Page 14 of This Changes Everything

“It’s paint. It’s chipped paint. Under my nail.”

“Oh. Okay. We’ve got to get that out.” Don lifted me to my feet, and Ben put his arm around my waist to steady me. “Everyone, keep going.” Don pretended he wasn’t in a full-blown panic.

Ben held on to me, and Don took us down in the elevator to the director of the theater department’s office, where he sat me in a chair. It was there that they decided the best course of action was for Don to try to take the chipped paint out from beneath my fingernail . . . with a needle.

“A needle?!” Ben’s face turned white. “What are you gonna do?”

Don pulled out a needle from a sewing kit inside one of the office closets, where random twenty-year-old wardrobe items from plays of Bronwyn’s past were left to decompose. The director of the theater department, Jeffrey Rander, stood behind his office desk, bent over, watching the entire ordeal unfold with a pained expression on his face, his hands on his knees.

“We’re just going to press the tip of the needle against the chip underneath your nail. Then the chip will slide out as we pull,” Don said.

“But I don’t have long nails!” I replied incredulously, tears squirting from my eyes.

Ben’s face went from white to green. “This is literal torture. You can’t do this.”

“The cut has already happened, so we’re just going to go a little bit under the cut with the needle.” Don swallowed. His eyes widened as the words came out of his mouth and he saw my look of pure terror. He gulped, then forced me to bear witness to the world’s fakest smile. I guffawed as aggressively as I could.

“I thought you were a teacher at an acting school!” I pointed at Don’s smile. “What the hell is that shit?”

“Um, uh . . .” Don was startled by my instant snap of personality.

“Do better!” I demanded, and Don tried his hardest to soften his smile, offering me comfort. “That’s worse, Don! Boo!” I cried.

Ben patted my leg. “She’s not herself right now.”

Don realigned in his seat, tightening his muscles as he settled his body closer to mine. He fastened our legs together like we were a zipper and carefully took my injured hand in his. He raised the needle.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ben sat next to me. “I don’t like this.”

“Ellie, dear . . . It’s Ellie, right? Do you want something to bite on?” Jeffrey Rander, whom we mostly saw when shit hit the fan, made the very considerate and lovely suggestion without looking at me.

“Jesus Christ. What is this, a war movie?” Ben asked disbelievingly. “Want some cotton in your ears to drown out her screaming, too, Jeff ?” Ben hissed, unaware of how angry he sounded.

Don disinfected the needle, and Ben’s face looked stricken. “I can’t watch, Ellie.”

“Don’t leave, Ben!” I turned to him, panicked. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” He grabbed my good hand and squeezed. “I’m just not watching.” Ben closed his eyes as Don moved the needle to my fingernail.

“You ready, babe?” Don asked.

“Stop calling me babe, you monster,” I cried, causing Ben to chuckle, with his eyes still closed. I hung my head and then nodded.

Don buried the needle beneath my nail. I didn’t writhe in pain, but my whole body swayed like I was on a pendulum. I tipped my head back, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head as I groaned in agony. “Fuuuck . . .” I whispered, having promptly lost all the wind in my lungs. “I can’t do this . . .”

“Don’t pass out, Ellie. Do not pass out.” Ben still wasn’t watching. He was clutching me with both of his hands now.

After about a minute of Don digging for treasure like he was Blackbeard searching for gold, I had to end it. “You gotta stop . . . Don. Stop,” I hissed breathlessly.

Tears spilled from my eyes. Don’s face contorted into a thousand wrinkles. Eventually, he put the needle down on Jeffrey’s desk. I slumped over, and my head dropped between my legs.

“It’ll just come out on its own eventually. I think. I’m guessing. I’m certain.” Don turned to Jeffrey, who was nodding. A tense smile was plastered across his face, but he looked like a standing corpse.

“But it’s lead paint. Shouldn’t it, you know, not be in my body?” I mumbled. I had lost all strength from the torture I had just endured.

“It’ll probably just come out on its own,” Jeffrey said through gritted teeth. “Excuse me.” He smiled, then left. To vomit, I assumed.

I finished my classes, suffering in pain like a goddamn champion, and when Ben and I got back to our Grayrock apartment, he sat on my bed with me, waiting to see what my next move would be. Anything touching my finger was still excruciating, so I left my hand out on the bedside table while hiding the rest of my body beneath the hideous fish-in-a-martini-glass bedsheet that I got for 80 percent off at Macy’s.