Her face owned the same delicate features as Sybil but more refined, like she hadn’t lived the same hard life as her sister. With the exception of her wavy blond hair, she was almost a spitting image of her sister. Her hair, dirty enough to call it dark blond, she had it pulled back away from her face.
“Well, I’m Sybil’s sister, Martie,” the woman said hurriedly as she tapped the palm of her hand against her chest just above her cleavage. I was relieved that Sybil’s older sister was finally here. The weight of leaving her tonight lifted off my shoulders. Sybil wouldn’t be left alone.
“I’ve been in New York on business for the last month. I got here as soon as I heard. Sadly, I’ve been expecting this call for half of our lives.”
I could feel the spite in her words.
“Your sister is pretty bad off.” My voice was unintentionally louder than normal.
“Rose, my sister has been bad off her entire life,” Martie answered defensively.
“Well, what happened to her wasn’t her fault. We’ve all been dealt different cards in life.”
“Please, Rose, let’s just call a spade a spade with this entire situation; my sister has put herself in this position. The doctors and nurses haven’t painted a good picture about her recovery if she does at all, so before I go in and see her, I need to know what she owes you?”
“What?” I spat in disbelief of the words spewing from this woman’s lips.
“When she crashed my party several weeks ago, dressed like—” she stopped, sized me up before she continued, “Well, anyway, she mentioned that she lives with you and that you have helped her. I need to know how much it will take to make this go away?” she said as she swirled her hands toward me.
“Your sister is in there fighting for her life and all you’re worried about is money? What the fuck’s wrong with you?” I roared, letting every last drop of breath flow from my lungs.
“Oh, come on, it’s all about the next fix, the next high with your types.”
“What do you mean your types?” I snapped. I was tired, done, and ready to unload on this poor excuse of a sister.
“I knew it was a matter of time before she’d end up in the hospital again overdosing or beaten and raped because of the life she’s chosen.”
“You have no idea what that girl’s been through. Do you hear me?” I pushed my face up into hers; standing nose to nose I was ready to throw this bitch down.
“Ladies, this is a hospital, please keep your voices down.” The nurse pushed between us and pulled me back from Martie.
“Sybil is a drug addict and a whore and she’ll say anything to get her next fix. So don’t stand in front of me and tell me just because you split rent for a room and sell your body in the bowels of San Francisco with my sister for a couple of years, you know her better than me.”
I took a deep breath, ready to blast her for being such a heartless bitch when her body language changed and she looked past me like I had no place in the world.
“Shane,” she cried as she looked over my shoulder.
I turned around and saw him standing behind me. The look on his face was stamped with every filthy word she said.
“Shane, oh, babe I am so glad you are here,” Martie whimpered as she fell into his arms.
“Rose, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Shane? You know her?” Martie demanded as she pulled away from him, her eyes darted between us. Bewildered, his hazel eyes locked on me, and he ignored her question.
“Shane!” Martie spat, an annoyed expression swept across her face.
It was at that point the flood of humiliation drowned me. My heart was viciously plucked from my chest and torn into jagged pieces completely lost to the painful moments I wish I never felt. My breath robbed by betrayal. There was no mistake; he was involved with her.
He was someone else’s everything.
I shattered our connection, dropping my eyes from his as I forced the huge lump down my throat.
“I’m glad Sybil has family here. I gotta go,” I choked out as a mumble. Keeping my eyes downward I hurried past Shane and Martie.
“What the hell is going on? How do you know that hooker?” I heard Martie question Shane.
“I just do Martha! Rose? Come on, Rose, wait!”
“I called you, remember? You came to be with me, not that whore!” Martie hollered.
“Please Miss Cooke, this is a hospital.” I heard another voice reprimand her for yelling.
“I’m just fine. I want to see my sister . . . now!” she demanded.
I never looked back. The anxiety of knowing that the man who wanted to take me to lunch and see what unfolded between us, was dating my best friend’s sister was too much. I hurried down the corridor, past the waiting area, into an alcove that held a couple of elevators crowded and pressed into adjacent walls. My muscles were burning matching the sting in my eyes and the ache in my heart.
I clicked the call button over and over again.
Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . .