“I agree that’s all terrible, and I’m sorry that happened, but you’re not cursed.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.” She gives me a look fit for an irritating toddler. “Curses aren’t real.”
I squint. Is she really going to argue with me about this? “Pretty sure they are. Trust me. I havelotsmore evidence where that comes from.” I raise my finger and prepare to launch into another story.
Lex stops me by reaching out and grabbing my hand. “Please, don’t.”
I look from Lex, to her warm hand clasped around mine, and back. She drops her hand and tucks it between her thighs. “Not to offend you,” she says, “but curses aren’t real, just like magic, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, et cetera.”
Did she literally just say et cetera?“We figured out germs were real before we could see them, we just lacked the tools to measure and study them. And the guy who came up with germ theory was rejected so badly that he ended up having a nervous breakdown and getting imprisoned and then dying from a wound caused by an infection from the very germs nobody else believed in.”
Lex regards me for a long moment, as if digesting this factual tidbit.
“Trust me,” I continue. “I’ve been stuck with this curse for years. It’s real whether you believe in it or not.”
She shakes her head, then reaffixes her gaze onto the wall ahead. “Whatever.”
The silence that settles over us is, of course, very awkward. Because even here, after everything I’ve already been through tonight, I can’t escape the damn curse.
Finally, a nurse approaches us. We both stand, me wincing on my injured foot. “He’s awake. Surgery went well and he’ll make a full recovery. I’ll take you to him.”
Lex and I follow the nurse down a corridor. She opens a door to her left and gestures the two of us inside. I step aside and let Lex in first, since she’s next of kin and I’m just some random stranger who tried, and failed, to have sex with her brother.
The room is dimly lit, curtains drawn with a lamp beside the hospital bed. One of the machines in the corner is beeping quietly, various tubes and cords coming out of it and extending to Olsen’s body. He’s laid out with plain sheet covering him, and it looks like there’s extra padding over his lower half. Generally, a tent in that area is exciting, but not in this case.
Lex approaches the side of the bed and takes Olsen’s hand. “Hey! How’re you feeling? Are you in pain?”
Olsen gives his head a subtle shake. He swallows slowly, then speaks, his voice hoarse and cracking. “I’ve been better.”
“Did the doctors say how long recovery will take?”
“A few weeks.”
“On bed rest, I’m assuming?”
“Just for a few days.”
“You’ll have to take some time off work. Do you want me to, as well?”
Olsen shakes his head. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“It’s not a problem, I’m sure I can ask.”
“You need to save your sick days—”
“I can help,” I offer, interrupting. The pair look over tome, standing at the foot of the bed as I fidget with my hands. “I really don’t mind taking a day or two off to make sure you recover,” I continue. “I can fetch like, ice packs? Do dishes and laundry? Um... I make a mean chicken noodle soup!”
Lex and Olsen look at each other and share some sort of telepathic sibling communication.
“Really, it’s the least I can do after everything that’s happened,” I say, feeling immensely guilty for agreeing to go home with Olsen. Though if I were truly remorseful, I would become celibate. Maybe I should research joining a nunnery.
“It’s fine,” Olsen says, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
“No, really, I—” I step around the bed to get closer, but trip on a wire, which pulls the beep machine toward me, yanking on all the cords sticking out of Olsen’s arm. He cries out in shock and the beeps get much louder and more intense.
“Oh shit, sorry—” I reach for Olsen to try to right the wires and tubes, but he flinches away like I’m a venomous snake.
