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Cameron’s gaze moves from the doctor to me, and his concern grows, if I’m reading his furrowed brow and frowning mouth correctly.
Then it’s back to the doctor, and his forehead creases as well.
“He can’t possibly be okay,” Cameron says, as if it’s inconceivable for him to understand how I can be okay after only six days in the hospital.
“I assure you he’s fine, and he can go home. Of course, he’ll have things to do to recover in full, but we’ll provide a full list.”
“But . . .” Cammy being at a loss for words is kind of funny, but I keep in my snort, because I don’t want him to wake up and realise that he’s here with me. To decide he’s in the wrong place, with the wrong guy.
“Do you have someone to look after you?” Dr Pabla asks.
I shake my head.
“You still need help, so I can only release you if you have a place where you can stay and someone willing to care for you.”
I don’t have anyone, but I’m not going to say anything. I’ll be like an ostrich and put my head in the sand until the worst has passed.
“He can stay with me.” Cameron’s voice freezes me in place.
Me staying with him? I would have laughed if I wasn’t so taken aback by surprise, and fear.
“That’s settled then,” the doctor says after the silence becomes too heavy, still looking between Cameron and me.
I don’t talk, because I want to go with Cammy, and even if he offered just because he’s a nice person, or because we’ve known each for so long, I don’t care.
I want to be with him.
I want to think of this second chance I’m getting at being with him, as a Christmas present, or a Christmas miracle. It may be just for a couple of days, but it’ll give me the opportunity to make amends. I don’t want to hope and build castles in the sky, but if we could become friends again, it would right my fucked-up world. I don’t even entertain the idea of anything more happening between us.
Cammy’s not stupid, and he has every right not to trust me. And what do I really have to offer? Who’d want a body used and abused by others? Or someone with a mind that sometimes loses its grip on reality?
I could offer him my heart again, because it’s never been anyone else’s. But it’s never going to be enough, not after what I’ve done.
“Are you sure he’s well enough to leave?”
Has he changed his mind already? With my heart thumping loudly in my ears at that thought, I take this opportunity to observe his face, trying to find any sign of frustration for having to offer me a place to stay. I can’t see any.
The doctor pats him on the forearm on his way to the door, and gives him a few words of reassurance.
“Mr Sullivan is good enough to be released, and he’s healing well. He just needs to keep doing what he’s doing, and he’ll be fine.” Then he’s gone, and only Cammy and I are left in the room.
A weird silence falls in the room when the door closes behind the doctor. Cam doesn’t seem to know what to do, and stands there, looking everywhere but at me.
I, on the other hand, can’t seem to stop looking at him, wondering when I’ll wake up and discover he’s a dream. Just like last night.
I pull myself up a bit, avoiding straining my bruised ribs. I don’t want to open my mouth, because I don’t want to say something that’ll stress Cammy. And I don’t mind spending my time looking at him. What I don’t want is for him to leave me here. Even being here in a silent room is more than I deserve, but it’s still something that my heart longs for.
But when the air in the room is as heavy as rocks, I’m forced to talk.
“How are you?” I ask, just to break through the wall that seems to have risen between us. I want to laugh at my thoughts. Risen? I fucking built that wall with my behaviour and my secrets.
“I should be the one asking that question.”
“I’m better.”
“Better enough to be discharged?”
Am I? My body still feels like a train ran me over, but compared to six days ago, I can move and I can breathe. I’m warm and my stomach is full. So yeah, I’m better. So much better.
