. But think about this: If you can take what I've arranged for you, maybe you can consider whatever it is that Mikah’s trying to offer you. I can almost guarantee there are no strings attached. He’s not that kind of man."
 

I take a deep breath, trying to wash away all the thoughts of strings attached. "I will try," I say, quiet as a mouse. I’m tempted to explain to her my hesitation at accepting his help, but the wounds are deep and it would take more than one friendly conversation to want to share them.

She comes to sit at the foot of the bed, looking at me. "I've arranged for you to be discharged as soon as you're ready to go. On one condition?"

Oh great. "What condition?"
 

"That you stay at least until tomorrow morning. I’d like you to stay, get some dinner and eat some more in the morning. It’s getting late and I know how difficult it would be to get something to eat where you live. So please, stay tonight. Have dinner, then breakfast, and whatever else you want in between now and then. Then go home. The nurse on duty in the morning can arrange a cab to come and pick you up. Or she can call Mr. Blake for you. Either way, get yourself to a store and buy some groceries. I've included a diet to help with the malnutrition and bring you back up to normal."

I try to remind myself that she is helping and not patronizing me or my abilities to take care of myself. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's my job," she states without any hint of irritation.
 

"Helping a girl like me medically is a part of your job, but not like this. So thank you."

"My pleasure, Vivienne." She turns to leave. "Oh" — spinning back around to look at me — "I almost forgot. As I am now your doctor, I've made an appointment for two weeks from today – Friday at nine forty-five – here at the hospital. I have a private practice space on the 3rd floor. I want to meet with you to see how things are going. After that, we will meet about every four weeks for regular ultrasounds. If you can’t make an appointment, you need to call the number on my card. If anything happens and you can't get to me, call that card and I will come to you. Day or night."

Knowing that this is no doubt Mikah's doing actually pisses me off, and my face starts to turn red.

She reads my mind. "This is not his doing," she says. "It’s mine, and on my dime. You need someone to help look after you, and there are so many programs out there to help pregnant girls just like you that most people don't know about. So please, if you come across a girl that needs help, send them here and have them ask for me by name. I will help them in any way I can."

I'm blown away by her generosity. Are there really people that good in the world?
 

And then I think that maybe Mikah, too, was just being generous. Maybe, just maybe, he really was trying to help without further motivation.
 

Tears prick. "Th-thank you," I stutter.
 

"You're most welcome. I mean it — anything, you call. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."
 

"Oh, and one last thing. If you don't call and don't show up to an appointment we have scheduled, I will call him. I have utter faith in his ability to track you down."
 

Oh, no! I'm pretty sure I make a face at her, but I get her point so I nod.
 

"Alright. Try and get some sleep tonight. You're safe here. And if I don't make it in before you're discharged, I will see you in two weeks."

"I will be here. Or I'll call."

"Good. See you then." And just like that, she's gone.

TWELVE

After Dr. Alston leaves, I start to go through the paperwork she left on the tray for me.
 

In the pile are several pamphlets about the various programs for women in my situation and a book,
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
. There are also a few brochures on support groups for people processing past abuse, which I find strangely comforting. I’ll have to try it out.
 

There is also an envelope that contains two hundred dollars in cash in various denominations. After what she told me earlier, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, except that the food stamp vouchers are in an official-looking envelope, and this isn’t. Is this money out of her own pocket?
 

I'm trying very hard to accept the money without throwing a fit, regardless of its source.
I have enough money in my— "Oh, No!" I exclaim, looking around frantically.
 

"’Oh no’ what?" a female voice says from the door.
 

My head snaps up and I see Nurse Fang from the blood draw earlier.

"My stuff?"

"In here," she says, pointing to the closet door. "Did you need something?"

"My purse, please?"

"Sure." She opens the door and looks around. I can see my skirt and top hanging on the back of the door. After a moment she bends down and retrieves my purse. The panic I hadn't realized was building in me rushes away in a flash as she hands me my purse.

"Thanks."
 

"Of course. How are you feeling?"

"Much better.” I suddenly realize that my bladder’s uncomfortably full. “I need to go to the bathroom, actually."

"No problem. I'll show you how to unlock the IV pole so it will move with you. Then you can move around freely. After you eat, I want you to take a nice long walk around this wing. If you can handle that okay, I'll remove your IV. Sound like a plan?"

I nod, and she shows me the button on the IV pole that unlocks the wheels.

I climb gingerly out of bed, testing my feet to make sure I'm stable before I take a step.
Upon entering the bathroom I'm grateful to see that the mirror isn’t staring me in the face. I'm not sure I want to know what kind of messy state I'm in.
 

After only about a minute and a half, Amanda knocks. "You okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Yep."

When I come back out — still avoiding the mirror because I'm sure I'm hollowed out again — I climb back into bed and tell Amanda, "I'm ready to eat." It's been more than twenty-four hours since I ate last.

"I thought so. I ordered some soup, crackers and fresh fruit for you. You can have more whenever you want, but first I want to make sure it doesn’t come right back up. Deal?"

I nod, slipping the white envelope with the money into my purse. Between this, what’s left of my paycheck and the money Mikah foisted on me, I’ll actually have some left after paying rent. Maybe with the little extra, I can find myself a new book at the used book store near the laundromat. A little something small for me?
 

"So are you babysitting me all night?" I ask as she's documenting my chart.
 

She laughs. "No, I'm just here until you eat, take a walk, and get settled in for the night. Is that okay?"

I snort. "Do I get a choice?"

She laughs again. "Nope, not really."

I chuckle. "At least that's settled." I smile. "Can I use this phone?" I ask, pointing to the phone beside the bed.