Nothing.
So help me God, tonight wasn’t going to be spent on the street, or in the back seats of filthy cars in darkened seedy alleys. It was going to be a solitary night praying for Sybil. I’d never claimed to be a religious person, praying never seemed to help me in my life. God never took the time to answer my prayers, but for Sybil, for her sake, maybe he’d see that I wasn’t the one playing the hand. Maybe as the holder of all cards in this game, he’d throw something down that would give her something to fight for. I wasn’t beyond hoping, praying that she’d come back to our apartment fully recovered. If God was willing . . . even better for Sybil.
Two nights. Three whole fucking days and two nights and not one of Sybil’s family members even cared enough to show up. It was building to a point where I knew I was gonna lose my shit on someone. I was exhausted, I hadn’t slept much, didn’t shower and I hadn’t left the hospital except to bail Briggs out of jail.
Trust me, I felt like a total piece of shit about Briggs. If I never called, he wouldn’t have come over and beat Dax within inches of his life. Briggs was charged with assault and spent the night in jail. His bail was set at five thousand dollars. Needless to say I got a cashier’s check. Briggs kept reassuring me that he would do it over and over again. He doesn’t blame me and was actually glad I called him and showed up when he did. Sure Key Briggs made his money off the violence of the streets, but he also had a heart and was more than happy to get at least one douche bag pimp off the streets for now.
Dax, the wannabe pimp was still in the hospital with a concussion, broken bones, and a ruptured spleen. He was under twenty-four-hour police watch. I was told the minute he woke up from surgery and was able to be moved he’d be held in jail without bail until his court date and charged with attempted murder.
There was no change in Sybil’s condition, I had told her so many stories, my voice was hoarse. Nurses hurried around, lights still shone bright and unnatural sounds still jumped and beeped her life’s story. I’d been sitting with her for too long as I waited for someone to come and claim her, be her next of kin and nobody ever showed. It was getting difficult, I needed to go back to the apartment and shower and maybe sleep in my own bed.
Depressing moments filled with different types of prayers in hopes that one of them would bypass the gatekeepers of God’s ears. All I asked for, all I wanted was the swelling in her brain to go down because we made a promise to one another.
I stood up to stretch and felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Briggs had texted me, his texts were the only ones I was reading. He was the only one who knew what had happened to Sybil. Even all the texts I had received from Shane were left unread. There was no way to explain what had happened to my roommate. I couldn’t, so I didn’t. As bad as I wanted Shane to be here with me, Sybil needed me more right now.
Briggs was down in the parking lot waiting to take me to get something to eat. He had to steer clear of that piece of shit Dax, as part of his bail conditions. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet of him, and seeing Dax was still in the hospital that kept Key from seeing Sybil.
I guess Briggs knew I ached to have a conversation that wasn’t with nurses about Sybil and I knew I needed to stop the scenarios that kept playing over and over in my head. Besides, I just couldn’t eat hospital food again and spend another night in that fucking chair. I collected my sweater and decided to tell the nurse that I’m going to head home tonight and I’d be back first thing in the morning. I always talked myself into believing that guilt was a bullshit emotion, and yet, deciding to walk out of my best friend’s hospital room filled me with immense guilt.
I texted back that I was on my way before I pushed the door open. Life had seemed to be playing out just fine without Sybil in it. I blinked adjusting to the change, when I saw a nurse point me out to a tall thin woman dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit and a white frilly shirt. The woman had a look of horror on her face as she came at me in a quick stride that broke into a jog. One of Sybil’s ICU nurses followed behind her.
“You Rose? I’m Mandy’s sister,” the woman snapped at me.
“Mandy?” I questioned.
“Yes, my sister, Mandy Cooke!”
“I’m sorry I don’t know anyone by that name. You—”
“Sybil St. James, she was Mandy Cooke until she turned eighteen and legally changed her name,” she said in a bitchy tone.