So I stopped moving altogether. The flies were still there, moving in perfect formation. Maya came back from the copy room a few minutes later and asked me why I was keeping so still. I told her I was studying, but really I was just concentrating on not acting weird. Ian was still watching me.
Then out of nowhere, I felt like I needed to run. Part of me knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help it. I was convinced that I had to run, so I got up and sprinted toward the rows of desks near the reference section and tripped on an uneven piece of carpet and snagged my hand on the edge of a bookcase. It took a pretty big flap of skin off my palm. Enough to look pretty gruesome. Blood gushed all over the floor, and Maya screamed when she saw it. Her face turned white. I think that was the most shocking thing. She screamed in the library. And then started crying.
I’d never seen her cry like that before, like she was scared, and the scary thing is that I liked that she lost control for me. Yes, that makes me a creep and a bad person, but isn’t this stupid diary supposed to reflect me as I am? Truthfully? So yeah, I like that she cried because I got hurt. If that makes me a creepy bastard, then that is what I am.
The librarian made a pretty big scene, too, which drew everyone else’s attention to the puddle of blood soaking through the carpet.
“I can drive you to the hospital,” Ian said, appearing at my side. The librarian looked at him with a soft expression, and I wondered how much of the staff he’d duped into believing that he was a decent human being. How could she miss the hungry expression on his face? That obsessive need for information. Of course he wanted to drive me to the hospital, but there was no way I was going to let that happen. Luckily, Maya stepped in just in time so I didn’t have to say anything.
“Thanks, but not necessary,” Maya said, her cheeks a little pale. “I’ll take him.”
The librarian’s expression indicated that Maya’s rejection of Ian’s courteous offer was a bit rude, but after assuring her that we’d be able to get to the hospital on our own, we rushed out of the library. I heard people whisper and could feel Ian’s eyes on my back as we got out of there. Douche bag.
“Why did you start running?” Maya asked, trying to keep her voice calm as she fumbled for her keys.
“Because I’m an idiot,” I said, hoping that was a good-enough explanation. She looked at me like it wasn’t, but she didn’t say anything else as we got into her car. My hand was throbbing.
She had her dad’s minivan that day, so she drove me to the emergency room, where we were met by my hysterical mother. Her expression oscillated between concern for me and concern that she might inadvertently say something about my illness in front of Maya.
I told her it was just a cut and that I’d just tripped in the library, but I could feel the questions burning because nobody gets hurt in a library. Seriously.
Once a doctor showed up to stitch up my hand, I sent Maya home. She looked like she wanted to barf, but instead she kissed me, right in front of my mom, and raced out the door without looking back. My mom had the grace to wait until Maya was gone before she whistled.
Paul showed up two seconds later, his lips pursed tight in a thin line. He clapped his hand on my back and had a silent conversation with my mom while the doctor stitched me back together. Paul didn’t seem to do well with blood, either. He immediately sat down in a chair near the door and put his head between his knees.
I ordered them both to wait for me outside, and though Mom looked like she wanted to argue, Paul was able to get her out into the hall.
I saw them through the crack in the blinds. They were speaking quickly, a look of pure determination on my mom’s face. Then Paul did something I’d never seen him do before. He reached forward and put his hand on my mom’s stomach. She stopped talking midsentence when Paul’s face split into a wide grin.
They looked happy, and I turned away to watch the doctor finish the last stitch, because it felt like their moment.
Maybe it’s time to increase the dosage again.
When we got home, my mom and I had a long talk about what happened and what it might mean. Paul sat quietly, chiming in every so often to offer an opinion or agree with my mom. That’s the nice thing about Paul. He knows how to have a serious discussion with someone without putting them down. It’s nice to watch him talk to people. I guess that’s why he’s a good attorney. Anyway, it was decided that we’d talk about increasing my dosage.
I still played tennis with Dwight on Monday. It’s my left hand, so I’m fine. He’d already asked me at school how I’d hurt it, but he didn’t seem satisfied with any of my answers.
“So tell me again why you were running in the library?” he asked.
“Because I’m an idiot,” I said.
“Yes, I know, but seriously,” he said.
“I just felt like running.”
“In the library?” he asked.
“Yes. In the library.” He looked at me funny for a minute and then shrugged. Sometimes I wonder how much Dwight notices about me when we’re together. Once in a while I feel like he sees me do something slightly off, but he never says anything. He just lets it slide. Part of me wishes I could tell him. The rest of me thinks that’s a bad idea.
You asked what I thought about being a big brother. I haven’t had time to really think about the baby as a real person yet. I guess I just hope that the kid doesn’t mind that I’m messed up.
DOSAGE: 3 mg. Recommend an increase in dosage. Not yet approved.
JANUARY 23, 2013
Caaaaan’t sleep. Again.
It sucks when you can’t sleep. It should be the easiest thing there is. I mean you just have to lie there and let it happen to you, but still it dances just out of reach. It’s been like this since I was little, but it got worse when I was diagnosed.
But then, this is a common complaint among my people. We can’t sleep, because if we do, the government agents plotting to kill us will slip into our bedrooms and modify the tiny metal chip they’re using to track our thoughts.
In my case, the insomnia is a symptom of the drug. Sometimes it makes sleeping feel like a chore, which is a drag because I love to sleep.
Which brings me to the reason I missed school on Monday. Instead of sleeping on Sunday night, I made muffins, cookies, two pies (apple and blueberry), and lemon bars—mostly because my room had been too crowded and noisy. Even Rebecca looked uncomfortable with everyone in there.