The Heartbreak Horse

Because She Doesn't Want Your Help.

Zoe, Cyan, and I arrive at the hospital half an hour later. Christina and Val opted not to come, which didn’t surprise me at all. Val tried to get me to apologize to her, but I didn’t. I have bigger things to worry about now, and it feels pretty damn good.

When we reach Kate’s room, we expect to see both Oliver and Riley there, but neither of them are. Kate lies in the hospital bed with only her father at her side.

“Hey,” I say eagerly to Kate when we enter. A huge part of me just wants to leave and make sure Riley is okay, but I know I should make sure Kate is, too. “How are you feeling? They didn’t have to do surgery or anything, did they?”

Kate laughs, wincing a little at the pain, and shakes her head. “No surgery. Just some morphine and x-rays. Broke my leg.”

Her father, I notice, isn’t saying much.

“You won’t be able to ride,” Cyan says just as I realize it. I probably wouldn’t have said it so obviously, but that’s Cyan for you.

“No,” Kate agrees, and frowns. “Oliver made the mistake of being the first to point that out, which is why he’s not here anymore.”

Her dad rolls his eyes, and I realize what she means. Kate’s dad isn’t a horse dad. Her mom is, but he isn’t. All he cares about is that his daughter is okay, and when Oliver mentioned that she wouldn’t be able to ride, he took it as him suggesting her injuries themselves didn’t matter.

He was wrong—Oliver definitely cares about Kate. But I get it.

“What about Riley?” I ask, ignoring the overdramatic sigh Cyan heaves when she hears me ask the question. “Has she been here?”

“Who?”

“Riley. The... girl who...”

“Oh.” Kate laughs and winced again. “No, I haven’t seen her since the ambulance got there and her med student friend told them I broke my leg. He was pretty smart.”

Med student friend. Of course, she would have a college guy on speed dial. 

I suppose I’m at that level, age wise. College guy. None of us are really high schoolers anymore. The difference is, that superstar is premed, and I’m the loser who lives with his dad, shovels horse s**t, and is about as likely to go to college as Heartbreak is to race again.

Anyway, despite knowing the right thing to do is probably to stay, I leave in search of Riley then. I don’t have her number (it changed after she left, I learned the hard way), which means I probably won’t end up finding her, but I head outside anyway, praying to see the Harley come tearing down the street toward the hospital.

But I don’t get very far, because it’s parked in the hospital parking lot. She’s here.

So why didn’t she visit Kate?

I head back into the hospital, utterly confused, and ask a few nurses if they’ve seen her--skinny girl, dark hair, beautiful. I still don’t think her unhealthy sickliness qualifies as “beauty,” but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world doesn’t consider her beautiful, and anyway, I do think she’s beautiful, just… for different reasons than most guys would.

Finally, one nurse tells me that she has seen her—that Riley came to Kate’s room but didn’t go in, and instead went to the nearest stairwell. I thank her about a hundred times before heading for the stairwell.

I freeze behind the doors, because I can see her through the square window in the door.

She’s crying, but not like you would imagine crying—it’s so much worse. It’s like she’s having a full-on panic attack, shaking and sobbing so hard, her eyes look like they’re on fire. She’s practically pulling her hair out of her head, rocking back and forth, and slamming her fists against the ground. She looks utterly inconsolable and just horrible, and I’m so shell-shocked just from being this close to her that I’m not even sure I’ll survive it if I go in there. 

But I do, anyway, and I practically have to cover my ears, because even though she’s biting her knee to try to silence herself, she’s still screaming.

I take a step over to her, but I don’t know what to do or what to say or anything, and she doesn’t see me, so I take another step, and when she still doesn’t see me, I sit down next to her and gently reach out a hand to touch her.

And then she really screams, and she shoots up and backs away from me so sharply, she slams her back against the wall.

I feel like an i***t. I have no idea what to say, but I have to make this better for her.

“Riley,” I say in a voice much softer than I’ve ever heard it before, “please.” I don’t really know what I mean by that, and she probably doesn’t, either, so I try again. “Talk to me.”

Her eyes are so red, and her entire face looks like it’s on fire, and her hair is everywhere, and she looks more haunted than ever, and she’s shaking her head over and over again.

“Go away,” she sort of sob-begs, “please go away, go away, go away...”

“Riley,” I say again. I try to walk over to her again, but she just spins and backs away from me again. “What happened? Did someone hurt you? Are you upset about Kate?”

“Stop it,” she pleads, covering her face with her hands, “stop it, stop it, stop it...”

Anyone else would probably think she’s mental by then, with the repeating and screaming and paranoia, but I don’t. I know Riley. I know who she is, and I know that someone did this to her, and I have a feeling it wasn’t just the death of her father. It sickens me, as her pain always does, but for the first time in a long time, there’s a problem I might be able to solve—one that isn’t bad for me—one that might help someone.

“Riles,” I whisper, taking a step towards her again. This time, she doesn’t move. Her breathing slows, and she isn’t crying any more—still shaking, but not crying. “Please,” I say again. I take another step, and again she doesn’t back away from me. “Tell me.”

She looks up at me then, and I’m sure I’ll die in that instant because of the sheer amount of brilliant emotion that is bottled up inside of her. It’s so impossible for me to believe that anyone can handle that much emotion; no wonder it’s finally bubbling to the surface. 

“I could tell you everything,” she says softly. “I was wrong about you, you know. I can tell, Joey. I can tell you’re the same good person you always were.”

Her words reassure me more than she could ever know.

“But it isn’t about you,” she continues. “If I told you, and you helped me get through this, it wouldn’t change anything. I would still be depending on someone else. I’d be depending on another guy, and that sickens me, Joey. I know you wouldn’t hurt me, but I can’t keep telling myself that, because people hurt people, whether they mean to or not, and I just can’t take it anymore.”

There it is again—the same wisdom she always had, but magnified by a thousand and mixed with an unfathomable sadness that makes it utterly heartbreaking.

“I don’t want your help,” she says softly as she wipes her eyes dry. “I can’t.”