November 18
Dear Diary,
He kissed me! A real kiss. One that left me breathless.
I can’t get Damian’s touch out of my mind. I can still feel where his fingers treaded over my skin, where his lips pressed against me. I’d give anything to have them there again. I’ve been lying in bed for the last three hours, staring at my ceiling and picturing Damian’s Caribbean blue eyes. I don’t want to get him out of my head, but I would like to fall asleep.
It felt so good to have him want me like that. I felt…normal.
I wish I didn’t feel like this, though. We’re different in so many ways. I hate that I love being swept up in him. I hate how much I want to be with him. I’m opening myself up to get hurt.
He’s not good for me, I know that. But I also can’t stay away from him. Maybe if I wasn’t sick, then…
On the flip side, he’s giving me another reason to fight this as hard as I can. Is that what I want, though? Someone else to disappoint?
My parents are counting on me, too. I don’t want to let them down.
~*~
This time I really did forget my gloves at the hospital. Technically, I had another pair that I could wear, but retrieving my favorite ones gave me a great excuse to see Damian again. I didn’t think I could wait until Monday, anyway. His face filled my dreams, and I woke up once in the middle of the night kissing my pillow…okay, twice…
I half-ran inside and took the elevator to the third floor, a giant smile plastered across my face. Would he be happy to see me? Would he kiss me again? Probably not in front of everyone. Maybe he’d walk me back to my car and kiss me there? It didn’t matter; I just wanted to see him again. I hoped he wouldn’t be too weirded out, it not being a treatment day and all.
The elevator ride to the third floor took forever. When the metal doors finally opened, I got out and walked to the nurses’ station.
No one was there. I checked the chemo room, hoping to find Leslie. It was empty, too. I walked the length of the hall and found no one. All of the doors to the rooms were closed; they were usually open with the sounds of televisions and family members wafting into the hallway.
I opened the door to the Commons. Two young boys were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and a little girl, receiving her chemo treatment, was sitting on the sofa reading a book. She wore a pink infant headband on her bald head.
She looked up. “Hi.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Leslie just told me to stay in here. She said she’d be back in a little while.”
“Oh. When was that?”
“I don’t know, ten minutes ago? Dr. Lowell is in his office yelling at his son, though, so all the nurses are probably listening in. You know how they are.”
My heart sank. “Thanks,” I murmured.
I twirled around and rushed down the corridor to Dr. Lowell’s office. As I rounded the corner, I saw Leslie, Tammy, and two other nurses attempting to look busy in the same spot. Leslie noticed me first and shook her head. I glanced away and stared at the cracked-open office door.
“What the hell do you care? You’re never around, anyway.” Damian’s voice boomed down the hall.
“I’m doing the best I can. You’re not making this any easier. At least I’m trying,” Dr. Lowell yelled back, though not as loudly.
“You call working sixteen hours a day trying? Bullshit, Dad.”
“I asked you to be here with me.”
“No. You want me here to fucking baby-sit me.”
“What else am I supposed to do, Damian? You got yourself kicked out school, I’ve bailed you out of jail twice, you show up here drunk, and now you’re skipping your therapy sessions. I can’t trust you.”
“I’m such a goddamn disappointment to you, aren’t I? If only Liam were here instead.”
Thick silence filtered down the corridor.
“I didn’t say that.” Dr. Lowell’s voice was quiet.
Damian jerked the door open. All of the nurses twirled their heads in different directions. My eyes stayed transfixed on Damian.
“No, Dad, you don’t have to say it. You make it perfectly clear.”
Damian spun on his heel and slammed the office door closed. He started walking down the hall—no way he wouldn’t see me. He paused slightly, his eyes set on mine. His expression was hard and unreadable.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he pushed forward, swept past me, and swore under his breath. Leslie came up behind me as I watched him disappear down the hall.
“What happened?” I asked, still staring at Damian’s wake.
Leslie shook her head. “It’s not the first time. Before you, Damian showed up drunk every other day or so.”
“That’s what this was about?” I faced her.
She sighed. “It was about a lot of things.”
“Thanks, Leslie,” I said and started jogging after him, I’m not sure why. It wasn’t as if I could do anything about the situation.
The look in his eye as he’d passed me in the hallway scared me. The voice that had spoken so softly to me turned cruel and edgy as he yelled at his father. I’d never dream of speaking to my parents that way.
I checked the cafeteria first. He wasn’t there. I wandered around the first floor, poking my head into each of the waiting rooms. It was a large hospital, crowded with visitors and full of patients. Damian reeked of alcohol and probably wanted some place where he could be alone. I knew the third floor well, but the rest of the place was like a rat maze. After an hour of searching, I gave up. He obviously didn’t want to be found.
I slipped on my hat and walked out into the cold November afternoon. It had begun to flurry, and the wind stung my cheeks. I shoved my bare hands into my coat pockets and stared down at my feet as I walked to my car.
It was a long trek to the back of the parking lot, the only place I could find a spot. My mind wandered, thinking about the Damian I saw today, drunk and screaming. I touched my lips and remembered the warmth of his kiss. The guy who had taken so much care cutting my hair, kissing my bare head, caressing me, couldn’t be the same one I saw today.
“Hey.”
I jerked my head up. Damian stood leaning against my car, smoking. He looked different, not wearing scrubs. His black Columbia coat and faded blue jeans fit him much better than his hospital get-up. I swallowed as I made eye contact. Did he look sad or were his pupils that dilated?
“I was looking for you,” I said. “In there.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere near here.” He stared off in the direction of the hospital and threw his cigarette on the ground.
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“Wanna take me home? Doc confiscated my keys.” He had trouble pronouncing the last words.
I nodded. “Sure.”
I unlocked my yellow Bug’s doors. Damian opened the passenger door as I slid behind the wheel. He stumbled only slightly getting into the car, but fumbled with the seatbelt.
“Fuck it,” he muttered.
He gave up and I grabbed it and clicked it for him. He glared at me.
“I don’t need a ticket,” I said quietly.
“We wouldn’t want Miss Perfect to have that on her record, now would we?” he grumbled under his breath.
I shifted my attention to the snowflakes circling around us. I didn’t know what to say, so we sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the car warm up.
“You’ll have to tell me where to go.”
Damian didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window. I could hear him breathing. Taking my hands off the wheel, I sat back in my seat. I didn’t want to push him, so I waited. Eventually, he sighed and turned to me.
“Uh, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“I forgot my gloves.”
So lame.
Damian reached down and unzipped his bag. There was a half-grin on his face as he pulled out my favorite pair of gloves. “I was going to give them to you on Monday.”
If the smell of alcohol hadn’t been burning my nostrils, I would’ve found the gesture charming. I took the gloves from him, touching his hand. “Thanks.”
He bowed his head, refusing to look up when he spoke. “Hey, I’m sorry. Like I said, you weren’t supposed to be here today.”
“Damian, I don’t even know what happened.” I reached and placed my hand over his. He started to withdraw it but stopped. His eyes met mine.
“My dad and I haven’t gotten along in a long time. Sometimes it just…” he paused and rubbed his forehead. “My mom and my brother died. They went out to get a birthday cake for The Good Doctor, and they never came home.”
How drunk was he? Would he remember opening up to me tomorrow?
The idea spurred some bravery within me, and I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It hasn’t been easy.”
“And the alcohol?”
Damian squinted at the floor and scoffed. He shifted in his seat before meeting my eye again.
“I get it.”
“Get what?” he snapped.
“Losing everything in an instant. Wanting to run away from the emptiness inside.”
Damian didn’t say anything for a while. He stared at our entwined fingers. “I live on Lincoln Place Drive. I’ll show you.”
We drove in silence, except for Damian giving me directions. I turned into the long driveway to a huge three-story brick house. I gaped at the size of it. It was beautiful, with white trimmed windows and evergreen shutters.
I drove up to the first garage door and shifted into park. Damian grabbed his bag and reached for the handle. The door swung open, and he swiveled. “You coming?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” The invitation caught me off guard. I guess I’d assumed he’d rather be alone.
The foyer was bigger than my bedroom. My mouth dropped. No way could my parents ever afford even a fraction of the place. Damian must have noticed my awe as he was halfway down the hallway before coming back for me.
“It’s just a stupid house. Come on.” He grabbed my hand and yanked me into the massive kitchen. My eyes bugged out. It was Martha Stewart’s dream kitchen, aka my mother’s dream kitchen. Stainless steel appliances accented the black marble countertops and cream-colored cabinetry.
The grip he had on my wrist almost hurt. I tried to tear away, but he held on even tighter. “Damian, let go. You’re hurting me!”
He dragged me over to one of the stools under the breakfast counter. I rubbed my wrist when he let go and plopped down on one of the stools. Glancing over, I saw Damian rummaging through the refrigerator. He yanked out two bottles of beer and started walking over to me.
“Oh no,” I said, sliding down. I swiped them before Damian had a chance to protest. “I’ll make you coffee.”
Damian’s eyes shot daggers into me. I ignored him and put the alcohol back in the colossal refrigerator. The Keurig sat at the opposite side of the kitchen. I took a gander and opened the cabinet above the machine. Bingo: K-cups.
I faced him. “What do you want?”
He narrowed his eyes. “A beer.”
I spun on my heel, rolling my eyes. “You’re getting coffee. What kind?” The sternness of my voice surprised me.
“I don’t care,” he mumbled, slouching lower in the chair.
I grabbed a random cup and stuck it in the machine. “Coffee mugs?”
Damian scowled and pointed one cabinet over. He lowered his head to rest on his arms. I took two mugs, filling mine with hot chocolate and his with coffee. When both cups were full, I sat Damian’s in front of him. He glared at it, glanced at me and took a sip.
We drank our beverages in silence. Every so often, Damian would eye the refrigerator, probably wishing he hadn’t invited me in so he could be drinking his way to oblivion by now. He finished his coffee first and watched as I took a slow drink. When I put the mug back down on the counter, he reached for my hand.
“Come on,” he drawled.
“Where?” I considered pulling away, but didn’t.
“Upstairs.” He stood up and tripped over the leg of the stool. I tried to let go of his hand, but he held on too tight. With a grunt, I toppled to the floor and landed on top of him. He started laughing.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?” He licked his lips seductively and slapped my butt. “The floor might be a little cold, but I’m game.”
Ugh…
He was drunk; I ignored him. He pushed my head down to kiss me. I ducked out from under his grip. Sure, I wanted him to kiss me, but I wanted him to remember it.
I crawled to my feet. Damian scoffed, swearing under his breath as he rolled onto his stomach, dragging himself onto his hands and knees. I offered my hand; he batted it away.
“I’m not a fucking child,” he stammered.
If it hadn’t been for the wonderful moments we’d shared, I would’ve been hurt. Instead, I blamed the alcohol and followed him up the stairs.
He rounded the corner to his bedroom. Staggering his way to his unmade bed, Damian slipped off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. My eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his bicep. The design looked Celtic. He crawled into bed and fell onto his back, eyes closed. Another Celtic design in the shape of a cross was burned on his chest. I wondered what they meant.
My eyes drifted over his body. Oh so perfect! My heart pounded, and I forced myself to look away.
I grabbed the black blanket and spread it over him. He opened his eyes, staring straight into mine. Still high on courage, I reached down and touched his cheek, running my fingers down over his lips. He kissed my fingers, saying nothing. I dropped my hand, and Damian rolled to his side, taking the blanket with him. His shoulders soon rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I sat down beside him, rolling my fingers around locks of his hair.
More than anything, I wanted to take away his torment. Pain, even though it hurt, made us stronger—if it didn’t destroy us first. I fought my disease harder each time because of the sting inside. I couldn’t allow it to beat me. No matter how loud it screamed, I’d channel all of my energy into defeating it. I wanted Damian to do the same to his. Except right now, his pain was winning. And I didn’t know how to even the score.
Or even if I could.
I looked around the room as I toyed with his hair. Two shot glasses and an empty bottle of Tequila sat on top of his night stand. The wall across from his bed was black, all the others were white. Large white stair-step shelving stood at the far left, a guitar leaned against it. Black curtains draped the windows, and a huge television hung on the wall across from his bed. Clothing, CD cases, shoes, belts, towels, and empty bottles of whisky were strung across the floor. It looked nothing like my room, which I kept OCD clean.
Eyeing the mess, I decided to tidy up a bit. At least make a pathway from his bed to his private bathroom. His breathing had steadied, and he started to snore. The soft noise made me smile. I debated for a few seconds, then I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before I chickened out.
I stood up and started creating a trail by moving stuff with my feet. At best I could get his shoes out of the way. My clean-freak-overdrive kicking in, I grabbed any CDs and Blu-rays I found lying on the floor. With a stack in my hands, I walked over to the white shelving and placed the stuff on it.
I glanced back at Damian; he looked so peaceful. I started making my way to the door, watching my step. My eyes skipped across the carpet. My breath caught when I noticed something on the floor beside the bed. A lump welled up inside my throat. There was no mistaking what I saw.
Nothing Damian did or said that day had stung until now. I was able to excuse it all. But seeing the black lacy bra beside his bed hurt even more than any cancer procedure I’d endured.