“Do you all smell really fruity?”
Dev chuckles. “We use more natural ingredients.”
I make the well-known gesture for a chef’s kiss, and then I lean in and lower my voice further. Tanisira isn’t looking anymore, but I wouldn’t put it past her to be listening. She’s sneaky, that one.
“What doesvalejamean?” I’m pleasantly surprised I remembered, pronunciation be damned.
Dev snorts and unintentionally pulls me closer. I’m draped over him like a scarf, and whilst it’s nice and warm—honestly, I’m so touch starved—muscles and joints are beginning to protest the position.
“It means little liar,” he snickers. I inhale softly, shooting Tanisira the side eye. And here I thought it might have been something cute. “It’s more of an affectionate term. Not so accusing, more... hmm. Exasperated.”
Ah. That, I think, I can handle. What would Tanisira be calling me a liar about, exactly?
“Shukran.” I feel eyes on me as I peck Dev on the cheek. “For that and for brunchandfor dinner.”
He pats my clasped hands, but I can sense his waning attention as he gets sucked into another conversation. The crew is lively tonight, and I wish I could stay. I take my chance to slip out. It’s late and the overhead lighting, calibrated for the average circadian rhythm, reflects that. The door slides shut behind me and the sound of laughter is cut off.
I start speed-walking because the headache of all headaches is still pounding away. I may be good at powering through them, but that doesn’t mean I want to. My distance from other people isn’t just because I’m focused on building a stable, happy life for myself and Vee. It’s also because of the exhaustion, in all senses of the word, that comes along with a chronic condition like mine. Most of the time, I just don’t have the spoons after a day of living, working and parenting.
But it makes me feel pathetic to think that, let alone say it out loud, even though I know that’s not true. I am entitled to my fatigue, even if I don’t want it. I can’t help how my body works, and it’s doing its damned best. After all this time, I still struggle to accept that. Then again, with parents like mine—who would never suffer ‘excuses’ from me—I suppose I was always going to be a little fucked up.
I’m both relieved that the med bay door opens, and cringing that anyone can walk in. Then again, I guess there’s no worry about theft on this trip. Hoping to find some prescription-grade analgesia, I head to the cabinets. I held it together all day but now that I’m so close, all the pain floods in. I falter mid-step, bite back a whimper so hard that I feel my teeth rip into my lip and then collapse.
I’m a pro, so I manage to roll in time and hit the ground without doing too much damage. It’s only when I’m passing out that I can’t manipulate my limbs in time, hence my bruised face and my fucked-up wrist. The fall still hurts, though, and I grimace. I can practically feel the new bruises forming.
Lying on the cold, hard floor, I feel like crying. But at least, I tell myself, no one else is around to see this. Adrenaline burned off some of the alcohol, and my head feels clear enough to process how fucking absurd this is. I can’t get up, not yet. I close my eyes and rage silently, not for the first time, about the fragility of my body.
Radiation-Induced Neurological Disorder is passed down by the women in my family. It sounds more extreme than it is these days. RIND is easily managed as long as you can make use of both a multipronged treatment plan and afford it. I haven’t had an episode like this in years, and I’m trying not to be angry at myself about it. I didn’t expect to be on this fucking ship. I didn’t expect to have to grapple with revealing my biggest vulnerability to strangers.
The problem is that my treatment includes a shot every three days. Without it, there’s only so much my neural implant can do. I was due to take my shot this morning, haven’t missed a dose since they released it on the pharmaceutical market. In its absence, it feels like my body is slowly tearing itself apart. It sounds so arrogant to say that I can handlethat, as unpleasant as it is, but it’s true. What I can’t handle—what really putsme on edge—is being perceived as weak. And when you limp around, if you so much as twinge a nerve and everyone flocks to take your workload, well... it’s hard not to take it personally.
“Marlowe—”
Fuck.
My eyes fly open in time to catch disbelief rippling across Tanisira’s face. She drops to her knees beside me and reaches out, but her hands halt mid-air. She scans my body instead, looking for the problem. When she can’t find one, her gaze zips up to my busted lip and then my eyes. The whole time, I’m trying to gather enough energy to move.
“Were you following me?” I snap.
She rears back. “I—Marlowe, you’re on thefloor. What happened?”
I go to push myself into a sitting position, but there are only so many times I can tread fire. Sharp pain forces me to whimper. Tanisira helps me back down and I seethe at the situation.
“Don’t move. I’ll call Khrys—”
“No.”
She freezes, looking incredulous. “You might have a concussion.You—”
“I said no.” I sigh. “Please don’t. Just... just go.”
I cannot stand the way she’s looking at me. My stomach clenches, on the verge of rejecting an evening’s worth of food. It might as well; this can’t get much more humiliating.
“Are you insane?” Tanisira barks.
It startles me so much that I flinch, groan in agony, throw up in my mouth, and barely swallow it back down before I paint the deck. Glamorous. But I didn’t know she could even make a sound like that. Her face, usually so composed, is twisted in anger. I watch, shocked, as she collects herself.
“I’m not leaving you here.” The steel in her eyes tells me she means it, even if her tone is back to even-keeled. “I let you lie to me all day about being okay, but this is too much. What do you need?”
