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I can’t believe it was only last week when I spun the story of my boyfriend calling me a snow princess.
How could I have forgotten that?
“A tip for you: if you want to make things up, don’t take inspiration from something you’re basically an infomercial for. It’s easy for people to figure it out.”
With the book in his hand, he straightens up and throws it at his desk, making me wince.
“You know my secret,” I whisper, tired of this charade.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? That it’s a secret.” A vein is popping on his temple. “That you suffer in silence. That no one knows you’re imploding. Not one person knows what you’re going through. Not your mom, not your family. Why’s that?”
“I don’t –”
“Why’s that, Willow? Why’s it so hard to tell the people you love that you’re suffering? That you need help. Do you know how many people just don’t say anything? Do you have any idea how many people keep quiet, never ask for help? Do you know what happens to them?”
He grabs my elbow, bringing me flush to his body, making me gasp with how hard he is. How forceful. How the lines around his mouth and eyes are stretched taut.
“They die,” he spits out. “They fucking die. Because they think no one cares about them. Because they think they don’t matter. That somehow, it’s their fault that they are suffering from a disease, so they should just get it over with. But it doesn’t get over with, does it? Because when they die, they don’t die alone. They kill people by leaving them behind.”
“I’m –”
“You don’t want to leave anyone behind, do you, Willow? But you’re ready to die, aren’t you? You’re so fucking ready for your secrets to kill you one day. Isn’t that right?”
I shake my head, feeling the pinch of his fingers on my arm. “N-no… I…”
“You think it’s your fault. You think your mom should’ve had another daughter. Why? Because you’re ashamed of your illness. You’re ashamed of who you are.” His chuckle is so harsh, it reverberates inside my own body, inside my own soul.
“You’re ashamed that every day you have to fight to stay alive. You’re ashamed that you have to fight at all. So you lie. You lie every chance you get. To your family, to your doctors. To yourself. You lie because you’re a goddamn fighter. And instead of being proud of yourself, you’re fucking ashamed.”
Simon’s hazy. I guess it’s the water leaking from my eyes. It’s like I’m watching him through the rainy window of my room. The window where I write his name at night and watch the letters flow like rivers.
My throat is choked up, and I don’t think I can breathe for a long time. I don’t think I can even stand, my legs are shaking so badly. My entire body is shaking so badly.
He lets me go and steps away from me like he can’t stand to be close to me. Like, he can’t stand to touch me.
“No, Willow. I won’t go out with you. I will not go out with my patient. And that’s what you are. My patient.”
As I stand there, I feel like he sucked all the energy off my body and I have none left. Not even a drop.
But somehow, someway, I find the will to blink my eyes and clear my vision. He’s there, tall, dark and classically handsome, with eyes the color of my favorite clouds.
Formidable and unapproachable.
And thundering.
***
I don’t remember walking out of his room or walking down the hallway. I don’t remember splashing cold water on my face and leaning over the sink. But I’m here. In the bathroom and now, I’m staring at my pale, wet face in the mirror.
Oddly, I’m very numb. I’m thinking about the routine ahead of me. I’m thinking I could either go to the library and help Penny with flash cards, or I could watch TV with the others. There’s also an option to go to the rec room. Maybe I should ask for more ginger tea because suddenly, I feel nauseated.
A knock comes at the bathroom door. It’s a tiny space with black and white retro checkered tiles, and barely any room to stand in.
“Willow, you okay?”
Hunter. I know his sleepy, thick voice.
It must have been close to twenty minutes since I shut myself in here. They probably need to chart my location.
I close the tap and wipe my face and open the door.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He studies me carefully. People are always doing that, aren’t they? They are always studying me, trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or what?
“You sure? ‘Cause it looks like you’ve been crying.”
Hunter manages to sound both angry and concerned, and I chuckle, surprising myself. I didn’t think I had it in me. Not right now.
