I didn’t know if I should run to him, stay where I was, or creep downstairs and curl up on one of the sofas. My gaze stayed glued to the closed door. Other than the running water from the shower, no noise crept into the bedroom.
I slipped off the bed and gathered up my dress. Clutching it for a moment against my chest, I ended up draping it over a black chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a notebook on the dresser. I glanced up at the closed door, paused, then grabbed the notebook and a pen and hopped back in bed, sliding the blankets over my bare legs.
Since I didn’t have my actual diary with me and I desperately needed the escape, I figured I’d jot down my thoughts on paper and transfer it later. My mind couldn’t wait until I got home to get everything out.
December 18
Dear Diary,
I couldn’t imagine a better Christmas date. Well, before it began.
The night started like a dream. When he walked toward me singing, I could barely wait until he finished to throw my arms around his neck. He looked so gorgeous with the top button of his shirt undone. I’ve never seen his eyes so bright. I wanted to drink him in.
At dinner we danced, my head resting on his shoulder; I didn’t want to let him go. I could have stayed there forever. I loved how he smelled, how he held me, how his lips pressed against my scalp. Why did it have to end?
I don’t understand. I was ready, and he was…
I forced the tears back and stole a peek at the bathroom door. The shower was still running.
My stomach had an unfamiliar ache. Sobs began to sneak out, and I lost control. Not wanting Damian to hear, I hugged a pillow to my chest and cried into it.
I took a few deep breaths and lifted my head.
What stopped him? I thought I was doing everything he wanted. He said…
I scanned the bed. A lump formed in my throat as I envisioned our bodies tangled over the sheets. I closed my eyes, allowing the hurt to fill me. It burned, searing holes in my stomach. Chemo never made me feel this bad.
I gripped the pen again.
I opened up, and he rejected me. I thought that maybe, after tonight, after everything…that he might love me too.
The lacy bra invaded my mind again. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t justify the bra on the floor with what happened tonight and still believe that he cared about me. But what I’d seen in his eyes couldn’t be faked.
He didn’t want me.
I didn’t want to think about it anymore; it hurt too much. Numbing the pain would be easier. How did Damian take care of his? Oh, yeah—empty bottles sat on his nightstand.
I threw the blanket off and knelt to peer under his bed: shoes, clothes, books, junk. The thought crossed my mind to dig it all out. I’d probably find some girl’s underwear I could throw in his face.
I searched the nightstands and came up with empty beer cans. In the far corner of his closet, I found empty bottles of Templeton Rye and Jim Bean.
He had to keep full bottles somewhere in his room. Where were they?
My body shivered. Frustrated, I sunk to the floor beside Damian’s bed. Even if I’d found a full bottle, I probably couldn’t have done it anyway.
Or maybe I could have.
I don’t know.
Curling my legs to my chest, I rested my head on the pillow, avoiding the sight of the bathroom door. The shower stopped, and a minute later the door opened. I didn’t glance up.
His footsteps drew closer. Was he surprised to still see me there? Disappointed? Never mind, I didn’t want know.
When I didn’t acknowledge him, he walked to the other side of the bed. I heard a drawer open, some shuffling, then it closed. He tossed a towel on the bed. My heart pounded as I heard him come back around and then sit next to me on the floor. He wore only a pair of pj pants. Without hesitating, he wrapped his arm around me and hugged me next to him.
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, Katie.”
Conflicting voices shouted in my head. Don’t call me Katie! Just hold me and kiss me and show me you care.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
He offered his hand, but I didn’t take it. I didn’t want to touch his skin and have to deal with the consequences. By the look on his face, my gesture stung. Good.
I followed him down the hall, staring at the floor and walls; anywhere but his glistening wet body in front of me. Every time I caught sight of his naked back, the pit of my stomach tightened and fresh tears began to sting my eyes.
The guest room was at the far end of the hall, six doors down from Damian’s. Good, I’d be that much farther away. I swept past him and climbed into the king size bed, which was decorated in ocean blue—the color of Damian’s eyes. The darkness would soon blot out the reminder.
I rolled away from Damian. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d hurt me. He was still in the room. My fingers gripped the soft blue comforter, and I tucked it up around my neck. I curled myself into a ball with my eyes squeezed shut, listening for him to leave.
Instead, the bed sank next to me. The tears I’d been fighting dripped onto the pillow. At the same time, I wanted him to leave and hold me close. The confusion made me want to throw up.
He sat beside me, not moving, not speaking, not touching me. I tried to hold my breath and stop the whimpers I didn’t want him to hear. The more I fought the inevitable, the tighter I gripped the blanket. Why wouldn’t he just go?
Minutes passed like hours. The soft sounds of sobs faded away, and my eyelids began to drop. I felt Damian’s lips next to my ear.
“Good night, Katie,” he whispered and kissed my cheek. “I…” He sighed. "Oh, Fuck," he said under his breath.
He hesitated as he rose, then scooted off the bed. I waited until I heard the door click before I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. The pain overwhelmed me again, and without Damian’s presence, I allowed my cries to echo off the cerulean walls.
I could smell Damian all over me. The scent filled me and made me long for him. I yanked his t-shirt off my body, wadded it up, and held it in my arms. I don’t remember how long I cried before I finally drifted to sleep.
~*~
When I awoke the next morning, my body felt warmer. I could still smell Damian, but I no longer had his t-shirt clutched to my chest. My eyes hurt from the night before, and I wondered how I was going to make it through the day. Would I be able to say anything to him?
I heard a sigh beside me, and my eyes flew open. They drifted to the black chair in front of me, where my red dress hung from the night before. The blanket sitting around my hips was black, not blue. Suddenly, I felt naked, realizing that I was only wearing my bra and underwear.
What in the world?
Wide-eyed, I peered down to where one of Damian’s arms was draped around my bare stomach, the other dangerously close to my breasts. I sucked in a mouthful of air. Damian pulled me closer to him, his nose nestled in my neck.
I didn’t know how to respond. He’d damaged my pride, and I hadn’t forgiven him. Sure, I was happy to be tucked next to him again, but I still hurt. Really hurt.
Gently, he rolled me onto my back. My lashes fluttered open, allowing his blue eyes to wash through me. He propped his head up on one hand. Leaning in, he brushed his lips lightly over mine. I lay there frozen.
Without dropping his gaze over my barely-dressed body, he drew the black blanket up over me, making me feel less self-conscious. My mind cleared, but only a little.
“Damian,” I started.
“I have something for you.” He twisted and reached down beside his bed. He handed me a leather-bound book with a red satin bow wrapped around it. “Merry Christmas.”
I held it, staring at the slightly worn edges.
A few moments of silence surrounded us before Damian spoke. “It’s my journal.”
I swallowed, still gripping the leather.
He sighed. “You said it helps you, so I thought maybe I’d give it a shot.”
“I can’t read this.” I shook my head and handed it back. He didn’t take it. “It’s your personal thoughts, and I—”
“Read it. Please,” he urged, running his fingers over my cheek. “I know you’re upset, and I … Damn it!” he muttered as he swept a hand through his hair. “I just…please read it.”
“Okay,” I replied, still not convinced. I had never let anyone read mine; it was too revealing.
He nodded. “The roads have probably been cleared off by now. I’ll take you home.”
His legs swung over the side of the bed. He grabbed a pair of jeans on the floor and pulled them over his boxers, standing to zip them. A lump formed in my throat as I stared at the way they hung low on his hips. He snatched a t-shirt from the closet and slipped it over his head. Glancing at me, he said, “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
I stopped him before he could open the door. “Damian?”
He twisted around, pain overshadowing the gleam in his eyes.
“How did I get here?”
“I waited for Dad to get home and go to bed. Then I brought you in here with me.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll see you in the kitchen.” He closed the door behind him.
~*~
I tucked Damian’s journal, bow still on, inside the drawer of my nightstand. No matter how tempting it was to sneak a peek, I couldn’t. Some things were better left unknown. I feared what was inside.
I took a book with me to my treatment on Monday. Brennan was there, just finishing up. He smiled at me when I tousled his hair.
“Mom’s taking me to McDonald’s for supper.”
I laughed. “Gourmet food at its finest.”
“Bye, Kate,” he said, running out after his mother.
“He seems happier,” I observed as Leslie hooked the central line to the IV.
“I introduced him to the Commons today. He and another little boy played video games all afternoon.”
I grinned.
“You used to enjoy hanging out in the Commons,” Leslie noted.
I shrugged. “It’s quieter in here.”
“And gloomier.”
“Easier to read.”I held up my book.
“Hmmm.” Leslie put her hands on her hips. “Apple or orange?”
“Orange.”
“You want Damian to bring it in?”
“Oh, uh.” I paused. Crap. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure he’s busy.”
Leslie’s eyebrows rose. I cut to my book.
“I’ll be right back,” Leslie said, sweeping out the door.
I glanced up when I heard the door close. My shoulders relaxed, and I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the chair. Gossip would be circling the nurses’ station within seconds. Why did she have to ask that?
The door opened.
“Thanks, Leslie,” I muttered, sinking deeper into the chair.
“I’m never too busy to bring you anything, Kate.”
My eyes shot open. Damian stood in front of me, arms crossed with a hint of anger written on his face. I dropped my gaze.
Damian sat in the chair beside me. It hurt that he hadn’t called the day before, and I still hadn’t forgotten Saturday night.
“Look, Kate, there’s only so many times I can apologize,” he said. “Have you read it yet?”
I shook my head. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t.”
I glared at him. “You can’t, or you won’t?”
“It’s not that easy,” Damian said, his voice rising.
“Sure it is. Don’t make things hard.”
“It is hard, Kate! That’s something you don’t seem to understand.”
“Then I guess you need to enlighten me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back, challenging him.
Damian rose to his feet. “Life doesn’t always fit into your candy-filled boxes. You’re so fucking scared of the tough shit that you minimize it and brush it off your shoulder like a speck of dirt. Real life doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m scared? Me?” I shot out of my chair. “What have you been doing for the last two years? You lost two of the closest people in your life, and you’re intent on pushing your father away too. You cope by dousing yourself in alcohol so you don’t have to feel the pain, when maybe that’s exactly what you need.”
“Everyone deals with shit their own way.”
“Yeah, they do. But you’re hiding from it.”
Damian threw his arms out to the side. “You get what you see, babe. At least I’m not pretending.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” I retorted. “You sink yourself into your bad-boy image so people will leave you alone. Everyone else might buy it, but I don’t.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy anything. You’ve made up this bullshit story that everything is perfect in your little cancer-filled life—like it doesn’t eat you up inside every second of every day. You put on this fucking façade that you’re happy because it’s easier to pretend it’s actually true than have to deal with the reality of your disease.”
My nostrils flared as heat boiled through my veins. “Get out,” I growled.
“Happy to, princess.” He slammed the door behind him, and I fell back into the chair, tears burning my eyes.
I didn’t look up when Leslie came in and asked if I was okay. When I didn’t answer, she took the hint and left. I broke down.
At home, I stormed up to my room and refused to come down for dinner. I wrenched Damian’s journal out of the drawer and glowered at the brown leather cover. What had he written that he couldn’t tell me face to face? I squeezed the journal in my hands, almost folding it in half. After what he’d said today, the last place I wanted to be was inside his head. Anger filled me again. I screamed as I threw his journal across the room.
~*~
December 22
Dear Diary,
I keep staring at Damian’s journal on the floor. It’s been there for two days. I can’t bring myself to pick it up, let alone read it. He hasn’t called or texted or stopped over.
I hear his voice in my head. I feel his hand in mine sometimes, especially when I’m asleep. Last night I woke up actually thinking he was there, holding me. It was just my own arm draped over my stomach.
I stuffed all my blue clothes under my bed. Every time I shuffled past a blue sweater, his eyes flashed in my head.
Maybe it’s better that it’s over. We can both move on, and… I miss him so much. How is that possible after today?
I can’t stop thinking about what he said. Life isn’t supposed to be hard. Isn’t it always better to find the bright side of things? Always look for the good, my grandma used to say. That’s what I’ve been doing, trying to stay positive.
So what, I have leukemia. It’s just a part of life—well, my life. Is that simplifying it too much? Am I using it as an excuse to hide because I’m too scared of the possibilities?
He’s wrong. I’m stronger than that.