I’m thankful to get to talk about something other than the situation with Heather. “You deserve all the happiness, Owen. I can’t wait to meet your daughter.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait. I’m excited. I thought my opportunity had passed.”
“I hope to have what you have one day, Owen. That’s the kind of happiness I want to have one day.”
“I have a feeling you will sooner than you think,” he says, as we climb the last step.
I hope so.
There’s a deep-sated fear in my wounded chest that I’m not going to be able to share the happiness I naturally feel for life with someone.
I’ll be alone because I’m good at it.
That’s a problem, especially when I want it to be the thing I’m the worst at.
Eight
Heather
“Can you lie back for me?” the doctor asks, a kind, yet sad smile on her face when she’s realizing what she’s asking of me.
I wrap my arms around my waist and take a deep breath. I shake my head, trying to convince myself it’s okay because she’s here to help.
“Take your time. It’s okay. I’m not here to rush you, Heather. We have plenty of time.”
I never want to spread my legs again.
My stomach churns and as I look at the window to find some serenity, I notice the new day is beautiful, but I still feel the same. Can the doctor help with that?
She’s nice, older, with long blonde hair that’s turning silver from age. Her eyes are a warm brown and she barely has wrinkles on her face. I can tell I’m not the first case like this that she has seen with how she is staring at me. It isn’t with pity or judgement, but empathy. Her patience means more to me than she will ever know.
“Do you want me to give you a minute alone?” Doctor Bradshaw, I think that’s her name, asks.
“No, I’m fine. I just…I’m gathering my thoughts, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Everything you are feeling is completely normal. You should take your time. We can start with the bloodwork first, if you like?”
I nod a bit too eagerly and she gives me that soft grin again. “Excellent.” She pops on a pair of purple gloves and gathers the equipment needed. When she rolls around to my side, she sanitizes the space in my elbow, ties a rubber band around my arm and waits for my vein to plump. “The only thing I’m concerned about right now is any diseases. Don’t stress about it, okay? We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Easier said than done,” I reply with a slight attitude.
“You’re right. I’m not trying to offend you. I apologize.” Gently, she sticks the needle into my arm and the plastic tube starts to fill with red fluid. When the tube is full, she removes it and fills another. She does this three times before she unties my arm, pulls the needle out, and slaps a bandage on. “Okay, I’m going to label these. I’ll be right back,” she says, rolling away in the green stool. When she comes to a stop, she stands, then walks out the door.
I’m alone.
I hate that I’m used to the feeling of loneliness, at least this time, the space isn’t full of harm. I can live with that. I’m waiting for someone to jump out of the corner and tell me this is all fake, that I’m not safe, and the woman taking my blood is some horrible scientist.
God, I’m wacked.
I just want to go back to sleep, then wake up, and start the day over again. I want to be able to handle the situation better but being in this hospital room makes me feel like a victim. I don’t like the feeling embodying me. It’s ominous, sliding over my skin and causing it to crawl. I’m in the basement where the medical equipment is, and it looks just like a floor of a hospital.
It’s creepy.
But I’m thankful not to have to go out in public. If I did, someone would notice me from the picture on tv, report me, and then I’d have to go back home.
I don’t want to go home, but my welcome here at the Cliff House is starting to wear off. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I have a feeling everyone hates me. They have every reason to. Asher is their family and right now, their family feels attacked— in a sense.
I sigh, leaning back in the chair and lay my feet on the stirrups. I throw my arm over my eyes when I remember him using stirrups on me. Jolie said he did that to her too, and I’ll never understand his reasoning. The contraption wasn’t like this one. I can remove my leg from the holster if I want, but in his room, they were metal cuffs that locked around my ankles.