My Skylar

Chapter 11
SKYLAR
“Just do it.”
Lizete held my father’s electric shaver but was refusing to turn it on. My new stepmother was the perfect person for this job. We weren’t close enough for it to really affect her like it would my mother, and I couldn’t bear to do it myself. So, a few days after my hair started falling out in chunks, I asked her to meet me in the bathroom.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I said, staring blankly at my father’s outdated pink bathroom tile.
“But you still have a lot of hair.”
“It’s only a matter of days. This way, I can control it.”
She nodded. “Okay, m’ija, whatever you want.” I hated her nickname for me, the Spanish word for daughter. I wasn’t her daughter. I had to give her credit, though. When she married my father, she hadn’t signed up to have a sick teenager living with them. As much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t. She made the best damn arroz con pollo, too.
She clicked a button, triggering the buzzing sound. I saw nothing but her big, fake boobs before closing my eyes as the blade raked over my head. Focusing on the sound, I continued to keep my eyes shut and told myself this was about preserving my dignity and beating chemo to the punch.
It’s just hair.
After a few minutes, a draft blew over my head, and I knew it was all gone.
When the buzzing stopped, Lizete gently placed her cold hands on my scalp. I still refused to open my eyes. “Can you give me a minute alone?”
She patted my shoulders. “Sure, m’ija. Come downstairs when you’re ready, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
I heard the door shut.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…two…two…one.
I opened my eyes. My heart skipped a beat.
It’s just hair…until it’s gone.
I continued to stare into the mirror, hoping that at any moment, the sight of myself bald would get easier to accept. No matter how much you try to prepare yourself for something, you just don’t know how you’ll handle it until it happens. Now, I looked like I had cancer, and the reality of that was hard to take. Pretending that everything was normal would no longer be an option.
I cried for the first time since arriving in New York over two months ago.
Up until this moment, nothing had been unbearable. I had already completed the first cycle of a type of chemo called ABVD. It sounds like a sexually transmitted disease, but the letters represent each of the four different drugs in the regimen. Even getting those toxins pumped into me hadn’t been as bad as losing my hair.
Actually, so far, chemo wasn’t as scary as I’d imagined. To avoid frequent needle sticks in my veins, the drugs were administered right through a port that was inserted under my collarbone.
The nurses always did their best to cheer me up and take my mind off it without trying to make it seem like a bed of roses. They gave me what I needed without feeding me a load of bullshit. They’d have sour candies to help rid the bad taste in my mouth caused by one of the drugs, Adriamycin. They’d also turn the television onto the entertainment channel for me. I could block out what was actually happening by involving myself in reality television and would forever associate treatment with watching the Kardashians. Khemo.
My father would stay with me for the full three hours. Once they administered all four drugs, they’d flush my port, and I was good to go home where I’d try to pretend I didn’t have cancer until the next treatment. Forgetting was easier in the beginning.
I rubbed my fingers along the top of my prickly head now, wondering how I was going to face Mitch looking like this. He was scheduled to visit over Christmas, which was coming up in less than a week. I hadn’t even picked out a wig yet. I wasn’t expecting to lose my hair so fast since I’d managed to make it through the entire first cycle with no hair loss. To have it come out in chunks all of a sudden was devastating because I was starting to hope that maybe I’d get lucky. Now, Lizete and I had plans to visit a wig shop in Bensonhurst tomorrow.
She had left me an assortment of her hats to choose from on my bed. I picked a gray, knit beret, feeling immediate relief when I looked into the mirror after putting it on.
My phone chimed. I grabbed it from my pocket and noticed a text from Mitch.
Just thinking of you. I can’t wait to see you this weekend. How are you doing?
I wanted to tell him that I was miserable and scared about letting him see me without hair, but I didn’t see the point in worrying him when he was so far away.
Skylar: Doing okay. How are you?
Mitch: I miss you. So does Seamus. He hates me because he thinks I’m keeping you away.
Skylar: I miss you too.
Typing those words had made me cry again. I lay on the bed staring up at the textured paint on the ceiling, licking my tears as they fell. I missed him. I missed his smell. I missed home. I missed my life before cancer.
I hugged my stuffed Tigger tightly. With pink walls and white furniture, my room at my father’s house was girly and filled with my old stuffed animals. When my parents first got divorced, I used to take a lot of my toys with me to feel more at home, and most of them were still here.
I could smell Adobo seasoning. Lizete was cooking something.
She called from downstairs. “Skylar?” I cringed at how the ‘r’ in my name always rolled off her tongue. “Do you need anything? Lunch is almost ready.”
My Dad had a meeting and wouldn’t be home until tonight. I wished I were completely alone so that I didn’t have to worry about her catching me crying.
I wiped my eyes and yelled, “Everything’s fine. I’m gonna stay up here for a while and rest.”
It was getting dark out. I shut off the light to take a nap, and it was nearly pitch black in my room.
When my phone rang, I almost didn’t pick up. After a few rings, I reached over and saw that it was Mitch.
“Hi, Mitch.”
“Hey, you.”
A painful longing grew in my chest upon hearing his smooth, deep voice.
I cleared my throat. “What’s going on?”
“This is gonna sound strange. I know you said you were doing okay, but I’ve just had this feeling all day that you weren’t, and to be honest, I’m not doing so hot myself. I needed to hear your voice.”
How did he know? I closed my eyes and knew that if I opened my mouth, he’d hear that I was starting to cry.
I needed to hear your voice, too.
“Skylar? Are you there?”
My voice was shaky. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Are you crying?”
I sniffled. “Yes.”
His tone was soothing, almost a whisper. “Talk to me. What’s making you sad?”
I hesitated, but he’d find out sooner or later. “I had to shave my head today.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just breathed into the phone. “I knew something happened. I just knew it.” He sighed, and his voice lowered. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know it was inevitable. It was just a shock to actually see it all gone.”
“I can only imagine.” He paused. “Listen, have you checked your email? It’s really ironic, but I sent you something this morning. Are you in front of a computer?”
“I can be.”
“I’ll wait.”
I reached for my laptop. When I logged in, I saw that Mitch had sent me a bunch of images of famous people who had shaved their heads for movie roles. The first one was of Natalie Portman, who happened to be his celebrity crush. So, naturally, I hated her. The next was of Demi Moore. Then, there was Megan Fox.
I wasn’t exactly sure of his point. “Wow, this is—”
“You see them?”
“Yeah…”
“What do you see when you look at them?”
“Actually, they don’t look too bad because they’re all beautiful anyway.”
“You think they’re beautiful?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You’re ten times more beautiful, Skylar.”
I could never get enough of hearing him call me that. “Mitch…”
“It might take some getting used to, not having your hair, but in the end, you’re still gorgeous, and you know what I’m gonna think of when I see your bald head?”
You’re never seeing my bald head, buddy.
“What?”
“The fact that the chemo is doing its job, kicking the asses of those cancer cells. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I wasn’t sure if he had practiced this spiel to make me feel better or if he truly meant it. Either way, he had succeeded in brightening my mood.
My lips curved upwards into a smile. “What would I do without you?”
“You’re never gonna find out.”
I heard barking. “Oh no. That’s not…”
“Yup. The barking is back. He hates my guts. He thinks I sent you away.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Hang on.” I heard the cage open, and the barking got louder then Mitch said, “Okay, I’m putting the phone up to his ear.”
“Seamus? It’s me.”
The barking stopped.
I continued talking. “I really miss you. Please be a good boy. Okay? No more barking. Be good for Mitch, and I’ll come home soon. I love you.”
Dead silence.
Mitch returned to the phone. “Friggin’ unbelievable.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Poor baby.”
“Poor baby? Poor me, stuck with a lovesick bird. Do you know he shit on me the other day?”
I laughed harder. It felt good.
“You think that’s funny, huh?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Well, if it’s making you laugh, it’s worth it. That’s gonna be my goal: to make you laugh at least once a day.”
Laughter got the best of me at least a dozen more times that night. Mitch stayed on the phone with me for hours until I fell asleep. I didn’t even remember saying goodbye.
The following evening, not only would I look like I had cancer, I’d feel like it for the first time, too.
***
When it rains, it pours. The next few days were brutal. I had to cancel our trip to the wig shop because I couldn’t stand up without feeling like I was going to throw up. The chemo nausea I kept hearing about had finally caught up with me. From the beginning, I had been taking Zofran, an anti-nausea med., but it didn’t seem to be working for me anymore.
The skin in my mouth also started getting really sore, and I developed mouth ulcers, which went along just great with the vomiting, by the way.
Seeing as though I couldn’t even get out of bed, it was hard for me to answer texts and talk on the phone. Even sitting up to watch television felt impossible.
Mitch called the house phone when I didn’t answer my cell, and my father had to tell him what was going on.
I heard my father’s voice downstairs. “Skylar has terrible nausea, Mitch. She’s not able to come to the phone. I’ll tell her you called.”
He’d be worried, and I hated not being able to explain it myself, but my inability to gather enough energy even to talk to him for a second was a testament to how bad I felt.
After my father hung up the phone, he peeked in on me. “That was Mitch, honey.”
I simply nodded and rolled over onto my side.
“You want some ginger ale?” he asked.
“No.”
“Mom is coming a day early.”
I shook my head in acknowledgement.
My mother normally arrived every Friday night. My Dad and Lizete were cordial to her, and even though Mom was uncomfortable, she tried not to let it show. She’d spend most of her visits in my room, or we used to go out for a little when I was feeling up to it. Then, she’d sleep at her second cousin’s house about ten minutes away.
My phone chimed, and I knew it was Mitch. I needed to know what it said and struggled to reach over to the nightstand.
Your Dad told me. Don’t worry about texting back. I’m here anytime day or night, though. You’re gonna get through this. Counting the days til Saturday.
My already sick stomach was in knots at the thought of him seeing me like this. I’d have to see how I felt, but if my condition stayed the same, there was no way I could let him visit.
Lizete came into the room with some chicken broth. “M’ija, sit up. You have to eat something. You need your strength.”
“I can’t. Just the smell is making me want to vomit again.”
“Please. Just try.”
I knew I needed to have something in my stomach. I sat up and sipped the cloudy broth slowly. It tasted gamey and gross, causing my stomach to rumble, but I forced half of it down.
The nausea kept me up most of that night. Around four in the morning, I started to feel a little better and wished it weren’t too early to call Mitch. He had told me to call anytime, but I didn’t want to wake him a couple of hours before he had to get up for school.
I decided to check facebook instead, even though I vowed to avoid it lately. It was a constant reminder of everything I was missing back home. Mitch had an account but never used it. I saw that someone had tagged him in a post from last night.
Brielle Decker
Watching the new Batman movie —with Mitch Nichols.
My heart started palpitating. Brielle was a girl he dated at one time. I kept staring at the status. Technically, Mitch and I weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but if the cancer hadn’t happened, we would be together. He did say we’d take up where we left off when I was better, but we never clarified exactly what that meant for us in the meantime. He never explicitly said he wasn’t going to date anyone else.
The reality was, girls were constantly after him. I just didn’t expect him to run out with one when he was supposedly so concerned about me.
My stomach was still churning when I picked up the phone and texted him.
Hope you had fun on your movie date with Brielle.
He didn’t respond.
I rolled over and put the covers over my head just as another bad wave of nausea hit. After several minutes, I started to regret sending the text. It wasn’t realistic for me to expect Mitch to stop living for the next six months or more. He would start to resent me. But it was a Catch 22 because the thought of other girls getting to have time with him that would have been mine was impossible to accept. I wasn’t able to handle it like before.
Since I hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, I ended up nodding off around six am.
My ringtone woke me an hour later. It was Mitch. If I didn’t answer, it would bother me all day.
My voice was groggy. “Hello?”
“Thank God you picked up.”
“What is it?”
“I just saw your text. I was asleep when you sent it. That’s why I didn’t answer. We’re on our way to school now and running late. Listen—”
“You don’t need to explain. You have every right to live your life. You can’t wait around while I—”
“F*ck that, Skylar.” His tone was angry. “Listen to me, okay? Last night when I called your house and your father told me how sick you were, I felt helpless. I was pacing my room. I had just wanted to hear your voice. Are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Davey shows up at seven, and I had totally forgotten that I promised him we’d go see the new Batman movie. I told him I didn’t want to go.”
“So, you ended up going with Brielle instead.”
I heard some rustling then Davey’s voice.
“Skylar?”
“Davey?”
“Romeo is taking too long to get to the f*cking point. I showed up last night. He looked like the walking dead. He told me he needed a drink. He was worried sick over you, and I was worried about him. The f*cking bird was barking. I dragged him to the movies, reminded him he’d still have his phone if you called. That bitch happened to be there with her friend. They sat next to us, and she tagged him on facebook. He was checking his phone every five seconds to see if you called, not even paying attention to the movie. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
That was the beauty of Davey. He had no stronger allegiance to either one of us and had no reason to lie. Relief washed over me.
“Thanks. Put Mitch back on the phone.”
It felt like my blood pressure lowered with the return of his voice. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry. This is just so hard.”
“No. I’m the one that’s sorry. Apparently, I never made things clear to you. I’m not interested in anyone else. I haven’t dated anyone since the night we kissed. I thought you already figured that out. I only want you, Skylar.”
My bald head shone in the reflection of the mirror over my chest of drawers, and a tear fell. “I’m only half of me right now.”
“I’d take a half of you over anything else that’s whole in the world.”
I heard Davey in the background. “Dude, get me a band-aid cuz my ears are bleeding.”
I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears. “I miss you. I miss him. I miss home.”
“I might be physically here, but every second of every day, my heart is with you. Please promise me you’re not going to waste the energy you need to get better worrying about foolish things. Talk to me if something is bothering you.”
“Okay. I promise.”
“Just think…in two more days, we’ll finally be together for Christmas.”
***
It had been over two weeks since that conversation. Cancer didn’t get the memo about Christmas and instead of celebrating it with Mitch, I spent it in the hospital.
He was livid because I wouldn’t tell him where I was out of fear he would show up. He finally agreed to stay away only because I told him I needed to be isolated due to the risk of infection. That was a white lie since the doctor had only said not to make close contact with people but that it was okay to be around them.
Mitch had a slight cold, and that was the only thing that kept him from pushing the issue. I just couldn’t bear to let him see me so weak. My weight had plummeted, and on the days when the fever returned, I couldn’t tolerate wearing anything on my head.
It all started the day before Mitch had been scheduled to visit. My fever escalated in the middle of the night, and my oncologist, Dr. Vega, advised my parents to take me to the hospital. Thank God my mother had come early and was with me.
Once admitted, a test showed that my white blood cell count was low. To prevent infection, the doctor on call immediately put me on a drug to help increase cell count along with antibiotics through an IV.
I’d been in and out of the hospital ever since with recurring fevers and had to spend several nights there. They ended up postponing my next chemo treatment, which meant an even longer time before this nightmare would be over.
The worst part was, being stuck in the hospital gave me way too much time to think. The more horrible I felt, the harder it was to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Even though the prognosis with Hodgkins was a promising one, some days I felt like the chemo was going to kill me if the cancer didn’t.
I just wanted to live my life. Was that too much to ask? Even though I had no physical energy, my mind was going at warp speed. I felt paralyzed and became obsessed with doing everything I never had a chance to. I wanted to travel, drive a car, try sushi…and I wanted to have sex with Mitch. That was the big one. I didn’t want to die without knowing what that felt like. I wasn’t ready, but I was scared I’d never have the opportunity.
There was no one I could talk to about it, either. Angie was too young and inexperienced herself, and my mother couldn’t handle talking about sex. I wasn’t comfortable enough with Lizete and worried she’d tell my father.
The irony was, on top of having all of these grown-up feelings, they stuck me in the pediatric cancer unit. The volunteers there—candy stripers—came by constantly to “cheer me up.” Maybe it worked for the ten-year-olds down the hall, but I really could have done without the bullshit. They talked to me like I was five or had a hearing problem. In their defense, my bald head did make me look younger than I was.
After a while, though, I’d had enough. One afternoon, an innocent striper named Fran became the unfortunate recipient of my wrath.
“Hi, Skylar! What a pretty name! How are you doing today? Look what I have here for you. It’s a—”
“Wait a minute. Are you on speed? You asked me how I was doing, but you never waited for a response. You just kept talking.”
“Oh. Well, I—”
“That’s because you don’t really want to know how I’m doing, do you?”
“Of course. I—”
“You do? Well, I have sores in my mouth, bruises on my body, and I look like Elmer Fudd. So, I feel like shit, actually. Meanwhile, my p-ssy is on fire because all I can seem to think about is sex, even though I can’t move. Do you have something to fix that?”
“Um…”
“Maybe some weed?”
Fran had to leave suddenly, and two hours later, a psychologist came to “check on me.”
***
Sometimes, you don’t realize how badly you need something until it appears out of nowhere. A few days after my outburst, someone new showed up outside of my hospital room. At first, I thought she was just another volunteer. She stood in the doorway and looked lost. I thought maybe she was just hesitant to come in because she had heard about my reputation as a “difficult” patient. I soon realized she was lost and hadn’t come to see me at all. For some strange reason, I wished she had.
She looked to be in her early twenties, with long, blonde hair. She was short and skinny but with big boobs and a butt. She looked like a mini Barbie doll with a donkey ass. She was a beautiful piece of the outside world in this stagnant place. I wished she could take me with her wherever she was going when she left.
I felt her energy stronger than most. That usually meant the person was someone I would have a connection with. I didn’t know anything about her, but somehow needed to know her. I also sensed that she, too, had a lot on her mind.
When her eyes met mine, there was no pity in them, just curiosity. I was lonely and didn’t want her to leave. So, I shut the television off and started a conversation with her. I pretended to assume she was one of the volunteers and asked her to come in. I told her I wanted to talk about sex as a test to see how she handled it.
Her name was Nina. Within seconds, she became everything to me.
She sat down and listened as I told her all about Mitch and my fears: being away from him, ultimately losing him and never knowing what it felt like to truly be with him.
Basically, in one hour, I unloaded everything onto her, and she gave me honest, non-judgmental advice.
I told her how scared I was to let Mitch see me in this condition, and she offered to help get me a proper human hair wig and to make me over so that I felt comfortable enough to see him.
Nina couldn’t have truly known how much her showing up that day meant to me. She had given me hope, and just minutes after meeting her, I knew she would continue to be a part of my life forever.
***
Today was the day I’d been dying for and dreading at the same time. Mitch was coming for his first visit since I got sick and lost my hair. My cell count had finally improved, so I was discharged from the hospital last week and resumed chemo yesterday. The next infusion wouldn’t be for another week.
The plan was for Mitch to stay the entire weekend with me at my father’s house, so I prayed for no nausea. As of now, I was feeling decent.
There was a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in!”
Nina was carrying a wig on a Styrofoam head along with some clothing on hangers.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I look…like ass.”
“Well, when we get done, you might still feel like it, but you won’t look like it.”
She put down all of her stuff and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you still scared to see him?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“He just doesn’t have any clue how different I look now. I know he cares about me, but I want him to want me the way he used to.” I closed my eyes and pictured his face. “I love the way he looks at me, Nina.”
Her expression was sympathetic. “I hope you don’t mind, but I happened to mention what you’re going through with Mitch to Jake. I wanted his take on it.”
Jake was Nina’s boyfriend. From pictures, I knew he was a hot, tattooed God of a man. I hadn’t met him yet, but he seemed really down to Earth from how she described him. Seriously, though, he wouldn’t have to say a damn thing and that would have been fine with me, too.
“What did he say?”
“First, he told me that if I lost all of my hair, he’d just have to find something else to grab onto while I went down on him. Then, he proceeded to wonder if I would also lose the hair between my legs, and when I told him yes, he did a little fist pump. When he was finally serious about it, he said under no terms would he find me any less beautiful without hair and said to tell you that if Mitch was into you before all of this, you have nothing to worry about.”
“He sounds like my kind of guy.”
“You have no idea. Why do you think I’ve kept him away from you for so long?” She winked.
“Well, feel free to bring him over anytime…over…under…wherever he’d like me.”
Nina pretended to smother me with a pillow. She knew my sense of humor and wasn’t bothered by it. “We should get started. I have to leave at five, and Mitch will be here in a couple of hours, right?”
“Yup. Let’s check the inventory. Hair?”
Nina lifted the Styrofoam head. “Check.”
“Boobs.”
She reached into a large black duffel bag and lifted the silicone chicken cutlets I asked her to buy me, throwing them at me jokingly. “Check!”
I stuffed them into my bra. “It’s expensive to look cheap, isn’t it? Make up and false lashes?”
Nina took out a floral makeup bag and waved it. “Check!”
“Condoms.”
“You didn’t say—”
“I’m kidding.
“You’d better be. You’re barely sixteen, you little nymphomaniac.”
“Ah…don’t you mean lymphomaniac?
She shook her head. “Skylar, that was bad even for you.”
“In all seriousness…if I wanted to have sex with Mitch, wouldn’t you support me?”
She hesitated. “I would, but I’d feel better if you were a little older and if I were sure you were truly ready, not just pushing yourself to grow up too fast out of fear.”
I had no real intention of losing my virginity anytime soon, but I wanted to know that she’d be there for me. “Point taken. Now, get over here and work your magic.”
“I don’t know about magic…”
“You’re transforming a hairless cancer patient into a drag queen in less than twenty minutes. Even Copperfield wouldn’t touch that.”
Nina laughed and helped me get into a simple black sweater dress she let me borrow before starting my makeup. She was by no means an expert beautician, but it was adorable how she pursed her lips and concentrated as she lined my eyes, glued on the lashes and powdered my face.
It started to get dark out, and my nerves kicked in, knowing that Mitch had hopped a late afternoon train and was already on his way.
Nina wouldn’t let me look at myself until she was finished. After she placed the wig on my head, she handed me a mirror.
I looked like a different person. “Wow.”
“Is that a good ‘wow'?"
“Yeah. I mean...I don’t look like Caillou anymore. That’s for sure.”
She grinned. “More like Jessica Rabbit?”
The wig was beautifully made, but once on, it made my scalp hot as hell. The color was also a lot redder than my normal auburn. I did like the smooth, straight style, though. The false lashes brought out the green color of my eyes, but they were too long, and the lipstick was too bright.
I didn’t want to make Nina feel bad, but this definitely wasn’t me. I had to remind myself that I had specifically asked her to make me up like this to distract from the baldness and weight loss.
She looked worried. “Is it too much?”
“You know what? It just needs to be toned down a little. Hand me that tissue.”
I took one out and wiped off most of the lipstick then slowly pulled off the lashes.
I still looked made up, just a little less dramatic. “This is good now. I really do love this wig.”
She smiled as she brushed the hair out. “This is about you being comfortable. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
I’d be happy once Mitch saw me and didn’t run in the other direction.
***
On the subway to Brooklyn. See you in about twenty minutes.
I kept staring at the text from Mitch. That was twenty minutes ago, and he would be here any minute. I wanted to save my energy, so I stayed sitting up on the bed and stared out at the bright moon. The reflection in the window of my newly made-up silhouette triggered mixed feelings.
The doorbell startled me, and I let Lizete answer.
I heard her say, “Nice to see you again, Mitch.”
The front door shut, and butterflies filled my stomach as the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs got closer.
My hands felt clammy, and I breathed in and out one last time.
I was sitting up on the bed with my arms wrapped around my shins when the door slowly opened.
Mitch dropped his giant backpack on the ground and immediately joined me on the bed. He pulled me into a hug and exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for a while. I was afraid to look into his eyes, not wanting to see any change in the way they looked back at me. I just stayed with my eyes closed, breathing in the smell of his skin that I had been craving.
He said nothing as he continued to hold me. Then, I felt his hand on my chin as he whispered, “Hey, look at me.”
I turned to him and immediately wished I hadn’t. How could it be that while I wasted away these past couple of months, he had grown more stunningly handsome? Those butterflies in my stomach were multiplying by the second as I took in his appearance. He had stubble on his chin, which also seemed more angular. His hair was even more grown out and styled into messy perfection. The same navy hoodie he always wore was now snug, conforming to a more muscular frame. He was turning into a man while I was shrinking.
“Look at you. You look nice,” he said.
“I wanted to look good for you, so I had Nina help make me up, but it doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right.”
“None of…this? What are you talking about?”
“You looking like you just stepped out of GQ and me looking like…a crack whore.”
His smile faded. “Skylar, come on. You’re being a little tough on yourself, don’t you think? Look at what you’ve been through. You look amazing.”
“For a cancer patient? That’s not saying much.”
I stood up off of the bed and must have risen too fast. A feeling of dizziness came over me, and I had to grip the dresser to balance.
He jumped off the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I got up too fast. I feel really nauseous all of a sudden. I think I’m going to throw up. You should go downstairs, Mitch. You don’t want to see this.”
“I just got here. I’m not leaving you.”
I hated this. I couldn’t even last five minutes without an outburst and a bout of nausea.
That was the last thought I remembered having before seeing stars and dropping to the floor.