My mouth opens as she opens the bag and shows me all the clothes inside it. I’ve never seen so many clothes in my whole life. I also have never owned more than five things at a time. “We didn’t know if you would want to wear jeans or if you wanted to wear shorts.”
I look down at my legs, seeing that the bruising is still there, fading slowly. “Jeans,” I tell her. “Always jeans,” I say, and she takes out a white pair and a blue pair.
"Do you want to wear blue or white?" she asks, and I just look down at the two in her hands.
"I’ve never had white jeans,” I say, and I want to kick myself. I should just take the blue jeans and a T-shirt and thank her.
"Then white jeans it is,” she says, holding the pair out to me. “And how about a shirt?”
"Just a regular T-shirt is okay,” I say, and she smiles and gives me a black one. "Thank you,” I say, holding the T-shirt in my hand and touching the softness of it.
"Here you go,” she says, handing me a white bra with matching panties.
"Um." I look down, and my legs shake with nervousness. “I don’t know what to say."
"Can I speak freely?" Chelsea looks at me, and I just stare at her. “I don’t want to step on any toes." She looks down and then up again. “I never want to disrespect you or insult you." She wipes away a tear with her thumb. “Quinn didn’t handle any of this right," she says, and my finger taps the clothes on my lap. “He’s a horse’s ass for sure."
"We can agree on that one,” I say softly. “I told him to leave," I admit, “every single day, but he never did."
"Oh, that is one battle you aren’t going to win,” she says, shaking her head and laughing.
"But," I start to say, and she holds up her hand.
"I know it’s overwhelming for you," she says. “But this is the only way we know how to thank you for everything you did."
I shake my head, the burning in my stomach coming up as the tears fight to get out. “I didn’t do anything.” I talk low, so no one can hear our conversation.
"I know you don’t know us,” she says. “And I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but you’re family now."
"How?" I whisper.
"If it wasn’t Quinn here sitting by your side, it would have been Mayson.” She looks at me. “You both share a bond,” she says, and she blinks away her tears. “I’m not going to talk to him, and eventually, he is going to come and sit with you."
"I don’t know what to say,” I say.
"Let us take you home." She reaches out and puts her hand on mine.
"I haven’t had a home since I was seven." The words come out before I can stop and take them back. I regret them as soon as the words echo in my ears. I look down, not sure I can see pity in her eyes. I refuse to let anyone feel sorry for me. It is what it is, and what was dealt to me, and I’ll be fine. "I’ll get dressed,” I say, and she nods her head at me and gets up.
"Do you need any help?" she asks, standing. I shake my head, and she smiles at me and walks out of the door, clicking it shut.
I let out a huge breath that I was holding in as well as the tears. I let the tears fall as I get up and slip the panties on, and I look down at myself. I’ve never had something so soft and pretty. I slip the bra on, putting my arm through the arm strap, trying not to move it too much, the pain getting less and less every day. Shirley showed me ways to do things when I’m changing so as not to move it.
I slip the jeans on and then button them before slipping on the black T-shirt. Then I tie the sling around me. I look at myself in the mirror, and anyone else would think I was just another girl. No one would tell that I lived in hell. No one would know that this is the nicest outfit I’ve ever had on. No one would know that I didn’t even have a bra because all I could afford were bathing suit tops on the liquidation racks. No one would know that looking at me today.
I look over at the hospital gown that lies on the floor and bend down to pick it up and put it in my black bag, zipping it up and then turning to look at the other black bag that is bursting with clothes. I’m about to bend down and zip it up when there is a knock on the door.
I stand and open the door, seeing Amelia there. “Are you okay?" she asks softly, and I look around the room, seeing that it’s just her and Chelsea. I look around to see if Quinn is inside the room. “He went to get the truck. I’ll get the bag,” she says, coming into the bathroom with me to grab the big bag. I bend, taking my backpack in my hand.
"You look so pretty,” Shirley says, coming into the room, pushing an empty wheelchair. “Not that you weren’t pretty before, but"—she smiles—“this suits you."
"Thank you,” I say, slipping the flip-flops on and avoiding looking at her. I don’t know how I’m going to do it without her.
"You ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Chelsea says, and I just look at Shirley.
"I can walk,” I say.
"It’s hospital policy, I’m afraid,” she says, so I walk over to the wheelchair and sit down in it.
"We’ll wait for you outside," Amelia says, looking at Chelsea, who just smiles and nods at me.
“Are you ready?" Shirley asks, and I look up at her.
"I’ve never been more scared in my whole life,” I say, my hand shaking on top of my legs. "I’ve been in my share of situations in my life," I start to say, and my voice cracks. “But I’ve never been in this one."
"Oh, honey," she says, sitting on the bed next to the wheelchair.
"Hatred, I can handle. Hateful words just roll off my back. But this?" I point at the door where Amelia and Chelsea just walked out of. “That, I don’t know what to do with that."
"You embrace it,” she says softly. “The universe has turned now,” she says, sniffling. “And it is time for you to see all the good there is out there in the world." The lump in my throat is so big I don’t even think I can swallow. “You, my beautiful girl, are going to soar."
"I’m going to," I start to say and stop talking, not sure I should tell her.
"I’m going to miss you." She finishes for me, and I nod at her, and the tears come. She gets up and comes to me, hugging me. “I’ll come and visit you, and you have to come back here in three days anyway."
"What if”—I wipe my face with the back of my hand—“I need you?”
"Then you call me,” she says. “Quinn has all my information."
"What?" I ask her, confused.
"He asked me for my phone number right before he left,” she says and smiles. “He might be a jackass, but we agree on something."
"Yeah,” I say when she gets up and turns the wheelchair around. “What’s that?"
"You,” she says, beaming.
The black bag sits on my lap as she pushes me down the same hall she did when taking me for X-rays. The nerves are still there, but a different fear fills me. She pushes me into the elevator, and we descend to the lobby.