Under My Skin (19 page)

The corridor is crowded, full of employees, visitors, and patients. We’re boulders in the stream of bodies. They break against us, twisting sideways and side-stepping like swirling currents.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He laces his fingers with mine. “Living life.”

The emptiness inside shrinks a bit. “I don’t understand.”

“I said I’m
supposed
to wear a mask and carry my pillow. I didn’t say I wanted to. I’d rather be with you.”

His proper accent tickles me. I try to steady my breathing and fail. “It could be dangerous.”

“That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

My heart jitters, high on his touch, his warmth, and his bright gaze. I hurt him, but he didn’t lecture me on how I should think before I speak. He didn’t yell. He didn’t break.

He stayed.

I squeeze his hand. “Sometimes I say dumb things.”

“Me too.”

“Sometimes I ruin things.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“That makes you pretty dense.”

“Would this be an example of saying something dumb?” His tongue finds his lip ring again.

“Funny.” I give him a half-smile.

He takes the lead, holding fast to my hand. We make our way outside. Though it’s chilly, the sun’s brightness makes me happy.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? Adam is holding my hand. He’s breaking whatever rules he’s
supposed
to be following to be with me. It could be a blizzard and I’d still be ecstatic.

“Where should we go?” he asks.

“There’s a park around the block.”

“Ace.”

My heart does another somersault. One word and the kid’s got me crushing on him harder than ever.

More people visit the park today. The lack of rain must have something to do with it. A couple sits on the bench Shaw and I had huddled on. Fine with me. I’d rather find someplace new to share with Adam.

Past the pond behind a group of trees, we find it. A swing set.

“When was the last time you swung?” I ask, sitting on the plastic seat. I hold onto the chains.

Adam settles into the swing next to me, but sits still. “I don’t know, maybe when I was five.”

I kick off my feet and pump my legs. “I always loved this feeling. Sort of like flying.”

“Careful.”

I slow down a bit. “Do you see everything as a risk?”

He scuttles in the track like a crab crawling on the ocean floor. “I’ve been sick a long time, Darby. It’s not so easy for me to jump into things as it is for you.”

I let the swing come to a stop. “You sound so much older than most kids our age.”

“Sometimes I feel it.”

“Well, I can make you feel young again.” I swing, ignoring the tension building in my shoulders.

He works his lip ring with his tongue.

I imagine what it’d be like to kiss him. On the mouth, not his cheek. I could hop off this swing, throw my arms around him, and suck on that piercing until he melted. On the other hand, I’d probably shock him so much his freshly operated on heart might trip all over itself.

Down Darbs, down. One step at a time. Start with something light and work your way up. “This is a judgment free zone, right?”

He angles his face toward me. The sunlight catches him just right. “Absolutely.”

“Then we can say anything we want to each other, no pressure.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay, then. Try this one on for size. You have the most unique eye color I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes widen, but his mouth curves up at the corners. “Yeah?”

I stand and move in front of him. “Definitely.”

He tips his head back, not that I’m much taller even with him sitting. “Most people think they’re light brown. Boring.”

I hook my index finger under his chin and lean closer, making sure not to block the light. “They’re so much more than that. I see brown, gold, green, and blue. They’re beautiful.”

He blinks, but doesn’t shy away. “You see a lot.”

“I … paint. I’m an artist.”

A spark of curiosity flickers in his gaze. “What do you paint?”

I trace my fingers along his jaw and cup his cheek with my palm. “I like contrast and the way things blend when there’s conflict. I smoosh opposites together and let the paint sort out the details.”

He covers my hand with his. “Juxtapose.”

“Huh?”

“Putting things close together.”

“My, my, your vocabulary is showing.”

He blushes. It’s so sweet that my stomach grows warm and tingly.

I have to take a step back to stop myself from locking lips with him right here and now. But I don’t want to ruin this moment with rushing things.

Huh. Me, hesitating.

That’s new.

* * *

Instead of going directly to my room after Adam and I return from our walk, I wander the hospital, searching for a quiet corner. I finally find a chair next to the outpatient pharmacy. It’s closed now, so no one is waiting for a prescription.

I’d rather hang out with Adam, but he’s expecting his parents around dinnertime, so we decided to part ways. It’s okay. For now. In the meantime, I can plan my next series of paintings.

I immerse myself in the contrast of Adam’s eyes. The way the sunlight highlighted them. How a cloud shadowed them. I hope I can capture his raw emotion. Sincere, sensitive, and shy, but also quiet and steady. More contrast.

Footsteps approach. An employee—I can tell from the scrubs and name tag—stands over me. She peers over her wire-rimmed glasses to look down at me. “You can’t sit here.”

“Why not?”

Her gaze lands on my wristband. “You’re a patient? You should go back to your room.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

Mom is staring at my painting when I return to my room. Her profile is backlit by the window and she’s covering her mouth with a hand, so I can’t read her expression.

I don’t think she heard me arrive. It’d be so easy to turn around and walk away. On the other hand, I’ve got to talk to her sometime.

“Why are you here?” I ask. It’s as good an opening line as any.

She startles. “I didn’t hear you.” She points to the painting. “Did you do this?”

“Who else would do it?”

“
Darby
.”

I tuck my hands into my sweatshirt sleeves. “I worked on it this morning.”

“It’s beautiful. All the colors. Did you make this up, or is it someone’s eye?” Mom—the detail person. She probably thinks she’s showing interest by asking me about my art, but I think explaining a painting anchors it, chains it to reality, and prevents it from just being.

“Actually, it’s a boy’s eye.”

“From school?”

“No. From here.”

She circles the bed. “The hospital?”

I move to avoid her. “Yeah. His name’s Adam and he’s a patient. We met at physical therapy.”

“Really?” Shock clips her question.

“Surprised that someone would want to talk to me?”

She slaps her thighs with her hands. “No, Darby, but I
am
surprised that you went to PT. Doctor Wong tells me you haven’t been compliant with your treatment here.”

Oh, gee, I’m in trouble again. I fluff my pillow. “The therapist totally ignores me. What am I supposed to do, sit there and do nothing?”

“She has more than one patient.” Mom logic. No point in arguing.

“Whatever.”

“Right, whatever. If something doesn’t go your way, your response is to push it aside and ignore it.” She fiddles with her bead necklace—her own creation. Creativity is something I inherited from her. She works with jewelry and I work with paint. My mouthiness, on the other hand, is from my dad. The dyslexia … well, that’s pure Darby.

“Fine, I promise to do my exercises then.”

Mom crosses her arms. “Doctor Wong has decided to discharge you. She says you can do outpatient physical therapy and follow up with her at the clinic.”

I gape at her. “That’s news to me. When was the doctor going to tell me, the patient? Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t tell me you want to stay here.” Mom gestures to the room.

I don’t, but … “It’s better than home.”

Her face falls. The weight of dealing with me, the snarky, non-compliant, bad twin, must be unbearable. “You can’t mean that.”

“It’s obvious you don’t want me there. How many days has it been since you’ve visited? Have you buried Daniel without me? I bet the whole town showed up.” My heart shivers at the thought of missing Daniel’s funeral. Then again, I don’t think I could’ve handled it anyway. “Is he in the ground?”

Mom nods. “Yes. We thought it’d be easier for you to focus on healing.”

“Thanks for giving me the choice.”

“You kicked us out. Honestly, I don’t understand you at all.”

“I’ll try to make better sense from now on.” I pick at a pastel giraffe appliqué (surprise, the mural isn’t painted at all, but is a bunch of stickers glued on the wall).

Mom huffs. She yanks open the closet door, drags the duffle bag from the top shelf, and starts stuffing my clothes inside.

“What’re you doing?”

“Packing. You’re coming home tonight.”

I scramble to her, tweaking my neck in the process. Jolts of electric fire scream down my arms. My head swirls. I retreat to the bed. “Whoa.”

Mom drops the bag and rushes over. “What happened?”

I’d shoo her away, but the idea of moving right now brings a fresh layer of sweat to my skin. “Nothing. I twisted my neck wrong.”

She sits next to me. “You have to be careful.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I think your emotions erupt from you like lava and then you act without thinking.” She rests her hand on my knee.

I study her hand, the fine wrinkles in her skin, her flawless French manicure, and the amber ring on her middle finger. I’ve always admired her hands. They’re so graceful, clean, and delicate. The opposite of me. “I’m a volcano.”

“Sometimes.”

I bite my lip.

“You could use your fire for so much more productive things than fighting.”

I try not to groan. “
Mom
.”

She pats my thigh. “Your father’s coming soon. He’ll bring your art supplies to the car. Want to help me pack?”

If I leave tonight, I’ll never see Adam again. I don’t have his number, address, email, nothing. This can’t be happening. I can’t let someone else leave my life. I refuse to let it.

Mom goes back to packing.

When I can feel my toes again, I stand up gingerly and take a few steps toward the door. No zaps, thank goodness. At the doorway, I say, “I have to say bye to Adam.”

I’m down the hall before Mom can say anything. She can chase me if she wants, but nothing’s going to stop me.

This volcano is erupting.

Adam

Doctor Jervis stops by after dinner. His scrubs are wrinkled and his face bears the lines of wearing a surgical mask for hours on end. Today, his surgical cap has racing flames on the sides instead of skulls. At least he has a theme.

Mum and Dad greet him like the god he is with double-fisted handshakes and bursting smiles.

“How’s our young patient?” Dr. Jervis unwinds his stethoscope from his neck and motions for me to lift my shirt. “Let’s have a listen.”

I pull my t-shirt off, exposing my scar. A puffy, red line marks the center of my chest, puckered by black sutures. Underneath lays my treasure, my new heart.

Dr. Jervis presses the stethoscope to my skin. Mum and Dad huddle at the end of my bed, gazes locked onto the doctor’s every move.

After listening to my heart, Dr. Jervis slaps on a pair of gloves and gingerly prods the wound. “Any pain, trouble breathing, shortness of breath, dizziness, black outs?”

“No.” Not since the day I snuck out for coffee and fell off the treadmill.

“You use the pillow?”

“Yes.” It lies next to me on the bed, so I pat it like it’s a dog. My companion.

“Taking your meds, wearing a mask in public?”

Quick questions means I can give simple answers. It’s the one thing I like about surgeons. Other than the life-saving operations they do, of course. “All the time.”

Mum and Dad nod in agreement, eager to please him.

“Ricky says you’re progressing quite nicely in PT. Feels good to have a functioning heart, doesn’t it?” Jervis pats my shoulder, all atta-boys and look-what-I’ve-done-for-you.

“Can I put my shirt back on?” I ask.

“Sure,” Dr. Jervis says.

Mum grips the foot of the bed with both hands. “What happens next, doctor?”

“Since Adam’s doing so well, I think we can plan for discharge. We’ll do one more biopsy tomorrow to check for rejection—I doubt there is any—and once he wakes up, you can take him home.” He rubs his hands together. It’s a done deal.

“That’s wonderful, doctor. Thank you. For everything.” Dad extends his hand for another shake.

Jervis gladly accepts it. “No problem. It’s what I do.”

After Jervis leaves, Mum skirts around the bed and hugs me. “Isn’t that fantastic news? You’re coming home tomorrow.”

I immediately think of Darby and the excitement that charges through me when I’m with her. My new heart skips right along with me. But if I’m discharged, we can’t share ice cream in the cafeteria or sneak away to the park or commiserate about being stuck in the hospital.

Or kiss.

I bite my lip ring to suppress the smile that wants to burst across my face. Next time, I’m going to kiss her first.

If there is a next time.

My stomach folds into knots.

I
must
get her number or email before I leave.

Mum keeps squeezing me. “I’ll make your favorite dinner. Then we’ll pop popcorn, veg on the couch, and watch movies. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, great,” I mumble. All I can think about is shrugging out of her grip and dashing to the Pediatric floor.

Dad frowns. “You don’t look excited.”

Mum peers down at me. “What’s wrong?”

I try to animate my face. Make it look like I’m happy. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just surprised … shocked. Didn’t think I’d be leaving so soon.”

“You didn’t think you’d be here forever, did you?” Dad chuckles. “I thought you’d be chomping to get out of here.”