by Celeste, B.
Annabel must realize the same thing, because she looks apologetic. “Why would you want to teach this anyway? It gets a lot of backlash and most students will just watch the television show instead of reading it.”
He chuckles softly over her disbelief in his reasoning. “Emery made a good point. Literature isn’t always going to give us the content we desire. It’s important to change up what’s expected of the student’s, including how political and personal experiences impact people in everyday life.”
I can’t help but notice how he looks at me while he delivers the last part.
When it’s time to start, only a few of the girls join us. It seems like Book Club won’t exist past Christmas break at the rate it’s deteriorating. I know it was going to be tested through the semester, but I’d hoped more people would join.
Halfway through our conversation on first thoughts of what we were assigned to read, my vision grows fuzzy. Blinking past the blurriness as I stare at the girl whose name I can never seem to remember, I take a few deep breaths and sway slightly in my chair. From the not so far distance of my conscience, a headache forms heavy and unforgiving.
It’s been a couple weeks since one settled into my temples. I thought I was finally getting relief, but maybe Cam’s suggestion on seeing a neurologist will give me answers. She’s on medicine for chronic migraines, so she’s willing to set up a new patient appointment for me.
Rubbing at my eyes, I try to focus on what Mr. Nichols is responding with. He’s talking about feminism and the main character’s forced submission to her commander.
Survival mode.
I know it well.
Why am I so nauseous all of a sudden?
I try to distract myself, thinking about how to add my commentary in. I could talk about how the women pitted themselves against each other as a new form of feminism. Survival of the fittest and all that.
The idea of opening my mouth right now doesn’t seem like the best idea, so I swallow the temptation to throw up and start collecting my belongings with shaky hands.
Nichols mentions the color theme.
Red for the Handmaids.
Blue for the Wives.
Green for the Marthas.
I’m turning green right now.
Annabel stares.
Mr. Nichols says my name.
I bolt out of the library on unsteady legs. Dizziness greets my every step as I run towards the nearest trash can I see in the hall.
My name is being called.
It’s getting louder.
I’m getting sicker.
I vomit as my hair is pulled back.
Not by Annabel.
By Mr. Nichols.
I’d swear if I could.
Instead, I empty my stomach and pray that I pass out to avoid further humiliation.
Be careful what you wish for.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I shoot Dad daggers with my eyes from the backseat of the car while Mama tries collecting herself in the phone pressed to my ear. Despite insisting I was fine, Dad and Cam dragged me to the hospital for a second opinion where he called Mama as a grouchy old nurse checked my vitals.
The doctor on call looked at my records, checked my temperature, gave me pain and nausea medicine, and referred me to the hospital’s neurology department like I told Dad he would. I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals, so I know the visit wasn’t worth the two hundred and fifty dollar copay my father was charged with for his overreaction.
He told me I didn’t understand.
It’s a parent thing.
I’d be laughing over the ironic statement if Mama hadn’t called me crying as we walked out of the emergency room exit. Cam rubbed my back and told me she’d make me an appointment with neurology for as soon as they had an opening, and Dad had the nerve to look apologetic when I answered the phone.
At least Mama called.
After twenty minutes of her panicked worry, I finally get her to believe that I’m okay. I tell her my head hurts less, my abdominal muscles aren’t as cramped, and that my nausea has simmered.
Lo wasn’t like this, Mama.
Somehow, that point calms her. If Lo didn’t suffer from it, it must be unrelated. I believe it to be true anyway, so it isn’t like I’m giving her false information. The doctor even said migraines are common occurrence, nothing to worry about.
Doctors also thought you were anorexic.
I shove the thought away.
When Grandma tells me that she’ll take care of Mama, I disconnect the call and stare into the night. The roads are coated with a dusting of snow that the streetlights make glisten, and the wind whistles against the ice-ridden tree limbs. The heat controls for the back are on full blast, and I’m sitting on my hands as the seat warmer toasts them.
“You shouldn’t have called her.”
For a split second, I don’t think either of them will reply. Cam glances at me before looking at Dad for guidance. His shoulders tense before he loosens a sigh.
“She’s your mother, Emery.”
She’s your mother.
It’s a parent thing.
I shake my head. “You wasted money that could have gone toward the holidays. I told you I was fine.”
The car slows for a light. “We needed to be sure. You never know—”
“That’s right,” I cut him off. “You never know, Dad. I’ve spent years figuring out how to read my body. Grandma used to get such bad migraines she’d puke and then feel better. Out of everything that’s wrong with me, that much is normal.”
The car is silent as he continues down the road. As the house nears, he chances a look at me in the rearview mirror. I don’t expect to see sadness in his eyes. Maybe if I look hard enough at the dulled color, I’ll see the speckle of emerald Mama always told me about.
Dad doesn’t say a word and neither does Cam. I remain silent as he turns on the blinker and pulls into the driveway. None of us unbuckle once the car is parked, we just sit there with nothing but the heat and low hum of the radio filling the air around us.
Locking eyes with his in the mirror, I swallow past the sudden onset of emotion building in my throat. Dad is worried about me, maybe even guilty for not worrying more.
His eyes tell me he’s sorry—not for calling Mama, but for not being there. He’s making it up to me, making the most of what he can now.
I’m not making it easy for him.
My lips feel dry, so I wet them. “If it’s a parent’s job to worry, then I guess it’s a kid’s job to be annoyed by it.”
It’s my peace offering—an extended hand. Thankfully, he takes it and gives me a tiny nod before turning off the car and guiding us all inside.
Kaiden is waiting in my room, looking none too pleased. Cam said she texted him to let him know where we were, but he never got back to her. I figured he was out doing who knows what with his teammates.
He rises from the mattress and gives me a furious gaze, lips pressed into a straight line. Appraising me, I wonder what he sees. The medicine they gave me to ease the nausea and pain have helped immensely, but I probably look as tired as I feel.
“Don’t start right now,” I tell him, toeing out of my shoes and grabbing my sweatpants and a sweatshirt from my dresser.
He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone.”
My brows pinch. “Uh, why?”
His steely voice tells me his patience has worn down hours ago, so I dig out my phone from my back pocket and place it in his palm. He fingers the keyboard, getting past the lock in ways I don’t want to know, and then passes it back to me without one ounce of emotion other than anger on his face.
“Use my fucking number.”
That’s all he says before he walks out.
I stare at my phone screen, the new contact set as the number two speed dial next to my voicemail system. He moved Mama and Grandma to third and fourth, making sure his name was the first I’d see.
Looking over my shoulder at the open door, I sh
ake my head, shut it, and change. After washing up for bed and brushing my teeth, I curl under the blankets and nuzzle the pillow.
My door cracks open sometime later, but the mattress doesn’t dip right away. Without turning, I assume Dad or Cam is checking in on me. I appeased them earlier by eating a couple pieces of dry toast from the hospital cafeteria while we waited for me to be discharged. I didn’t bother eating more when I got home, nor did I feel like arguing with them on the matter.
According to the hospital scale, I’m a few pounds heavier. It took me by surprise considering my lack of appetite these days, but the ten pound difference was shown on two different scales when I mentioned my doubt.
Cam said it was my clothes, since I wear more layers this time of year and Dad seemed happy that I was gaining weight. After dropping too much to be considered healthy without really trying, I suppose it shows that I’m finally turning in the right direction.
When the bed dips after what feels like forever, the comforter is pulled out from around me until a warm body is nestled against my back.
Kaiden’s arm wraps around my stomach, and his breath tickles the back of my head. “Are you feeling any better?”
I wiggle into his hold, resting my back against his front like usual. “A little. I’ve just been getting headaches, that’s all.”
He makes a disbelieving sound.
We’re quiet for a while. “Kaiden?”
“Hmm?”
I let out a tiny breath. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
His hold tightens. “You didn’t.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “It’s okay to be worried, you know. I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret.”
I yelp quietly when he yanks me until I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me. “I can think of other secrets to keep between us that are a lot more fun.”
Biting my bottom lip, my hands go to his sides and hold onto his loose shirt. “I doubt you want anything right now. I got sick today, remember? Not very attractive.”
He lowers his bottom half onto me, his erection disproving my words. “Trust me, Mouse. I want you.”
I swallow. He smirks.
“What if I didn’t brush my teeth?”
“I can smell the mint toothpaste.”
He leans down slowly.
“What if I tell you no?”
“Then I’ll stop.”
His lips are so close to mine.
Our breaths mingle. “What if I told you that I’m sick?”
“Headaches, right?”
No. Yes…
Gripping his shirt, I meet his lips halfway in a soft touch. He doesn’t push or act as animalistic as we did before. Our lips graze each other’s a few times before he presses down so his hardness is settled between my legs.
I wince when one of his hands grips my hip, but the pressure of him squeezing it makes me cry out. “Wait. Stop.”
Pushing up on his arms, he rolls off me and studies my face. “Em?”
I shake my head, feeling my whole face heat with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just…”
He lies down, opening his arm up for me to cuddle in like he doesn’t mind me telling him to stop. He told me he would, and I have no reason to think he’d go against his word when he’s been uncharacteristically nice to me.
Well, for the most part.
“My sister died of an incurable autoimmune disease,” I whisper against his chest. Closing my eyes, I picture Logan. “She never showed it, but I know she was in a lot of pain, especially the months leading up to her death.”
His hand rubs my upper arm. “Is that like a twin thing? You sensed her pain?”
It’s hard to breathe suddenly. “No.”
He keeps rubbing my arm.
“I have the same disease, Kaiden.”
His palm freezes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m not sure what to expect, but it’s not this.
Kaiden gets off my bed like it’s on fire, and I worry that he’s one of the many uneducated people who think he’ll somehow catch my disease like it’s contagious. Except it’s not concern or disgust on his face, it’s something far darker. It’s a mixture of anger and betrayal and a third emotion I’m not sure should be mixed with the others.
Slowly sitting up, I wince when the loud sound of my hip and elbow popping echoes in the silence between us. His eyes go to the sound, then to my face, before he studies the rest of me.
“Kaiden—”
“Don’t.” His voice is too sharp to disobey.
Zipping my lips, I watch as he searches for something across my features. His gaze dips downward, sliding over my body. There are advanced cases of some diseases that show just how much they impact people externally, but most times it’s an invisible internal battle.
People think sickness has a face.
They think disease is an ugly word.
I used to be embarrassed by it—maybe I still am. Nobody in their right mind thinks disease is a pretty thing. Most people associate it with things that could be controlled, as if it’s my fault I’m sick.
I can walk, talk, and go to school.
I must be fine.
“You’re not going to find anything,” I finally say, brushing my sweaty palms down my thighs.
He finally meets my gaze again.
Then he swears. Loudly.
Throwing the door open to my room, it slams against the wall and leaves a hole where the knob strikes. Cringing, I scurry off the bed and follow him into the hall.
“Kaiden, come on. It’s—”
He stops halfway down the stairs. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
There’s no way our parents won’t hear this. Not only is he yelling, but it’s echoing around us as a reminder of what I knew would happen. They should have warned him before I even moved in.
I won’t let him blame me though. “When have you asked me?”
He scoffs, walking up three steps so we’re eye level. “Was I supposed to guess that you’re sick, Emery? That you’re dying or some shit? I’m not a goddamn mind reader.”
My jaw ticks. “I’m not dying. And you knew my sister passed away! Did you ever think to ask how? Did you ever stop sulking from your own pity party of one to consider anyone but yourself? No!”
The light downstairs flicks on and both Dad and Cam appear at the end of the staircase. They both stare up at us in confusion, Dad’s arm around Cam’s shoulder as his brows pinch.
He asks, “What is going on?”
Kaiden ignores them and narrows his eyes into slits at me. “You could have offered up the information. It isn’t like you haven’t had ample opportunity since you moved here.”
I throw my hands up. “You. Didn’t. Ask!”
Cam steps up. “Kaiden, honey—”
He whirls around. “Did you know she was sick? Was this all a big fuck you to me while being left in the dark? I bet she was at the hospital for other reasons and you’re all lying to me about it.”
Cam reaches out. “Kaid—”
He stays out of reach. “This is no different than what you did with Dad. Guess what, Cam? I’m eighteen. I can handle the shit life throws at me.”
“Really?” I doubt from behind him, practically scoffing like he did. “From where I’m standing, I don’t think that’s accurate. You’re so consumed by your anger that you’re not even considering anybody else in the matter. Least of all me, who was trying to be honest with you.”
He spins so quickly I nearly fall over but catch myself on the wall. “After you lived here for months. Don’t spin this around on me like you’re innocent.”
My teeth grind to the point they hurt.
Dad’s voice cuts in. “We all need to take a step back and try calming down.”
Kaiden laughs, but it’s maniacal. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re any better? How long have you known you had a sick daughter? One who has the same disease that took your other daughter’s life? This is
why you took her in, right? You pity her.”
That’s a blow to the gut I feel personally, flinching over what part of me has suspected for a while. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter, the thought lingers. And regardless of that being the reason, I think it is at least a driving force in why I’m here.
Cam shakes her head at him. “I’ve let you talk down to him for long enough. This matter doesn’t concern you. It wasn’t information you needed to know.”
I swear he growls as he barrels down the stairs, shouldering past both our parents. He grabs his jacket and I hear the faint rattle of keys before he storms toward the door.
“Kaiden!” Cam calls out, following him.
Dad looks at me.
I don’t know what to say.
He doesn’t deny what Kaiden accuses him of, and I don’t question it. Does it really matter at this point? Words hurt. It’s a good thing I have a high pain tolerance.
Something crashes in the foyer before the door slams shut.
Dad and I make our way downstairs to see a vase shattered on the floor, with Cam staring at all the little pieces. He squeezes her arm and says he’ll grab the broom. I don’t know what to tell her, so I count all the shards—eight bigger pieces and twenty-six little ones. I remember her mentioning it was her great grandma’s.
Priceless.
The pain medicine from earlier has long worn off, and a headache teases the confines of my temples. I blink away the tears of frustration as the back of my eyes pulse in sharp irritation. I know the likely culprit is stress, something I’ve become accustomed to here when things don’t go King Kaiden’s way.
I don’t regret telling him.
I regret believing he could handle it.
People like him will never be as strong as people like us. They get a choice in how to feel, live, and think.
We never will.
We’re forced to fight.
And sometimes…we don’t want to.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Strength doesn’t come without a price. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that you’re forced to fight when you don’t have the energy, and have no chance at surrendering even at your worst. Strength doesn’t have a definition.