Wake (95 page)

The devil is five feet tall and carries a suction catheter. She lifts her thumb off the end of the tube and the thing growls at me.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Never toy with someone who is willing to bully you to get the job done, especially when that job involves a hard rubber tube up the nose. I cough and cough until it feels like my lungs are about to explode, and Nurse Kim jokes that I must be five pounds lighter without all that phlegm. This disgusting routine is what my days have been reduced to: cough up phlegm; cough up more phlegm; piss into a sample container;

eat disgusting food; blood draws; more coughing; enjoy exactly four minutes of privacy while shitting;

swallow pill s; nap; contemplate death by boredom.

Mom is with me for most of the day, working from her laptop while I rest. When I’m awake I’m bored and in pain, so I try to sleep a lot. This plan has the added benefit of keeping me rested for when Willa visits after school.

Today she comes in the company of Eric and his Polaroid camera. “You got mail,” he says, and hands me a fat envelope. It’s a get well card from my friends in Seattle, including Celeste.

“You told them I was sick?”

“Cee knew,” he says. “She bought the card and got everybody to sign it.”

Emily left me a cluster of X’s and O’s with her well wishes. Morgan sends me a ‘God bless.’ Eli has drawn a picture of what appears to be a clown and written ‘get well ’ in a speech bubble, like I’m five years old. Caitlin has written:
Alright, now you’re just doing it to get attention. Kidding, we all love you.

Get better.
From Celeste I get a terse,
Feel better soon,
and Ava sends me a whole novel. Most of it is about Willa and I—she’s heard we’re a couple, it seems—and apologies for ‘the incident’ last time we saw each other. I let Willa read it and she seems vaguely amused.

“Was it even good?” I shouldn’t ask such stupid questions.

“She was enthusiastic,” Willa says, and leaves it at that.

Eric snaps a picture.

“Will you knock it off?”

“Nope.” He shakes the picture. “We’ve got to get Willa into the album.” I think my brother has delusions of being an actual photographer, because he directs Willa to pose with me by the bed and snaps a few shots of us together. She just chuckles and goes along with it.

“You don’t have to humor him, you know.”

“Have a little fun.”

Thankfully, Eric eventually stops taking pictures. Willa has brought more soup. While I inhale it she opens the tube of cream on the nightstand and massages it into my calves. I’m going to owe her big time when I get out of here.

“You want a neck massage too?” she says, and winks at me.

“You’re spoiling him,” Eric warns. I stick my tongue out at him. He’s just jealous.

Did I mention Willa has great hands? Small and soft and warm, but strong enough to push through the stiff knots. Her fingers rub from my shoulders to the base of my skul , stretching the muscles. Her thumbs work little circles behind my ears, pushing at the edges of my hat. I just close my eyes and relax into her touch.

Willa turns my head in her capable hands and I smile when her lips touch my cheek. “Open your eyes,”

she whispers. I do, and Eric immediately snaps a picture. Willa helped him set up the shot—had me smiling and everything.

“That’s a nice one,” Eric says, and holds it out to me. It’s a romantic photo, aside from the fact that it was obviously taken in a hospital. Willa and I are cuddled close and happy. I don’t look like I’m dying; just content.

“Holy crap, you actually took a good photo.”

“Har har,” Eric says, and snaps a photo of Willa. He tosses that one at me and says, “Is that a good one?” It’s a snapshot of her chest.

“You son of a bitch,” Willa mutters.

Eric feigns offense. “What did you just call my mom?”

I whisper loudly to Willa, “He’s actually adopted.”

“Ah. That explains it.” Just to be on the safe side, Willa pockets the photo of her tits so it can’t make its way into the album.

Suddenly Eric sits up straight in his chair, petty argument forgotten. “It’s Wednesday,” he says excitedly.

Willa doesn’t get it.

“The gift shop has fudgesicles for half price every Wednesday.” He’s quickly up and out of the room, but at least has the decency to ask Willa if she wants one too. She declines, and the atmosphere of the room calms by ten degrees once he’s gone.

“I have a little gift for you,” Willa says.

“Is it more soup?”

“No.”

I pout. “When I get out of here I’m going to eat a shit-ton of your soup, just to feel full again. You’ve been warned.”

Willa smirks. “A whole shit-ton?”

“Yes, one shit-ton, equal to two assloads or half a metric fuck-ton.”

She laughs and reaches into her backpack. A thermal lunch bag comes out, and to say that I’m excited is a gross understatement. She said it wasn’t soup, but it could be something equally delicious.

I tear open the bag and find…a freezer-sized Ziploc with a
towel
inside.

“What the?”

“The insulated bag should have kept it warm.” She cracks the top of the Ziploc and the warm scent of Gain detergent wafts out. My Willa is a genius. I pull the towel out of the bag and wrap it around my neck and face, enjoying the warmth and the comforting scent of fresh laundry. After so many days of hospital smell s, this is heaven.

“God, I love you.”

Willa kisses my cheek through the towel. “Love you too.” It’s an older hand towel, well -loved and soft with use. She rubs the corner of it against my cheek. “I missed that smile.”

I am utterly content, even though everything aches and it’s hard to breathe. She knows how to make me feel better, what little gestures will bring me comfort.

“Never change,” I murmur.

Eric returns with a frozen brick of fudge hanging out of his mouth and snaps a picture. “Aw, aren’t you two cute,” he coos.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously,” he slurps his fudgesickle, “I’m happy for you. Now that you’re getting laid you’re less of a whiney maggot, most days.”

“Will you shut up?” It’s one thing to be a jackass, but it’s entirely another to be rude about private matters in front of Willa. How could he just assume we’re having sex? It’s a miracle she even wants to cal herself my girlfriend and I don’t need his help to scare her away.

“Oh, please,” Eric says. “Look at you two. It’s obvious you’ve had your fingers in each other’s fruit bowls.”

Willa tries not to laugh and ends up snorting loudly. Eric takes this as a sign of vindication. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Thursday

I get sent for another chest x-ray. There’s a crying kid in the waiting room outside Radiology, and his wailing is doing my head in. When I get back to my room all I want to do is nap, but Nurse Kim is waiting to take a sputum sample.

“You again?”

“Maggie’s on her break. Now hack it up.”

“Can’t it wait?” Dumb question; it never can.

“Jem,” she warns me.

“Satan,” I reply in the same tone.

“I’ll get the suction catheter.”

“Fine, I’ll cough; Jesus, woman.” I swear, she gets some kind of sadistic satisfaction out of this. That’s why she magically appears every time this needs to be done. There’s no half-assing the job with this nurse, either. She keeps me coughing until my diaphragm hurts, and when I finally get to lay back and rest she wants to have a
conversation.

“Where’s your girl today?”

“School.”

“She’ll be coming by later?”

“Yes.” She’d better, damn it.

“I like her,” Nurse Kim declares as I rinse my mouth. “She looks like she can handle your attitude.”

“Because I need your approval.”

Kim pats me on the head like I’m five years old. “Good coughing today, smartass.” Now that’s good bedside manner.

*

The sun is past my window when I wake up from my nap, tangled in my blanket and over-warm. Mom is working on her laptop near the window and Willa is curled up in the recliner. And they totally let me sleep with my hand down my pants.

I slip my hand out and hope neither of them noticed. Willa appears to be dozing, but Mom looks up when I shift positions.

“Hey sweetie,” she says, and gets up to offer me water. “It’s almost five. I have to go home and feed the heathens soon.”

I nod. It’ll be dinnertime here soon, too. Mom asks if she should wake Willa to keep me company.

“No, let her sleep.”

Mom packs up her work and gives me a kiss goodbye. She leaves it vague as to whether she’ll be returning tonight, and I hope that Dad will insist she stay home and sleep in a real bed. I can stand a night alone.

Mom leaves with a kiss on the cheek, and I calculate. It’s almost five o’clock now. Dinner is served around five thirty, and someone will be coming around in the after-dinner hours to sample more bodily fluids—preferably blood, so I don’t have to do anything. Either way, I have thirty minutes alone with my Willa.

I swing my legs out of bed and sit up. Willa is curled up in a ball with her feet on the edge of the recliner and her knees slumped to the side. I tow my IV pole over to the side of the chair and ease my hips into the space between her body and the armrest.

Willa stirs. “Mmm, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, love.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss the back of her head. “Go back to sleep.”

Willa scoots to give me more room and uses her shoulder to recline the back of the chair even more.

“Can you still breathe all right?”

I take a few test breaths. “I’m okay.”

She turns the lever to extend the footrest, and I pull her back up against my front. It’s been ages since we spooned and I miss holding her.

“Are you warm enough?”

“I’m perfect. Go to sleep, Willa.” She snuggles right in, careful of the wires and tubes around me. I don’t smell so nice right now, but she doesn’t say anything. I fall asleep with the scent of her hair in my nose and the rise and fall of her breath under my arm. Sweet bliss.

*

“Wandering, are we?”

I crack an eyelid and find Nurse Maggie standing over me with a scolding look on her face. Willa is still asleep with her chin tucked to her chest.

“Uh, I got lost on the way to bed?”

“Good try. You should be in your bed, with blankets. You’re still running a low fever, mister.” I reluctantly leave Willa, careful not to disturb her, and all ow the nurse to escort me back to bed.

“Have some dinner before you go back to sleep,” she advises, and pushes the side table with a meal tray up to the bed. God, I hate hospital food. Tonight it’s flavorless broth, Jel -O, and some sort of purée that tastes like baby food.

“Thanks.”

I watch Willa sleep while I work through dinner. At one point she wakes up a little bit and scoots back into the chair, looking for my body behind her. I consider calling out to her, but Willa quickly goes back to sleep. I eat as much as I can, eager to sneak back to the recliner. The nurses can give me hell for it, but it’s better than if we were caught lying in my bed.

Before I return to the recliner I have to use the washroom. As I pass Willa, I almost give in and snuggle up to her right away, but I want to cuddle her indefinitely and that means peeing first. I touch her hair softly, just to feel it, and then carry on my way to the washroom. I’m barely past the recliner when I feel a soft smack on my ass. When I turn to look Willa is still reclined with her eyes closed, looking peaceful. I did
not
just imagine that.

“I know you’re awake.”

Willa feigns a snore.

“Oh grow up.”

When I turn around she smacks my butt again. I go into the washroom and lock the door behind me.

Willa seems to be in a playfull mood, and I wouldn’t put it past her to prank me in the washroom. I’m wary of her playfulness because it’s changed since we agreed to be a couple. She’s been looking at me strangely, especially when we’re alone. It’s like she’s got naughty things on her mind, secret things, and wants to do them with me. And earlier this week, when she saw me bare to the ribs, she had this look of…
lust
on her face. Part of me wishes she wouldn’t do that, because I can’t fulfil her expectations. That expression contains propositions for things I can’t do or am not ready for. The other part of me is stupidly stoked that she thinks well of me. I’m
wanted,
sick as I am.

When I come out of the bathroom Willa stretches and yawns, pretending that she just woke up.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“well , my left ass cheek is a little sore. Maybe you could kiss it better?”

Willa just smirks. She reaches over and cups my left cheek in her hand like there’s nothing to it.

“You’ve got a cute bum,” she says. “Round and soft. Like bread dough.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Willa stands up and gives me a hug. I squeeze her ass for good measure and tell her it feels like ham.

“Round and springy.”

Willa rolls her eyes and says I should stick to peaches, since I’m obviously a breast man. That I am. I tell Willa hers are nice, because I really can’t tell her that enough. She gets this smirk on her face and pushes me back into the bathroom.

“What?”

She locks the door behind us and takes off her shirt. Jesus. Willa mutters something about a week being too long to go without touching, and I completely agree. I try to move my oxygen mask to kiss her, but Willa insists I keep it on. She has another method of torture in mind: kissing my neck and ears with her open mouth while her hands move across my back. The stupid heart monitor gives away my accelerated pulse with an annoying beep, and Willa giggles.

I never thought I’d be making out in a hospital bathroom, but since we’re here, I enjoy it. The small of her back rests against the edge of the counter and her chest rests against my open palms. The scars on her back—the ones she showed me in the darkness of the shower—are reflected in the mirror. Seeing them makes me feel a little better; she’s imperfect too, and I’m one of the few people who know about those marks on her body.