Evelyn Strikes Back!

CHAPTER 04. Evelyn's POV

CHAPTER 04

Evelyn's POV

Ignoring the bottle, I sit around in the room. Then I grab the framed photo of my daughter and observe it.

She was a year old when we took this photo, and so looking at her smiling up at me while I carried her in my arms had me laughing and crying at the same time.

The pain of losing Olivia was palpable. I had promised to be with her on her 5th birthday. I had promised to take her out shopping, buy her more toys, and take her to the pack.

"Mum, I'll show you my friends too!" Her babyish voice rings in my mind and I hiccup. I had plans with my precious baby and death had to take her away...

I find a carton and begin packing Olivia's toys, drawing books, and the rest of her things into it, as I want to put her room in order.

Shortly after, I grab a short notebook and decide to have a look at the purple cover and that is when the writing on the front page struck me -- My Diary.

While I was away, I never got to talk with Olivia all day, but her diary must contain her secrets...things she might not be bold enough to tell me over the phone.

I try to open it but it has a code. So smart of her. I try her birthday and the book lock comes undone.

As I flip and read through the pages, my face contorts and my hatred for Samantha burns. It read thus:

Dear Diary, I feel really sad. It's another weekend when Aunt Samantha visits and Dad forgets I have to eat. He stays with her in his room, and when I complain, Aunt Samantha pinches and slaps me secretly. She threatens that monsters will eat me in my dreams, and I am so scared. I hate Aunt Samantha spanking me and not letting me talk to Daddy when I'm scared. I hate Mum for not being around to protect me, and for abandoning me to monsters.

On my 4th birthday, Dad forced me to smile while buying me the pink teddy, and Aunt Samantha brought me home after. We didn't really celebrate my birthday. Dad said he was too busy with work.

I hate Aunt Samantha’s parents, Dad calls them in-law all the time. Any time they come around, I'm starved, and they don't want to see me at all. I think they hate me too.

Tears rolled down my cheeks after seeing the things they did to my child. Not being able to bear the brunt, I flip to the last page.

Dear diary, it's me again. This time I want to die so that the monsters don't haunt me in my dreams anymore. I'll take the liquid I got from the school laboratory. I learned it's poison. No one should cry or miss me because you all led me to die…

But how could I believe this? Logan mentioned she had cancer. I rise from the bed.

Even though I lost trust in him, I can't believe Logan lied to me about our child.

I drive to the Calvary Health Center, and the first place I barge in is the doctor's office. The same doctor who declared my child dead.

"Sir, I found this bottle in my daughter's room." Shock registers on his face but I continue, "She didn't die of cancer, did she?"

"You shouldn't question the test results. Your daughter died of cancer."

The doctor stands to his feet while laying his stethoscope on the table, "I have an operation in a few minutes, and I'm leaving."

"I deserve to know how she died. I'm a Doctor and was her mother too!" I yell behind him and he stops.

As if sensing my pain, he goes back to sit on his chair. "Fine, your daughter died of acute poisoning, but don't disclose this to your husband. I was told not to breathe a word."

I can feel a thousand knives twist in my chest and the pain makes me gasp for air.

My precious Olivia barely lived, yet she was the saddest child, living like she had no one. Everything...I sob...every single thing written inside that diary was true.

I try to hold in the pain but reality stabs my chest with a thousand blows and before I know it, I crumble to the floor and writhe in pain. The doctor tries to stop me from hitting the floor and hurting myself but his efforts are in vain.

Picking up myself, I walk out of the hospital like a ghost. Soon after, I find myself in the first place my mind led to. A bar.

I swallowed the first shot of tequila like my life depended on it, letting it burn through my throat with reckless abandon. Then I lost count of how many bottles I already consumed.

All of a sudden, a pressing sensation arrests my lower region and I feel the pressing urge to pee, and I get up. I place my hand on a table to support my legs, but the next thing, my vision is blurred, and I am unable to place my hand on any surface.

Bracing myself for impact, I anticipate my fall against my wobbly legs, only to fall on someone's lap.

"I'm...sorry," my words are slurred. My mouth opens and I puke all over his shirt.

*******

My eyes suddenly snap open. Instinctively I sit up. I am on a plush bed with a white sheet, and the room seems strange. I look beside me to see a man sitting in a wheelchair, his back facing me, smoking a cigarette beside me.

My mind is confused and can't make sense of anything. How did I get here?

But then, the memories all came rushing in. Yesterday at the hospital, I was so sad that I rushed to the bar, got drunk, and puked all over a person's shirt.

"Mr. Man, don't you know smokers are liable to die young?" I query, my medical instincts kicking off.

He doesn't turn around to face me so I continue, "Smoking can destroy your lungs okay? It's so awful smoking that early and it could badly destroy your life."

"That's poor, coming from you, a hypocrite who drank herself yo stupor to the point that she clashed with me and ruined one of my favorite outfits," he retaliates, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I feel his words bruise my ego, and I retort, "Don't you dare compare yourself with me. I'm different, okay? I hardly drink. Yesterday was really a bad day and I had no choice."

"Everyone has a choice, except they just want to pretend."

"Is destroying your organs your choice, then?"

"My life is already ruined. I'm a cripple, and I just lost everything I used to own," He chuckles dryly, "I even lost my fiancee to a man who would have worshipped the ground I walked on, some years ago. So taking substances will do just little to ruin my already ruined life."

"But aren't you a coward? Giving up on life without a fight?"

"What can I do when I can't even walk?"

"Look, I'm an orthopedic surgeon, and I assure you that you can walk again if you make an effort, except your condition is from birth."

He twirls around in his wheelchair to face me.

"Aaron Carson?!"