“The what?”
“The other half of the nurses. You said half of them hate me. What about the others?”
Her eyebrow goes even higher. “They want to...” She looks away. “ -- date you.” It’s clear that “date” isn’t what they’d like to do.
I laugh. “What’s their favorite?”
“Silas,” she says, without thinking.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh!” She blushes. “You meant favorite candy.”
My turn to arch that eyebrow.
“Anyhow, Mr. Foster,” she says hurriedly. “I wanted to let you know that Lindsay does react emotionally after your visits.”
I nod, looking back at her room. Lindsay’s eyes are closed, her breathing even.
“Any idea when she can leave the hospital?”
“I can’t share that information.”
I nod. The tiny rectangular window in the metal door to her room has wire mesh between two panes of glass, criss-crossing my view of her.
Do I go back in? Do I just leave? What do I do next? How do I achieve an optimal outcome?
Through the window, I see Lindsay open her eyes and look to the left, then right.
She leans down, uses her good hand, grabs one of the chocolates --
And pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly, eyes closed. I shake my head slowly as I walk away.
Victory comes in so many forms.
Lindsay
“Oh, my God, girl, someone loves you dearly. Are those chocolate creams?” Myles, my nighttime nurse’s assistant, picks up one and sniffs it. It’s eight p.m. and two different nurses have tried to get me to eat another maple cream, but I can’t. Not in front of them.
They left the giant box on my bed tray, though. I’ve had three so far.
Fucking Drew. I don’t want to like them. I don’t want to want them. I don’t want to have volition.
“Maple cream!” Myles squeals. He’s this big Jamaican dude with the best accent and a thousand-watt smile that makes his crazy dreadlocks seem even bigger. His eyes are the color of whiskey, startlingly mellow on his face, with long lashes and a slanted look that makes him seem so chill all the time. So comfortable in his own skin.
Of all the nurse’s assistants, he’s the most gentle, fussing over my arm in the blood pressure cuff, or carefully moving my IV lines so the veins don’t hurt.
I haven’t even been here for four days, but he’s my favorite.
“You know it’s my mission to make you eat one of these in front of me, right? Life’s too short to be stubborn about chocolate. Who brought you these? Your parents? Do they own a candy empire?” he teases, knowing damn well who my parents are. The entire staff had to be vetted.
I just look at Myles, who grabs three creams and crams them into his mouth.
And smiles.
I know what he’s trying to do. He chews and makes a note on a little electronic device, then does all the basics, checking my blood pressure, my temperature, my pulse oxygen, and he offers to walk me to the bathroom.
I shake my head.
Myles pulls a chair next to the bed and reaches for my hand. He catches my eyes. His mouth sets with determination. I’m about to get lectured.
Damn it.
“Listen, Lindsay. I know from your chart and the news and a lot of whispered rumors that what you went through was a crime against humanity. I won’t rehash it, because I see your heart rate climbing already.”
Instinct makes me look at my monitor. He’s right.
“And it’s none of my business -- ”
Right again.
“But -- ”
Here it comes.
“That man loves you. I happened to be working the floor when you were brought in, and one of my friends worked on your man when they brought him in. He’s got a set of bruised organs like an apple got thrown in a clothes dryer.” Myles makes a low whistling sound that makes my stomach clench.
“He’s the kind of man who isn’t going away. You understand that? Men like that don’t give up. Not ever. There’s something in you he loves dearly. He’s not going away.”
I can’t look at Myles anymore, so I turn away. He drops my hand.
“Sorry if I crossed a line. But he calls the nurses’ station every day, checks in with your security team, and I think that if we had a spare room on the floor he’d find a way to live here. You got yourself a good one. Know that.”
I lift my hand and nudge the box of candy toward Myles without looking at him.
“You want me to to take this to the nurses’ station?”
I nod.
He does, without another word.
I breathe slowly, counting to twenty, trying to wash his words out of my mind. He’s right. But it doesn’t matter. Drew’s devotion doesn’t matter. Drew’s persistence doesn’t matter.
None of it actually, materially matters.
Because whatever he sees in me that he loves so dearly – it’s not there.
It can’t be there.
If it’s there, then I have to feel again.
And I’m not putting myself through that pain. I know how this works.
Once I start feeling again, I can’t stop.
And that’s its own form of torture.
I’m naked. Daddy’s announcing his run for the presidency and the audience is filled with a thousand people who look like John, Stellan and Blaine. They’re all holding red, blue and purple balloons. They’re clapping. Grinning, And chanting my name.
“Lindsay! Lindsay!” they shout, the chorus louder and louder as someone nudges me to step on stage. I’m wearing stiletto heels. My calves scream, my thighs shake, and my breasts bounce as I’m shoved, hard, toward Daddy. He’s standing at a podium in the middle of the stage, klieg lights blasting from above, and he has an angry, frozen smile on his face.
“Go out there, Lindsay! You’re embarrassing us!” Mom hisses. I’m on my hands and knees and can hear her from behind me. The room gets cold, a swift gust coming from the crowd. I look up, and all the faces are covered by a gray mist that swirls, turning into demon faces that fade and form, morphing as an ill wind blows.
“Go!”Mom shouts. I turn to look at her, my nude ass pointing her way, and all I see is Nolan Corning.
His face splits into an evil grin.