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I don't know how, but my eyes end up gazing at the vein on the inside of her elbow. Of course they do. That's all I could look at the last time I was in a room not very unlike this one, years ago. I bite my lip, refusing to let any of those tormenting memories invade my thoughts. But they do. One by one, they start pouring in, forming the horror movie I'd give anything to forget. Hot tears fall on my chest. They cut raw gashes into my heart. New ones, right next to the ones that never really healed in all these years.
My dearest Kate. Whom neither my parents nor I could ever really understand. Who retreated in a world of her own, so consuming and self-destructive, no one could reach her. There was nothing left of my Kate toward the end. Not a smile, not a joke. She was like a ghost, like a dry opal, devoid of all of its shine and beauty, so dry and mangled with creases it could shatter at the slightest tap. And shatter she did.
It wasn't the drugs that killed her. At least not directly. My parents, like me, always secretly feared that one day she'd lose any wisp of control she had left and overdose. But she didn't. She got shot. Ironically, she looked so much better than Jess when she was in the hospital. She only had one tiny bandage, right above her heart, and when I tucked the bed sheet over the bandage, also hiding beneath it her arms… her veins—the undeniable proof that there was much more poison in her body than the bullet they couldn't get out—she looked as if she were asleep, ready to wake up any minute.
Only she didn't.
But this won't happen to Jess. She'll get out of the hospital, and probably limp for a while and certainly be cranky, but she'll be all right. I just wish she'd be awake already.
I brush my tears away and leave the room without a last glance at her. Stupid and absurd as it is, I can't stop the tears from forming behind my eyelids when I look at her.
Her mum is leaning against the wall outside the room. To my relief, she looks like her usual self.
"She's still asleep," I say.
"Oh, the doctor said she'll be asleep for a few more hours. I'll just wait by her side until she wakes up."
"Do you need me to bring you anything?"
"Thanks, dear. Your boyfriend already asked. I'm fine."
"Oh, my boyfriend," I stutter.
"He seems like a nice boy."
I stare her. It took her two years for her to finally stop frowning whenever I mentioned Michael. "You don't know him."
"No, but he just ran six blocks to get you Starbucks coffee." She points to something behind me. "That's enough to earn him nice in my book."
I turn around and find James sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting room, carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag, which I'm positive contains my favorite Starbucks grilled vegetable sandwich. I refrain from telling Mrs. Haydn that he most certainly didn't walk those five blocks, because that doesn't make it less nice of him.
"Go to him honey," she beckons, "you look like you haven't had coffee today."
"I certainly haven't," I say.
"Dani and Parker went to your place to get you something to change into and bring some stuff for Jess. How is she?" James asks when I get to him, handing me the bag.
"Looks horrible, but she'll be fine." I open the brown paper bag. There is a grilled vegetable sandwich inside. "I'm glad Mrs. Haydn is holding up so well. She scared me a little before." I take a bite from the sandwich and a few sips of coffee. "I'll just stay here for whatever she needs."
"And I'll be here for whatever you need," James says, holding up my chin.
"Thanks," I say deeply moved.
"You want to go in there again with her mom?"
"No," I say a little too quickly. "I mean, I don't really… I'll go in when Jess wakes up." I bite into my sandwich again, avoiding his gaze.
"It's all right, you know," James says kindly. "To think about Kate."
My lower lip starts trembling and I grit my teeth because I know what will follow. To no avail. The sobs start before the tears. Loud and choking and I bury myself in his arms like that night in his cinema room.
"Cry, baby," he whispers. "I'm here for you. Let it all out."
So much for other worlds. Kate was lost in hers. I, in mine. And what a wonderful world that was.
One populated by numbers and books. Books in which I could get lost and forget about the outside world at a moment's notice. Even when I was in the outside world, be it at school, college, or one of my countless activities, I was never really anchored in reality. That's the thing with reality and dreams—fantasies—if we try hard enough, we can lose ourselves in them. Then we can call our lives real even when they're not.
Much like Kate, I never let anyone inside my world. Not Mum or Dad, not Jess. Not even Michael.
