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DELILAH
“Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Dr. Lauren wears a funny look when she pushes her chair away from me, rolling backward so she can toss her gloves in the trash after examining the cut on my head. “This is my job, don’t forget. And I told you to come in and follow up with me, remember?”
“I remember. But I’m fine. It seems like you’re going out of your way.”
“I’m not.” She hits me with an appraising look as she stands. “You need to get used to people giving a damn about you, girl.”
That only makes me laugh. I know I shouldn’t. I know she means it. But there comes a time when a person has to get real. “You’re one of the few who ever have.”
“That was the past. This is now. You have to give yourself a chance to be cared for.”
Right. I thought Lucas cared about me, and look where I ended up. Alone. Hated. Maybe Aspen wants to be friends—I still can’t imagine why—but her husband won’t let her. He acted like I was a leper or something when he saw us together in the medical wing. Freaking out because, oh no, his precious Aspen was spending time with a girl who wouldn’t be alive much longer.
Let’s not help the girl with a death sentence hanging over her head or anything. Let’s avoid her, instead. Wouldn’t want to get any blood splattered on us.
“Caring for me is too dangerous,” I remind her. “It’s probably not safe for you, either. You’re better off pretending I don’t exist, like everybody else does.”
“It won’t always be like this. I’m sure…” What else is there to say? It’s a waste of breath to tell me everything will be okay. I know it won’t unless the people with a thing against me all change their minds for some reason. I can’t think of what that reason might be. I doubt such a reason exists, anyway. Once people get ideas in their heads, they don’t easily let go of them.
“Thanks for checking up on me.” I hop down from the examination table. “I’d better get to class.”
“How are classes going, by the way? Have you been able to concentrate on your work?”
Her penetrating stare tells me she already knows the answer. It isn’t easy lying to her when she’s so friendly and caring. So I don’t bother. “No. Not at all. But it’s not like I actually want to be here. I learn more from reading books in the library.”
“Keep doing that. You’re a smart girl. I would hate to think of you not learning anything all this time.”
What’s the use? I’m not leaving here alive. “I’m doing my best.” At least that’s not a lie. But my best isn’t exactly a whole lot, either.
I don’t particularly feel like going to class. I’m sure nobody will care if I show up or not. It’s a complete joke, being here in the first place. Like being on death row, but people expect you to go through the motions of an ordinary day as if you have a future worth preparing for. It’s like everybody around here operates under the same mass delusion.
I don’t want to go to the library, either. I might see Aspen there, which means her guard dog will eventually come sniffing around. He can’t be too far from her for too long. She might make the grave mistake of speaking to me, and then where would we be?
It’s Lucas I want to see. I want to know more about why he was ready to let me die. That pathetic excuse about wanting to tell me the night he came to my room. What was that supposed to be about? Am I supposed to think he’s a good guy for considering giving me a heads-up? Let’s gloss over the weeks between then and now. What a coward.
I doubt that’s a word he’d ever use to describe himself. Coward. He thinks he’s strong and vicious and all that. The sort of man who makes things happen. He snaps his fingers, and everybody sits up straight and waits for his instructions. He barges into a girl’s bedroom, and she lies back and waits for him, trembling, anticipating his touch.
At least, that’s what he wishes was true.
I know the truth—and maybe that’s why he hates me. Because I know the truth about him. I know who he is, the sort of man underneath the mask he wears. He has actual feelings. A conscience. He wants to do right by his kid, even though he doesn’t have the first idea of how to show emotion. He wants to be nice to me, but it would mean going against everything that’s supposed to matter in this fucked-up world of his.
He feels things. He wants things. He’s afraid to show it, and he doesn’t understand that fear makes him weak. Not feeling or wanting things but being afraid to show it.
He would have warned me if he hadn’t been afraid to show how much he actually cared whether I live or die.
That is, if he actually does care. Which part was the lie? The caring, or the pretending not to? I’m so tired of all these questions, never knowing what’s real and what’s not.
I guess that’s why I’m halfway to Lucas’s office before I know what I’m doing. This was always where I was going to end up. I can either sit and stew with all these questions, or I can force him to answer me.
His assistant isn’t at her desk. That’s probably not a bad thing. She doesn’t need to hear what I have to say. His door is open a crack, far enough for me to see him at his desk.
“What are you doing here? I told you I’d call when the time is right.”
Whoever he’s talking to, he’s not happy with them. I press myself against the wall, holding my breath. I should probably get out of here, or at least wait further away until his conversation is over. Right? That’s what a normal, sane person would do.
Nobody ever called me normal, did they?
