Mending Broken Wings - Part 5
Title: Mending Broken Wings - Part 5
Author: xjekkix
Word Count: 2805 words
Summary: The rehab days
Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.
Disclaimer: This is not real. But it may make you want to hug Lindsay.
Song Drabble - “Better” by Shiloh
Love is all you ever give, but hate is just the life you live
You try your best to move along but the pain you feel is way too strong.
Samantha knows this is wrong. But that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, the voice in the back of her head screaming no, isn’t warning enough.
She takes off her sweater and wraps it around Lindsay’s shoulders. The girl practically crumbles beneath its weight, so fragile and slight. The look in her eyes is distant.
Samantha pulls the hood up and over the girl’s messy bleach blonde hair and gently strokes her cheek. Even now, with her cheeks pale and her lips white and chapped, Lindsay looks beautiful.
Samantha leans in, ready to kiss the girl when Lindsay's knees buckle and she clutches to the woman’s t-shirt sleeve for support.
And you know it breaks my heart to see you this way.
I'm stuck on the words that we never say.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Samantha says, wrapping her arm around Lindsay’s waist. She tucks her wrist beneath the girl’s arm to help her along.
Lindsay moves almost weightlessly. Her eyes flutter open and shut; she rests her head against Samantha’s shoulder and sighs weakly.
Her car isn’t parked far away but it feels like miles before they reach it, beneath the shade of a leafy tree. Samantha sets Lindsay on the grass below while she opens the car door and grabs a bottle of water from the backseat. She lifts the girl’s arm around her shoulders and hoists her into the passenger seat, nearly motionless.
“Can you drink some of this for me?” she says quietly to Lindsay, tilting the water bottle to her lips. It takes a moment before she responds, letting moist drips fall onto her tongue.
After a few sips, her skin looks a little less gray and her cheeks less puckered. Samantha helps her sit up, maintaining a steady hold on one of Lindsay’s clammy hands.
“You hungry?” she asks, moving a hand to the side of the girl’s neck. Her fever has subsided for now but her skin still radiates heat from inside.
Lindsay groans a ‘no’, turns her head and wiggles out of Samantha’s grip, seemingly repulsed by the woman’s touch. In response, Samantha backs away quickly but can’t take her eyes away from the girl’s tragic expression. Her eyes are dark, hard to read. Her forehead wrinkles in discomfort and she tries to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. She forces a smile; the corners of her eyes turn up to prove it’s genuine.
Somewhere in there, Samantha knows, is the Lindsay she fell in love with. Still in love with.
Life ain't what it always seems to be and I know I'm missing you, you're missing me.
I am trying my hardest to make things better, can we make this better?
Samantha secures Lindsay in her seat and closes the door, rounding the front of the car so she can still see the girl through the windshield. As she climbs into the driver’s seat, she glances over at Lindsay. The girl looks longingly at her and then quickly away.
Sighing, Samantha takes a deep breath and feels her heart constrict painfully. She’s not sure what she has gotten herself into. Helping a recovering addict escape from rehab without any idea the kind of care she’ll require. Sometimes she struggles to look after herself - how will she provide for someone in Lindsay’s fragile state?
The girl pulls her feet onto the car’s seat, sliding Samantha’s oversized sweater over top of her legs to keep them warm. She rests her quivering chin on her kneecaps and tears begin to flow freely, salty drops landing on the seat cover beneath her.
Without a moment’s thought, Samantha pulls her car onto the side of freeway, screeching to a halt on the unpaved shoulder. She throws the vehicle quickly into park and wraps her arms around Lindsay, pulling her close and tightly to her chest. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna make this better.”
By the time they’ve arrived at Samantha’s house, Lindsay is fast asleep, her cheeks streaked with tears and lines of mascara. Despite this, she looks peaceful and Samantha doesn’t want to wake her. Instead, she reclines her own seat and closes her eyes.
She can’t get to sleep; on edge, her heart beats a mile a minute. Her breath catches in her throat each time a car slows down past the driveway.
Lindsay, curled into the fetal position in her seat, stirs finally and stretches her legs out to the floor.
“Mmm..how long was I sleeping for?” she asks, wiping at her mascara stained cheeks. Her mouth is dry and the feeling that she has a jaw full of cotton balls muffles her words.
Samantha sits up and shrugs, smiling. The girl looks rested now, and content. “About an hour. You hungry now?”
Lindsay rubs her hands against her stomach, grimacing and shrugging. “Can I shower first?”
As they head for the house, Samantha helps the girl along with both hands held tightly to her hips. She looks around carefully, suspiciously. Paranoia has set in; she’s positive it’s only a matter of time before police are knocking at her door in search of a runaway.
Lindsay is barely two steps into the house when she begins to undress. She throws her clothes haphazardly on the floor, making a trail toward the bathroom.
Samantha follows the girl with her eyes. Lindsay asks for a clean towel and Samantha tries not to stare as she tells her where to find one.
As usual, the girl’s assets are stunning but she’s much thinner than Samantha remembers. Where incredible curves once were are only jutting bones and displaced extra skin, indicating any weight lost occurred quickly and unnaturally.
“Sure you’re not hungry?” Samantha asks, reaching her hand out to touch the girl’s skin. It feels cold and unusual; she pulls quickly away and feels her own stomach grumble. Just looking at Lindsay hurts.
She hurries through the house trying to tidy and make her home more comfortable. She moves sharp objects out of sight and out of mind, knowing Lindsay’s past suicidal and violent tendencies. She locks up her liquor cabinet and hides the key. Addict proofing is something she never thought she would have to do.
She locks the windows and shuts the blinds; she’s had enough unwanted attention lately, with prying paparazzi and whiny neighbours.
Samantha picks up Lindsay’s clothes from the floor, one by one, and sets them in a pile. She grabs the girl a pair of warm pajamas and sets them gently by the bathroom door, sighing. Looking after an addict, she thinks to herself, is a lot like being the parent of a toddler - messy and unpredictable.
Her phone rings and she considers not answering it but welcomes the distraction.
Some people don't know how to care, there's shattered pieces everywhere
The family that you used to know, you plead to stay you wanna go.
“Samantha?” Lindsay’s mother says, frantically. “Lindsay’s missing.”
Samantha gulps but can’t come up with anything to say in response. She doesn’t want to lie but certainly can’t tell Dina she was the girl’s accomplice in an escape.
“What should I do? Has she called you? She hasn’t called Mike or me in days. He’s going mental and I’m freaking out. How could she be so irresponsible?” Dina exclaims, her thick New York accent intensified by her rapid speech.
“Just…just calm down,” Samantha urges, trying to decide how to assure the woman that her daughter is safe. “She called me earlier this time and she’s in good hands, I promise.”
Dina isn’t listening and instead rambling and cursing in the distance to a friend. Finally she returns her attention to the phone and her conversation with Samantha just in time to hear Lindsay yelling - a loud crash - in the background.
Dina gasps. “What was that?”
Samantha runs toward the bathroom and twists the door handle - locked. She panics. Multitasking is something she’s usually good at, but not when it involves multiple crises.
“I can explain…Listen, I have to call you back,” Samantha says, but she knows Dina has already hung up. In fact, she knows Dina is likely in her car by now and on her way over.
The woman manages to pry open the lock on the door and bursts in.
Lindsay lays on the floor in tears, a bloody arm wrapped in a clean white towel. The shower doorframe stands alone, pieces of broken glass littering the floor. Samantha steps on several sharp shards as she dives to Lindsay’s rescue.
“What happened? Are you okay?” she asks the girl, surveying her injuries.
The girl is swaddled in a towel, looking still exhausted and disoriented. Drips of water slide down her arms, her back, and steam pours from her skin. Samantha feels angry with herself for not insisting she help the girl in her weakened state.
The girl’s eyes scream innocence. She stares pleadingly at Samantha. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
Samantha shakes her head and sighs, cradling the girl in her arms as she sits beside her on the floor. The girl trembles, her bottom lip quivers she crumbles into gasping sobs. “Yes, you are. I broke your shower door. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t stand anymore.”
Samantha guides the girl’s sopping wet head to her shoulder and kisses her on the temple. “We need to get you to a hospital. You can’t stay here.”
Lindsay backs away from the woman defensively. “Why not? No…no…they’ll make me go back there. Samantha, no. You can’t do this to me.” The girl begins to visibly unravel, dropping her bloodstained towel onto the tiled floor. Her expression changes quickly from confusion to anger and then paralyzing fear.
“Your mom is on her way over here. We need to get you cleaned up and bandage up your cuts.”
Lindsay shakes her head vigorously. “I don’t want to see her. She’s the one who put me there. I won’t let her take me back there.” Lindsay’s eyes turn wild; her lucidity returns with a vengeance.
“Lindsay, calm down. You just need to relax and we’ll sit down with your mom and we’ll talk this through,” Samantha says, her voice low as she reaches out for the girl’s injured arm.
But Lindsay backs up further, nearly slipping on the bathroom floor as she stands and bolts into the hallway. She drops her towel on the way, sprinting wet and naked for the front door.
You know it breaks my heart to see you this way, I'm stuck on the words that we never say.
Dina intercepts her daughter in the front yard before she’s reached the gated entrance to Samantha’s property. They collide and fall to the ground, Lindsay scraping her already injured arm as she drops to her knees in convulsive sobs.
Dina intercepts her daughter in the front yard before she’s reached the gated entrance to Samantha’s property. They collide and fall to the ground, Lindsay scraping her already injured arm as she drops to her knees in convulsive sobs.
“Oh, honey…you’re bleeding,” Dina says, noticing Lindsay’s cuts. She looks apprehensively to Samantha who is standing in the doorway with a hand pressed to her wrinkled forehead. She shrugs and grimaces. There are no words.
Dina grabs a towel from Samantha’s hands and wraps it around Lindsay, trying to get the girl to stand. She resists with a high-pitched squeal and tries to tear herself from her mother’s grip. Cursing loudly, she kicks out and lands on her back.
“We need to call somebody,” Dina says, visibly frustrated and unable to handle the heated situation.
Samantha shakes her head vehemently. She steps into the yard and leans down toward Lindsay. The girl remains on her back, breathing heavily. Her ribcage juts out from beneath her seemingly translucent skin. The bleeding from her arm has stopped; bruises have already begun to appear on her arms and legs. Samantha feels guilty.
“Can you stand up?” she whispers to Lindsay, touching her fingers to the girl’s damp skin gently. She doesn’t want to scare her; just let her know that she’s here.
Lindsay wraps her fingers around Samantha’s wrist and pulls herself up to sit. Quickly, becoming aware of where she is and how she must appear, she wraps her arms around her bent legs and tries to cover herself up.
“Think we could take this inside?” Samantha says. A few of her neighbours have already walked past, their inquisitive eyes barely able to stay in their heads as they peer into the yard. If they don’t make their way inside now, the paparazzi are sure to show up and catch Lindsay in this uncompromising position.
Wrapped in her soggy towel, Lindsay weakly gets to her feet and follows Samantha inside, refusing to let her mother touch her or look at her.
A lot of yelling ensues, much of it toward Samantha, as Dina screams at her for her selfishness. She’s been called many things by all kinds of people but never selfish. She wonders how risking everything for someone else’s happiness can be considered selfishness but stays mum and takes the tongue-lashing.
Lindsay screams back in defense, now wrapped in a bathrobe and sipping at a mug of lukewarm green tea. She tells her mother everything she’s ever wanted to say. Of course she’ll regret it later - she knows this - but hearing Samantha being torn apart for something she isn’t at fault for is just cause for a harsh response.
“And who has come to see me every day since I checked in? Not you! Dad hasn’t even called me. You’re such a fucking hypocrite and I hope Ali & Cody realize that. They’ll hate you as much as I do!”
For once Dina is speechless. She presses her lips tightly together and looks as though her heart has been torn from her chest.
Lindsay watches her mother practically shrink away, ashamed. “Mom…you know I didn’t mean that, I’m so-“ she begins but Dina raises her hand, gesturing the girl to stop.
“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”
Lindsay swallows hard, a tear cascading down her left cheek. She reaches out to embrace her mother but Dina backs up defensively, lifting both hands now.
“Mom, please…”
“I hope the rest of your recovery goes well.” Dina’s eyes are empty, her expression vacuous. It hurts her, but she realizes her absence may be just what Lindsay needs right now.
The girl opens her mouth to speak but can’t find the words to express how her heart is breaking. Deep down she knows how much her mother cares for her - and that she must have a damn good reason for acting so heartless - but that doesn’t make her suffering any easier.
And you know, the sky just keeps on changing for you, this hope
The world just keeps on turning for you, I know we can make this better
Can we make this better?
Without another word, Dina collects her things and walks to the door. She gives Samantha a long and meaningful glare, as if to warn her, ‘you better look after my little girl’. Samantha nods and stares shamefully at her sock feet. She’s not sure how she’ll do it, but knows it’s now her responsibility to figure that out.
Lindsay sits in shock on the couch. Samantha crouches in front of her, taking the girl’s cold hands in her own. With scant eye contact, Lindsay looks up and off into the distance, as if searching for something.
“She doesn’t think I can do it.”
Samantha looks confused.
“She doesn’t think I can get better. I can make this better. I want to be better.”
She says this with the kind of conviction Samantha has never heard from her before. Confidence exudes from her like it did when they had met - the reason Samantha had been drawn to her.
“Of course we…of course you can,” Samantha says, correcting her use of ‘we’. Lindsay already knows she isn’t alone in her recovery. But Samantha knows she will just be a bystander - Lindsay needs to do this for herself and not for anyone else.
Samantha should be happy about Lindsay’s newfound hope - and she is - but not as excited as she’d expected. Suddenly, she feels lonely and ineffectual. If Lindsay can do this on her own, maybe she won’t need Samantha at all. Maybe she never did.
Life ain't what it always seems to be and I know I'm missing you, you're missing me
And I am wishing oh god please make things better
Can we make this better?
Author: xjekkix
Word Count: 2805 words
Summary: The rehab days
Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.
Disclaimer: This is not real. But it may make you want to hug Lindsay.
Song Drabble - “Better” by Shiloh
Love is all you ever give, but hate is just the life you live
You try your best to move along but the pain you feel is way too strong.
Samantha knows this is wrong. But that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, the voice in the back of her head screaming no, isn’t warning enough.
She takes off her sweater and wraps it around Lindsay’s shoulders. The girl practically crumbles beneath its weight, so fragile and slight. The look in her eyes is distant.
Samantha pulls the hood up and over the girl’s messy bleach blonde hair and gently strokes her cheek. Even now, with her cheeks pale and her lips white and chapped, Lindsay looks beautiful.
Samantha leans in, ready to kiss the girl when Lindsay's knees buckle and she clutches to the woman’s t-shirt sleeve for support.
And you know it breaks my heart to see you this way.
I'm stuck on the words that we never say.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Samantha says, wrapping her arm around Lindsay’s waist. She tucks her wrist beneath the girl’s arm to help her along.
Lindsay moves almost weightlessly. Her eyes flutter open and shut; she rests her head against Samantha’s shoulder and sighs weakly.
Her car isn’t parked far away but it feels like miles before they reach it, beneath the shade of a leafy tree. Samantha sets Lindsay on the grass below while she opens the car door and grabs a bottle of water from the backseat. She lifts the girl’s arm around her shoulders and hoists her into the passenger seat, nearly motionless.
“Can you drink some of this for me?” she says quietly to Lindsay, tilting the water bottle to her lips. It takes a moment before she responds, letting moist drips fall onto her tongue.
After a few sips, her skin looks a little less gray and her cheeks less puckered. Samantha helps her sit up, maintaining a steady hold on one of Lindsay’s clammy hands.
“You hungry?” she asks, moving a hand to the side of the girl’s neck. Her fever has subsided for now but her skin still radiates heat from inside.
Lindsay groans a ‘no’, turns her head and wiggles out of Samantha’s grip, seemingly repulsed by the woman’s touch. In response, Samantha backs away quickly but can’t take her eyes away from the girl’s tragic expression. Her eyes are dark, hard to read. Her forehead wrinkles in discomfort and she tries to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. She forces a smile; the corners of her eyes turn up to prove it’s genuine.
Somewhere in there, Samantha knows, is the Lindsay she fell in love with. Still in love with.
Life ain't what it always seems to be and I know I'm missing you, you're missing me.
I am trying my hardest to make things better, can we make this better?
Samantha secures Lindsay in her seat and closes the door, rounding the front of the car so she can still see the girl through the windshield. As she climbs into the driver’s seat, she glances over at Lindsay. The girl looks longingly at her and then quickly away.
Sighing, Samantha takes a deep breath and feels her heart constrict painfully. She’s not sure what she has gotten herself into. Helping a recovering addict escape from rehab without any idea the kind of care she’ll require. Sometimes she struggles to look after herself - how will she provide for someone in Lindsay’s fragile state?
The girl pulls her feet onto the car’s seat, sliding Samantha’s oversized sweater over top of her legs to keep them warm. She rests her quivering chin on her kneecaps and tears begin to flow freely, salty drops landing on the seat cover beneath her.
Without a moment’s thought, Samantha pulls her car onto the side of freeway, screeching to a halt on the unpaved shoulder. She throws the vehicle quickly into park and wraps her arms around Lindsay, pulling her close and tightly to her chest. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna make this better.”
By the time they’ve arrived at Samantha’s house, Lindsay is fast asleep, her cheeks streaked with tears and lines of mascara. Despite this, she looks peaceful and Samantha doesn’t want to wake her. Instead, she reclines her own seat and closes her eyes.
She can’t get to sleep; on edge, her heart beats a mile a minute. Her breath catches in her throat each time a car slows down past the driveway.
Lindsay, curled into the fetal position in her seat, stirs finally and stretches her legs out to the floor.
“Mmm..how long was I sleeping for?” she asks, wiping at her mascara stained cheeks. Her mouth is dry and the feeling that she has a jaw full of cotton balls muffles her words.
Samantha sits up and shrugs, smiling. The girl looks rested now, and content. “About an hour. You hungry now?”
Lindsay rubs her hands against her stomach, grimacing and shrugging. “Can I shower first?”
As they head for the house, Samantha helps the girl along with both hands held tightly to her hips. She looks around carefully, suspiciously. Paranoia has set in; she’s positive it’s only a matter of time before police are knocking at her door in search of a runaway.
Lindsay is barely two steps into the house when she begins to undress. She throws her clothes haphazardly on the floor, making a trail toward the bathroom.
Samantha follows the girl with her eyes. Lindsay asks for a clean towel and Samantha tries not to stare as she tells her where to find one.
As usual, the girl’s assets are stunning but she’s much thinner than Samantha remembers. Where incredible curves once were are only jutting bones and displaced extra skin, indicating any weight lost occurred quickly and unnaturally.
“Sure you’re not hungry?” Samantha asks, reaching her hand out to touch the girl’s skin. It feels cold and unusual; she pulls quickly away and feels her own stomach grumble. Just looking at Lindsay hurts.
She hurries through the house trying to tidy and make her home more comfortable. She moves sharp objects out of sight and out of mind, knowing Lindsay’s past suicidal and violent tendencies. She locks up her liquor cabinet and hides the key. Addict proofing is something she never thought she would have to do.
She locks the windows and shuts the blinds; she’s had enough unwanted attention lately, with prying paparazzi and whiny neighbours.
Samantha picks up Lindsay’s clothes from the floor, one by one, and sets them in a pile. She grabs the girl a pair of warm pajamas and sets them gently by the bathroom door, sighing. Looking after an addict, she thinks to herself, is a lot like being the parent of a toddler - messy and unpredictable.
Her phone rings and she considers not answering it but welcomes the distraction.
Some people don't know how to care, there's shattered pieces everywhere
The family that you used to know, you plead to stay you wanna go.
“Samantha?” Lindsay’s mother says, frantically. “Lindsay’s missing.”
Samantha gulps but can’t come up with anything to say in response. She doesn’t want to lie but certainly can’t tell Dina she was the girl’s accomplice in an escape.
“What should I do? Has she called you? She hasn’t called Mike or me in days. He’s going mental and I’m freaking out. How could she be so irresponsible?” Dina exclaims, her thick New York accent intensified by her rapid speech.
“Just…just calm down,” Samantha urges, trying to decide how to assure the woman that her daughter is safe. “She called me earlier this time and she’s in good hands, I promise.”
Dina isn’t listening and instead rambling and cursing in the distance to a friend. Finally she returns her attention to the phone and her conversation with Samantha just in time to hear Lindsay yelling - a loud crash - in the background.
Dina gasps. “What was that?”
Samantha runs toward the bathroom and twists the door handle - locked. She panics. Multitasking is something she’s usually good at, but not when it involves multiple crises.
“I can explain…Listen, I have to call you back,” Samantha says, but she knows Dina has already hung up. In fact, she knows Dina is likely in her car by now and on her way over.
The woman manages to pry open the lock on the door and bursts in.
Lindsay lays on the floor in tears, a bloody arm wrapped in a clean white towel. The shower doorframe stands alone, pieces of broken glass littering the floor. Samantha steps on several sharp shards as she dives to Lindsay’s rescue.
“What happened? Are you okay?” she asks the girl, surveying her injuries.
The girl is swaddled in a towel, looking still exhausted and disoriented. Drips of water slide down her arms, her back, and steam pours from her skin. Samantha feels angry with herself for not insisting she help the girl in her weakened state.
The girl’s eyes scream innocence. She stares pleadingly at Samantha. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
Samantha shakes her head and sighs, cradling the girl in her arms as she sits beside her on the floor. The girl trembles, her bottom lip quivers she crumbles into gasping sobs. “Yes, you are. I broke your shower door. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t stand anymore.”
Samantha guides the girl’s sopping wet head to her shoulder and kisses her on the temple. “We need to get you to a hospital. You can’t stay here.”
Lindsay backs away from the woman defensively. “Why not? No…no…they’ll make me go back there. Samantha, no. You can’t do this to me.” The girl begins to visibly unravel, dropping her bloodstained towel onto the tiled floor. Her expression changes quickly from confusion to anger and then paralyzing fear.
“Your mom is on her way over here. We need to get you cleaned up and bandage up your cuts.”
Lindsay shakes her head vigorously. “I don’t want to see her. She’s the one who put me there. I won’t let her take me back there.” Lindsay’s eyes turn wild; her lucidity returns with a vengeance.
“Lindsay, calm down. You just need to relax and we’ll sit down with your mom and we’ll talk this through,” Samantha says, her voice low as she reaches out for the girl’s injured arm.
But Lindsay backs up further, nearly slipping on the bathroom floor as she stands and bolts into the hallway. She drops her towel on the way, sprinting wet and naked for the front door.
You know it breaks my heart to see you this way, I'm stuck on the words that we never say.
Dina intercepts her daughter in the front yard before she’s reached the gated entrance to Samantha’s property. They collide and fall to the ground, Lindsay scraping her already injured arm as she drops to her knees in convulsive sobs.
Dina intercepts her daughter in the front yard before she’s reached the gated entrance to Samantha’s property. They collide and fall to the ground, Lindsay scraping her already injured arm as she drops to her knees in convulsive sobs.
“Oh, honey…you’re bleeding,” Dina says, noticing Lindsay’s cuts. She looks apprehensively to Samantha who is standing in the doorway with a hand pressed to her wrinkled forehead. She shrugs and grimaces. There are no words.
Dina grabs a towel from Samantha’s hands and wraps it around Lindsay, trying to get the girl to stand. She resists with a high-pitched squeal and tries to tear herself from her mother’s grip. Cursing loudly, she kicks out and lands on her back.
“We need to call somebody,” Dina says, visibly frustrated and unable to handle the heated situation.
Samantha shakes her head vehemently. She steps into the yard and leans down toward Lindsay. The girl remains on her back, breathing heavily. Her ribcage juts out from beneath her seemingly translucent skin. The bleeding from her arm has stopped; bruises have already begun to appear on her arms and legs. Samantha feels guilty.
“Can you stand up?” she whispers to Lindsay, touching her fingers to the girl’s damp skin gently. She doesn’t want to scare her; just let her know that she’s here.
Lindsay wraps her fingers around Samantha’s wrist and pulls herself up to sit. Quickly, becoming aware of where she is and how she must appear, she wraps her arms around her bent legs and tries to cover herself up.
“Think we could take this inside?” Samantha says. A few of her neighbours have already walked past, their inquisitive eyes barely able to stay in their heads as they peer into the yard. If they don’t make their way inside now, the paparazzi are sure to show up and catch Lindsay in this uncompromising position.
Wrapped in her soggy towel, Lindsay weakly gets to her feet and follows Samantha inside, refusing to let her mother touch her or look at her.
A lot of yelling ensues, much of it toward Samantha, as Dina screams at her for her selfishness. She’s been called many things by all kinds of people but never selfish. She wonders how risking everything for someone else’s happiness can be considered selfishness but stays mum and takes the tongue-lashing.
Lindsay screams back in defense, now wrapped in a bathrobe and sipping at a mug of lukewarm green tea. She tells her mother everything she’s ever wanted to say. Of course she’ll regret it later - she knows this - but hearing Samantha being torn apart for something she isn’t at fault for is just cause for a harsh response.
“And who has come to see me every day since I checked in? Not you! Dad hasn’t even called me. You’re such a fucking hypocrite and I hope Ali & Cody realize that. They’ll hate you as much as I do!”
For once Dina is speechless. She presses her lips tightly together and looks as though her heart has been torn from her chest.
Lindsay watches her mother practically shrink away, ashamed. “Mom…you know I didn’t mean that, I’m so-“ she begins but Dina raises her hand, gesturing the girl to stop.
“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”
Lindsay swallows hard, a tear cascading down her left cheek. She reaches out to embrace her mother but Dina backs up defensively, lifting both hands now.
“Mom, please…”
“I hope the rest of your recovery goes well.” Dina’s eyes are empty, her expression vacuous. It hurts her, but she realizes her absence may be just what Lindsay needs right now.
The girl opens her mouth to speak but can’t find the words to express how her heart is breaking. Deep down she knows how much her mother cares for her - and that she must have a damn good reason for acting so heartless - but that doesn’t make her suffering any easier.
And you know, the sky just keeps on changing for you, this hope
The world just keeps on turning for you, I know we can make this better
Can we make this better?
Without another word, Dina collects her things and walks to the door. She gives Samantha a long and meaningful glare, as if to warn her, ‘you better look after my little girl’. Samantha nods and stares shamefully at her sock feet. She’s not sure how she’ll do it, but knows it’s now her responsibility to figure that out.
Lindsay sits in shock on the couch. Samantha crouches in front of her, taking the girl’s cold hands in her own. With scant eye contact, Lindsay looks up and off into the distance, as if searching for something.
“She doesn’t think I can do it.”
Samantha looks confused.
“She doesn’t think I can get better. I can make this better. I want to be better.”
She says this with the kind of conviction Samantha has never heard from her before. Confidence exudes from her like it did when they had met - the reason Samantha had been drawn to her.
“Of course we…of course you can,” Samantha says, correcting her use of ‘we’. Lindsay already knows she isn’t alone in her recovery. But Samantha knows she will just be a bystander - Lindsay needs to do this for herself and not for anyone else.
Samantha should be happy about Lindsay’s newfound hope - and she is - but not as excited as she’d expected. Suddenly, she feels lonely and ineffectual. If Lindsay can do this on her own, maybe she won’t need Samantha at all. Maybe she never did.
Life ain't what it always seems to be and I know I'm missing you, you're missing me
And I am wishing oh god please make things better
Can we make this better?