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I press softly against the top of his nail and it comes off immediately, as if it isn’t attached to him at all. Going to school for this means I know how not to wince when it happens, but it’s still weird.
"Does this hurt?" I ask.
"No," he replies. "I can’t feel it. Do another one."
"Another one?" I ask, but I don’t wait for him to confirm. I take his fingers in mine and slide his fingernails off, one by one, until they fall softly onto the bunched-up quilt between us. "How long has this been going on for?"
"A few weeks," he says, sniffling. "It got bad after the dreams started to happen. Really bad."
"Does it only happen after the dreams?" I ask.
"I mean, I guess," he says, looking at his hands. His nailbeds are black and blue, and I wonder how they could look this bad. This can’t just be psychosomatic. Well, it can be, but it would beexceptionallyrare. Like ‘I should write an academic journal about this kid’ rare.
"The dreams could be a way for your brain to try to interpret what’s happening to your body," I say. "None of these things exist in a vacuum. You can’t get away from experiencing what’s happening to you. Is that the only dream? Or is there another reason your hands look like this?"
He shakes his head. "I used to…I don’t know, I used to play guitar," he says. "Tried to, anyway. And now every time I pick it up, it hurts so much, and it’s like something inside my actual fingers bursts. It’s crazy because I was getting better. And then somethinghappened."
"Have you been to a doctor about it?"
"Yes, but I’m a mystery," he says. "And my dad’s insurance is kind of shit, so I’m waiting for my appointment in about six months."
"What about your other hobbies?" I ask him.
He shakes his head, his gaze darting away from mine. "I don’t really have energy to do anything but stay in this bed," he says. "I used to go skateboarding with my friends, but I haven’t left the house in about two months."
"You’re not allowed?"
"Allowed?" he asks, cocking his head. "No, I’m allowed. I just…I get to my door and I almost pass out every time. I can’t leave this bedroom. And, not to be dramatic, but honestly, doc? I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure I’m going to die in here. And at this point, I really can’t fucking wait."
