Ruin (8 page)

“Nice.” He nods, taking the final bite of his sandwich. He stuffs his mouth with it until it can barely close, and he chews with half his mouth open, but I don’t mind. It kind of makes me laugh because it doesn’t fit, and he still tries.

“Well,” he continues after swallowing, “at least you’ll have plenty of time to explore the hospital.”

I shrug.

“
And
for me to entertain you.” He wriggles his eyebrows up and down.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth. Oh lord, this guy. I’m sure I haven’t seen the last of him.

And I’m sure he’s going to be a handful.

“See you around,” he says, winking as he gets up from his seat and chucks his plastic wrapper in the bin next to the table.

Then he saunters off with his hands tucked in his pockets, whistling a tune that reminds me of a catchy song resting on the tip of my tongue.

He has this air about him.

A kind of swagger in the way he walks that I haven’t seen before. It’s not arrogance but confidence. And a type of easiness you miss once you’re alone again.

And then I realize … I didn’t even ask for his name.

Maybell

I take off my shirt as the nurse turns on the shower. She helps me pull off the pants and underwear, stripping me of everything until I’m naked right in front of her.

That’s one thing no one ever tells you about hospitals. You always need help, and that includes all the dirty things. Nothing’s secret anymore. Not here.

To me, it feels wrong. Like I’ve been robbed of everything that makes me human. My dignity. My naked self used to only be for me.

Now, it’s for any nurse who needs to help me pee, get undressed, or in this case … shower.

Not that they care. I mean they see so many naked bodies a day that it doesn’t faze them anymore. But that’s them … It isn’t me.

To them, I’m just another patient. Just another number in the total amount of people they need to take care of today.

“Let’s get you wrapped up,” the nurse says as she grabs a plastic bag and pulls it over my leg. As the wound hasn’t completely healed yet, we have to keep it from getting wet. It’ll have to be kept away from water for about a week. After that, I can slowly start washing it with a warm cloth again.

“All done.” The nurse smirks as she puts the final piece of tape on top, making sure the plastic isn’t going anywhere.

I lean back on the small stool and let my hair soak underneath the water. It feels so good to finally feel the water running over my skin again. I close my eyes and let the warmth envelop me. Even though I’m not fully under, it’s more than what I’ve had until now with those cloths. At this moment, I can forget that I’m going to be disabled for a while. That I’ll need assistance wherever I go. And I can even forget about the nurse being here, if only just for a second.

The nurse hands me another cloth, and I pour my familiar shower gel on it, the smell reminding me of home. I comfort myself with the thought that I’ll be there again soon, even if I don’t know when ‘soon’ truly is.

I wash my hair and enjoy the water rushing along my face, laughing as the nurse almost trips over my pants. She picks up my dirty clothes and says, “I’ll grab some new ones for you, okay? You can use the red wire if you need help.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say as she leaves.

Finally, some time alone.

I sit and close my eyes again, just listening to the sound of the water clattering on my skin. There, I can finally breathe without feeling constricted. In and out. As long as it takes to open the faucets to my heart. Tears mingle with the water until I can’t separate the two anymore.

When the door opens, I brush them away and pretend there’s water in my eye.

“Here’s a new shirt and pants.” She places them on the counter close to the sink.

“Thanks,” I say, and I turn off the water. “Could you hand me a towel?”

“Of course.” The nurse leaves and quickly comes back with two of them, handing one to me so I can do my hair.

She helps me dry my back and my leg while I do my private parts. It’s difficult reaching everything now that I have limited movement. I never realized how time-consuming it is to do regular stuff when you’re not able to do it on your own anymore.

When I’m completely dry, she helps put on my underwear and pants, while I do my shirt, and then she holds my arm as I slide back into the wheelchair, making sure I don’t slip on the wet floor. “All done?” she asks, quickly checking the room.

I grab my shower gel and shampoo off the rack. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll get you back to your room.” She turns the wheelchair and pushes it out the door. I feel like a passenger in a car, while other people decide where I go, how I get there, and how fast. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being in control.

She drives me into my room and helps me onto the bed, where I immediately grab my laptop. I feel better today, so I’ve decided I’m going to do what I haven’t done in ages—write a story. Maybe, if I write long and hard enough, it can even become as big as a book.

I smile to myself as the nurse leaves, and I grab my earplugs so I can listen to some music while writing. I almost always have music on wherever I go. Even if it’s just a short shopping trip, I need the music to stay calm. It keeps me focused on my goal, and it helps me forget about all the other people around me.

I get nervous a lot.

Like now, when a familiar guy stands in my doorway.

“It’s you …” I pull my earplugs out of my ears.

“Hey there,” he says, as he casually saunters in. “How you doing?”

“Better, I guess. They took me off the morphine today. I still have some medicine, but at least I’m not so drowsy anymore.”

“That’s good! Although I’ll probably miss the doped-up girl.” He sniggers.

“Ha-ha …” I throw him a scowl. “But what are you doing here?” That came out way more blunt that I intended. I always talk like I’m angry even when I’m not. Something about my intonation always makes me sound like a bitch, even when I’m not trying to be one. Just another perk of having Asperger’s.

“Oh, just checking up on you … Seeing if you needed some help.” His shoulders rise and fall as his brows do the same, making me squint.

“Help with what?” I say.

He sits down on a stool in the corner opposite of my bed. “Anything. Or if you need entertainment.”

I snort a little. “Right. Because you’re Mr. Entertainment.”

“Exactly.” He winks, and somehow, it makes me blush.

For some reason, it’s hard to look away too.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Alexander Wright.”

I smile. “Maybell Fairweather.”

“Hmm … Maybell … nice name.”

“Thanks.” I blush.

I don’t know why or what it is about him, but he has this gentleness about him that soothes me and makes me want to ask him to stay, even if I don’t have a reason for it.

But then I realize it’s not the only reason I’m looking at him.

Something’s felt off since we met, and I couldn’t put my finger on it, but now, I can.

“Wait …” I mutter. “I know you, right?”

“Yeah, I’m that guy who ate a sandwich with you the other day. You don’t remember? Should I call a nurse?” He chuckles.

I roll my eyes. “No. I mean …” I recognize him from somewhere. “I know you from … school, right?”

His eyes suddenly widen, and he slams his lips shut.

HA!
I knew he looked familiar. “No way! I knew it.”

The muscles in his face tighten. “Oh, boy.”

“I’ve seen you at school a few times.”

“Really?” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah … don’t tell me I’m making this up. I’m not crazy … right?” I pout.

He smiles, his dimples making me wanna pinch his cheeks. “No, you’re not crazy. It’s just a surprise that you’d even recognize me. People usually don’t even see me. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah?” I bite my lip and frown. “Same here.”

He lowers his arm. “No … you’re not invisible at all,” he says, looking at me with half-mast eyes. “I see you. All the time.”

***

Alexander

Before I know it, I’ve already blurted it out.

I really did say that out loud, didn’t I?

Fuck.

I want to smack myself, but that would be too obvious. But damn if I didn’t feel the redness creeping onto my cheeks. Fuck. This is embarrassing.

Is she going to freak out? Call me a stalker? A creep? I wouldn’t blame her; she’s right.

But no, she smiles instead.

She actually smiles.

I can’t believe it.

I smile back and then she resumes tapping away on her keyboard. I cock my head to see what she’s doing, but the screen angle doesn’t allow it. However, when her eyes rise to meet mine and her brow lifts, her fingers stop. That’s when I know she’s caught me snooping.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

Now, her fingers are twirling through her hair, creating knots and intricate twists that she seems to enjoy touching. I wonder why she does that. Regardless, it makes me smile.

I counter her question with another. “What are
you
doing?”

She rolls her eyes and stops twirling her hair, immediately continuing with typing on her laptop. “Writing.”

“Writing what?”

“A book.”

I frown. Wow. I didn’t know she wrote books. “Can I see?”

“No.” She grabs her laptop and closes the screen when I try to peek from the side.

“Aw, c’mon,” I say.

“No, it’s not finished.” She tucks the laptop into a small compartment of her bedside stand.

“So? I can read the end later.”

She squints. “Why are you so interested?”

I shrug. I don’t have an answer besides the fact that I’ve always been interested in her. But I can’t tell her that, so I settle for something else. “Because I’m supposed to be.”

“Oh. Right. Because it’s your
job
.” She makes quotation marks with her fingers.

“It is, actually. I’m not just here for helping … I’m also here to talk to patients.”

“Well … I don’t wanna talk.” She looks away at the window; her face contorted as she bites her lip.

I don’t believe a word of that, but I won’t go against her.

I’m also not gonna leave. Maybe if she asked … maybe not.

I’m here on a mission, and I’m not giving up so easily.

So I grab my bag and take out my paper and pencil set, pulling out one of the drawings I was still working on. It’s a two-story house with a parking garage and fancy sliding doors. Just some random house that I fantasize about. I do it all the time.

I cross my legs and place the paper on the hard cardboard that’s always in my bag, and then I start to draw. It relaxes me, and I usually do it when I need to take a breather. But now … it’s because she’s watching me. Not with wide eyes, but with her head turned away, she still glances every now and then.

“What are you doing?” she asks after a while.

I briefly take a glimpse of her curious face before looking down at the paper again. “Drawing.” I reply the same way she did.

“Can I see?” she asks after a while. I guess curiosity killed the cat.

“No,” I say. Just to mess with her.

Too bad I can’t keep a straight face when I see hers getting all worked up. So I grin, which only gets her more worked up. Her face is all scrunched up, and I love it. But I know she doesn’t.

So I turn the paper around and hold it up for her to see.

“Oh, wow. That’s so cool,” she says, unfolding her arms. “How do you do that?”

“I just draw a lot. Plus, I’m kind of studying in this direction.”

“Awesome.” She smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that could win a thousand hearts. I just wish her own smile could make her as happy as it makes me when I see it.

“So you want to become an architect?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “Yeah.” The way she looks at my drawing makes me feel proud as a lion.

“Those courses must be tough, right?”

“Hmm, what?”

“The courses at the university,” she adds.

“Um …” I frown. It’s a bit embarrassing to talk about this. “I’m not actually in college or university. Yet.”

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” I smile to try to defuse the situation.

“So what are you doing now then?” she asks.

I know she only wants to know more about me, and even though her questions sometimes really come off as an interview, I don’t mind. “After I dropped out of high school, I wasn’t doing much until I started volunteering here.”

“Dropped out? I thought you’d graduated.” She licks her lips and makes a face. “Sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“There are a lot of things people don’t know about me …” I mutter.

Fuck, I did it again. I killed the fucking atmosphere. Saying stupid shit really is my thing.

Quick. Think of something.

“What are the things people don’t know about you?” I ask her, hoping I can dodge the awkwardness.

“Oh …” She gazes up at the ceiling, pondering about it for a second.