Painting Sky (45 page)

At least the man was gone. He wouldn’t hurt them—they’d be safe.

I was losing strength, but, before collapsing to the floor, arms held me back. The world was slipping from me, and the pain was too much for me to stay awake.

Keith was shaking me awake, while Cody had the phone against his ear.

“Forget it, we’ll take her.” Keith said to his brother, while trying to pick me up. The movement sent pain through my body and I screamed. “Shh. You’ll be alright. Just stay awake—please, baby. Cody, you need to carry her, I don’t have much more strength left.” Keith asked his brother.

When we finally reached the car, the pain suddenly turned to a light throbbing and I was losing focus of the world.

“Please, Jane, don’t die.” Cody kissed my face, but his brother pushed him to the driver seat.

“Drive. I’ll go in the back.” He was trying to put pressure on the wound.

“I—” I needed to get the words out. There were so many thing I needed to tell them if this really was the end.

“Shh. Don’t struggle—rest.” Keith whispered over me. His face was getting fuzzy.

“I love you,” I finally whispered. I needed to say the words.

“I won’t say it back,” he stated, surprising me, “Until you wake up in the hospital.” I wouldn’t argue with him. If I died, at least I would know that he loved me, even without saying the actual words.

Cody stopped at a red light and turned to us. “Keith,” he begged, not sure of what to do.

“Drive! Honk and drive, damn it!” Keith shook so hard that I tried to soothe him, but I realized it was probably just in my head.

“Promise.” I managed to get the word out and get his attention. “Take care of your brother. Take care of each other.” The last thing I wanted was to die and leave their relationship more strained than before.

We arrived at the hospital as I was losing consciousness. Keith placed me on a gurney and the doctors started working on me. I still managed to look sideways at the two boys, who were being blocked from following me. The look on Keith’s face gave me the strength to fight the darkness, which was trying to seep in.

I saw lights and movement, and people were talking to me and about me, but soon the world shut off.

I
woke up, disoriented, to a bright room. It took me a few minutes for reality to sink in. My body hurt everywhere, my eyes were sensitive, and I felt cold. I tried to move, but a hand stopped me. I looked up to meet my mother’s worried and bloodshot eyes.

“Hi, sweetie. You’re in the hospital. Try not to move or talk too much—you’re still recovering.”

The events from the warehouse came flashing back and a sickening worry about Keith and Cody seized me.

“Keith,” I managed to whisper.

“Shh. Everyone’s okay—you had surgery to remove the bullet. I’m going to call the doctor.” My mother stepped back to reveal my Dad and Matilda, who were weakly smiling at me.

“Hi, sis. You look horrible.” I tried to laugh, but everything hurt.

My father scolded my sister before resting his hand on my ankle. “Hi, baby.”

Matilda sensed my unasked questions and sat in the chair that had been previously occupied by my mother. “They’re fine. Keith was shot in the shoulder and he sprained his wrist and two fingers, but he’s already home. Cody hasn’t left the waiting room.” I nodded, relieved they were okay, but confused about why Keith wasn’t here.

My mother came back to the room, followed by a doctor. After inspecting the stitches, he offered a detailed account of the surgery and what kind of care I would need in the following days and weeks. I was sleepy by the time he was finished, so I closed my eyes and must’ve fallen asleep.

The next time I woke up, it was already dark outside. Now only Matilda sat by my side.

“Tilda,” I whispered her childhood nickname, “Tell me what happened.”

She stepped closer. “You were shot, Jane.” She seemed confused by my question, so I just shook my head.

“No, after. Cody and Keith.” I was cursing the pain that talking caused.

My sister held my hand in hers. “Keith looked like hell—they both did. When we got here, the doctors had already stitched his arm. Apparently he didn’t want to leave the room, before getting any news about you, but he passed out. He was so torn up, Jane—I’ve never seen anyone looking that desperate. He had blood all over him. We were even more scared when we saw him.” Matilda stood up and went to pick up a glass of water. “Cody is outside. Do you want to see him?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

The sight of my ex-boyfriend made me flinch. I’d never seen Cody this unkempt. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, which made me wonder how long I had been out. He had dark circles under his eyes and a faraway look in his eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “Been better.” He winced at my attempt at humor. “Tell me what happened after I got here.”

His face fell and he took the chair my sister had vacated. “The hospital called the cops and we were interviewed. Keith passed out, because he refused to be treated before knowing how you were. Your parents arrived, then, and it was a mess, trying to explain it to everyone. Waiting for you to wake up—” he faltered.

I tried to talk, but coughed instead, and took longer to formulate the question. “How long was I out?”

“A couple of days,” he answered.

I found the courage to ask my most relevant question. “Where’s Keith?” Cody looked away and sighed.

“He’s home. He was pretty injured, and then, with the arguments with your family... Ryan punched him, you know?”

No, I didn’t. I tried to sit up, but the pain shot through me immediately. “What?” I asked, outraged. My brother had no idea what we’d gone through in that warehouse.

“He kind of put the puzzle together and figured you two out, especially because Keith talked some when he was under anesthesia. He moved out and Keith refuses to come here. I think he feels guilty.” He thought? It wasn’t that hard to figure out. “He was pretty hurt on his shoulder, but I think he’s healing okay,” he continued.

Suddenly I remembered that his exhibition was in a couple of weeks. He wouldn’t be able to paint. The work he did have was mainly based on me.

“Let me call him.” Cody’s apologetic wince advised me against it, but it was something I had to do. “Please,” I begged, extending my hand. He punched the screen until the call connected.

The raspy voice on the other side informed me Keith had probably been asleep.

“Hi,” I answered. “Don’t hang up, please.” I rushed the words before he could shut me out. “I just wanted you to know that you can use the paintings you already have for the show. I know you feel like they are private, but I’m giving you permission. This is an important gallery. You need your best work displayed.”

There was a pause on the other side and then a weak, “Okay.” Then there was another long pause, but I still could hear him breathing on the other side. “How are you feeling?” Keith sounded unsure, and it was a side of him I didn’t appreciate. I loved when he was confident.

“I’m better. I think I’m being released in a couple of days. Do you think you’ll stop by?” My voice sounded hopeful. He was talking to me, after all.

“No, sorry. Bye.” He hung up and I lay there a couple of seconds, staring at the phone in my hands. I handed Cody his phone, avoiding his eyes. He probably didn’t feel very comfortable with his brother and I being together—if we were still together, which I doubted.

I caressed the tattoo on my finger, feeling the meaning of it changing. The anchor seemed less like a newfound purpose in life and more like I was sinking. Cody’s eyes snapped down and he frowned, but he didn’t comment. I could still feel the disappointment and judgment in his inhalation, though.

“He was arrested last night—that man. I don’t think he’ll ever get out again. The prosecution is looking at attempted murder.”

The information caused conflicted feelings. I wanted him in jail for the rest of his life, but, at the same time, it hurt knowing Keith would never have a normal father. Carl sure wasn’t one.

The doctor released me a few days later and we went home—well, to my parents’ house. I didn’t talk during the ride, and even went as far as pretending to sleep to avoid confrontation. I knew my parents were happy with this outcome—me going back home—but, I just felt like the attack had changed my life permanently, and not in the obvious way.

When we arrived, I went directly to my room with the excuse of being tired. I was just heartsick, though. I missed Keith, my room, my paintings, and my newfound life.

The days dragged on and I was feeling more and more depressed. I didn’t have anything to do here. I tried calling Keith a couple of times, but he just ignored my calls.

Tomorrow was the day of his exhibition and I had been formulating a plan to go see him. Every idea was cut short by some unexpected outcome, though. I didn’t feel like I could drive the entire way. Even if I did, my parents wouldn’t lend me their car. By morning, I was starting to freak out. I couldn’t miss it. I needed to see his paintings on the wall, and, most important, I needed to see him to try to make things right—or at least end our relationship properly. I didn’t want his last visual of me to be of me all bloodied and dying in his arms.

After crossing the hallway silently, I knocked on my sister’s door. She was still in bed, but already awake, which wasn’t common for her on a Saturday.

“Hi, Jane. How are you feeling?” she asked, pulling the covers back so I could snuggle with her. I was in need of some cuddling.

“I need to go see Keith tonight. It’s his gallery opening and I have to be there, but I have no idea how to make that happen.”

We stayed in bed for almost an hour, brainstorming. The only conclusion I came to was that I had to ask my parents to drive me there.

After getting dressed, I approached my sister at the bottom of the stairs, so we could make the request together.

“Dad,” I started, “I need your car tonight.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it must’ve faltered at the end, because my parents stopped eating their breakfast and turned to me. I’d closed myself off since I’d been released from the hospital, so I understood their curiosity, or fear.

My father sipped his coffee, before asking, “For what, honey? I can take you wherever you want. You’re still too weak to drive.”

I wanted to state that my external wounds were healing fine, which just left my heart to break every morning without knowing how Keith was.

I fidgeted with the tattoo that was yet to be discussed. “I need to go home—to see Keith.” My mother flinched at my mention of home being anywhere, but here.

My father just stood and crossed his arms, with a menacing expression set in place. “For what?” he spat.

“Today is the art show he’s being preparing for. I want to be there.” I stepped forward, preparing myself for a fight I wouldn’t lose.

“No way,” my father answered.

I needed to bring everything to light, but I didn’t know if right then was the best occasion.

“I’m going, Dad, with or without your approval—or your car. I’ll find a way.”

“You almost died, because of him,” my mother said, surprising me, but just voicing what they had been thinking all along. Even Samantha and Carl’s visits had been less, lately. They’d felt guilty, and my parents were probably adding to that guilt.