The Problem with Forever

“I’m scared of everything,” I admitted, voice hushed. “Everything. My biggest fear is forever. That I will be like this forever.”

He cursed. “That bastard did this to you. The way he treated you—”

“He treated you the same and you didn’t turn out this way.”

“I’m not perfect, Mouse. None of us are, but damn, I hate hearing you say this stuff, because I...” His sigh came through the phone, sounding bone-weary. “I don’t know how to make that better.”

Neither did I.

And maybe...maybe it wouldn’t get better. Rider had said nothing lasted forever, but some things, some scars, ran too deep to ever fade away.

Chapter 28

Wednesday evening Ainsley messaged me on the computer.

You there, stranger?

I sent a quick yes. I’d barely talked to her since my party fail, too wrapped up in my own head to appreciate the stream of increasingly outrageous IMs she’d sent in the days that followed. Since that night I’d felt itchy and uncomfortable in my skin. I wanted to shed the layers but didn’t know how or where to even start.

The feeling had lingered through the beginning of the week. I couldn’t remember what was covered in class. Keira had asked about the party on Monday, and I’d lied, saying I’d come down with something. I knew Rider worried. We’d spent a few hours together after school on Wednesday, and I felt like I’d taken several steps backward. I was hyperaware of everything I did and said, which meant I said and did very little as we walked the Harbor. Rider watched me like he was afraid I’d break down at any given moment, which was probably what he expected. He only held my hand and kissed me on the cheek when he left for the garage and work.

I’d stayed in my room since I got home, carving away at a new piece of soap. I couldn’t touch the butterfly. It sat on the desk, half-transformed. Nothing I’d created with the new bars of soap looked right. I couldn’t get the petals right on the bloomed rose. I’d accidentally broken the ear off the bunny I’d been working on, and the cat looked like something out of a Tim Burton film but not as interesting.

I wasn’t concentrating. I couldn’t concentrate. Maybe Ainsley could distract me. A new IM appeared.

Can I call you? I know you hate talking on the phone, but I want to call.

I straightened, frowning. For Ainsley to actually call meant something was up. Something more than just my not being in the mood to IM all week. Of course, I typed, and my phone rang a few seconds later.

“I know phones aren’t your thing, but I just... I need someone to talk to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re my best friend and I’m—” Her voice caught, and my chest squeezed. “I’m just really freaking out.”

“Is...is it Todd?” I asked, moving my laptop out of my lap and onto my pillow.

Her laugh was cutting. “No. I wish it was just about him.”

I folded my arm across my stomach. “What...what is going on?”

Ainsley’s deep breath was audible through the phone. “You remember how I had to go to the eye specialist—a retina specialist? Because of what the doctor saw when I was getting checked out for new glasses?”

“Yeah, I...I remember.”

“Well, I saw the specialist this afternoon and I...I don’t even understand. I really just thought he was going to say something like you have crappy eyesight or you have a mole on your eye. Did you know you can have moles on your eyes? You can.”

“I didn’t know that.” I chewed on my lower lip. “What did the...specialist say?”

“They dilated my eyes and then checked the pressure in them. It was a little higher than normal but not a big deal. Then they took images of my eyes—you know, when you have to stare at the X on the screen? And then they did another series of tests that were X-rays, I guess. They put iodine in me and then flashed all these lights in my eyes while they took pictures. It was really weird and it changed my vision to red and then blue for a few seconds.” She took another deep breath. “And then the specialist finally came in and examined my eyes.”

Ainsley cleared her throat before continuing. “He sat on his little stool, took off this head contraption that reminded me of something miners would wear, and he...he said he was pretty sure I had this thing called retinitis pig-ma-something-tosa, but he needed to schedule a field vision test to be sure. He also said there was swelling in my eyes. And I was like okay, so what do we have to do?”

“Okay.” I clutched the phone tight.

“And he said for the swelling he was going to prescribe eye drops. Some kind of steroid. He made it sound like the swelling was pretty serious. Something called macular edema or something and that if the veins or something ruptured, it would be real bad.”

Oh my gosh. “But the...the drops will help with that?”

“Yes.” Ainsley’s voice sounded strained. “I asked him how he was going to treat the retina thing and he said there wasn’t anything he could do about that. There was no cure. And I was like okay, not a big deal, because I’ve always had less than perfect eyesight, but he was looking at me like he felt bad for me, and I didn’t get it.”

I had a really bad feeling about this.