I had expected to see Damian passed out. The rest of it, however, made my insides shake. Yanking the cell from my pocket, I dialed 911 as I strode over to where Damian lay on his bed, surrounded by a pool of his own vomit.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need…I need an ambulance.”
Stunned, I knelt next to him, taking in his pale skin and sunken sockets.
“Are you injured, ma’am?”
“No. Not me. He’s…he’s passed out.”
“And where are you, ma’am?”
I don’t know how many times she repeated her question before I gave her the address and the key code Dr. Lowell had given me.
“I’m sending an ambulance now, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I said, dazed. I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“Ma’am? Stay on the phone with me, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I repeated, not taking my eyes off Damian. Without hanging up, I allowed the phone to slip from my hand and fall to the floor.
I took a couple of steps backward, staring at his lifeless body. Was he breathing? Holding my breath, I stood perfectly still watching until I saw his chest rise and fall slightly. Then I let the oxygen out of my lungs.
“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you there?” The voice on the other end of my phone grew louder.
The words woke me from my trance. A bottle of Scotch, half drunk and without the lid, had poured out on his bed, a few beer cans lay on the floor covered with vomit, and an array of cigarettes were crushed into the carpet. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Squeaky whimpers sounded in my throat.
Blood had dried down the inside of his forearm. I glared at it, unable to process what I saw.
“Send two ambulances.” The operator sounded muffled. “The girl who called…”
What? Me?
As if on their own, my eyes glided to the phone. I don’t remember picking it off the floor and hanging up, but the voice on the other end stopped talking. With the phone still in my hand, I swallowed. It took everything I had to remember how to breathe. Heat flowed through my body, burning in my veins. I slipped the phone in my pocket on autopilot.
Listening to the sound of thick silence, I fixed on the way Damian’s legs fell over the edge of his bed. His head lay cocked to the side with one hand over his chestnut hair, the other sprawled out over the blanket. Without thinking, I yanked the tourniquet off his arm and threw it as far across the room as I could.
“I thought you cared about me!”
I wanted to beat on his chest. “I thought you—”
Shaking, I reached down and took his hand in mine and squeezed too hard. With my lids closed, I lifted his hand to my lips.
If he falls for you, and you die…Katie, it’ll kill him.
I dropped his hand as if it were on fire.
No. NO!
Talking a few steps backward, I locked on Damian’s ghost-like face.
I should have told him. He should have found out from me. I should have been there.
“Damian, I’m so sorry!”
My whole body trembled as I stood against the closet doors for support. A mixture of anger, fear, and regret shot out in small gasps. Then I’d calm myself for a few seconds before another round began. No matter what I did, I couldn’t look away.
Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. Wiping them away, my knees buckled and I lost my balance, landing on the floor. I couldn’t get back up; I didn’t want to. Instead, I curled my legs up to my chest, and stared out in front of me.
That’s how the paramedics found me. I never heard them come into the house or walk upstairs. I don’t even remember them coming into Damian’s room. One second my eyes were concentrated on Damian, the next, a bright light blinded me.
EMTs spoke to me, but I don’t know what they said or if I answered. One took my blood pressure and another put an oxygen mask up to my face. I tried to shake it off because it blocked my view of what another group was doing to my boyfriend.
A paramedic picked something up off the bed beside Damian. He put it to his nose, a grimace appearing on his face.
“Heroin,” he said, showing the woman taking Damian’s blood pressure the needle.
“Bag it,” she instructed.
I don’t know what happened next because I started getting dizzy.
“Her blood pressure is sixty over thirty-five. We’ve got to get her to a hospital, now,” someone said.
“Dami…Da…” I breathed.
“He’ll be fine,” a woman’s voice assured me.
“But…”
I don’t remember anything else.
~*~
When I awoke, I was alone in my hospital room. The sun sprinkled glitter through the window. My mouth felt like cotton, and I didn’t see a glass of water anywhere. I thought about buzzing a nurse when the door to my room opened.
Dr. Lowell walked through quietly until he noticed I was awake. Then his shoulders fell, and he made his way over to my bed. He didn’t have a hold of my chart, and his lips were pulled tight.
“Kate—”
“How’s Damian?” I wasn’t messing around. I had to know.
“He’s fine. I’m more concerned about you right now.” His eyes met mine on the last sentence.
“Me? Your son is falling apart and—” My nostrils flared.
“Kate.” Dr. Lowell assured me with a hand on my shoulder. “I know. I’m taking care of it. Thank you for caring about him when I…”
His gaze dropped to the floor, sadness filling his aging features. He shifted his weight before resuming our conversation.
“I’m letting you go home today, but I need you to stay home and rest. You’ve overworked yourself the last couple of days, and your body can’t handle it, Kate. Your mother is—”
“What do my parents know?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“No. They think it’s alcohol poisoning. But if they ask, Kate—”
“They won’t.”
I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I gripped the edge of the blanket to ease the trembling.
“I’m not giving up on him,” I said in the same tone as before. Then I glanced up at my doctor’s face. “And neither should you.”
His lines softened. He said nothing for a few seconds. “Take care of yourself, Kate.”
Just before he left the room, I asked, “What room is he in?”
Hesitantly, Dr. Lowell turned around. “He has to sleep it off. It’ll be another day.”
He walked out before I could ask anything else.
~*~
I was dressed and sitting cross-legged on the bed when my mother came in. She said nothing when she saw me; she just walked over and took me into her arms. Her tears dripped down the back of my neck.
“There’ll be other guys.” She held me tighter.
I struggled to pull away and jumped to my feet. “What do you mean? Other guys?”
Mom wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “We liked Damian, too, sweetie. This surprised us all.”
“What are you talking about? Is he…dead?”
“Oh, no, honey.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I glared at her.
“I’m saying he was—is—a little rough around the edges, but I never pegged him as an alcoholic. Did he ever try to get you to take—”
“MOM!” I stepped away from her, shaking my head. “He messed up. That’s all.”
“Calm down, Katie. Guys like that—”
“Damian needs me. I’m not dumping him.”
Mom’s eyes drifted around the room and back to me. “We can discuss this at home.” Her tone, however, said This is over.
Stiffly, she rose to her feet and flung my bag over her shoulder. Without saying another word, she crossed to the door, expecting me to follow. I did, but stayed ten feet behind.
Out in the hallway, Leslie’s gaze followed me past the nurses’ station. I jerked my head to the side at her. Slowing my pace to the elevator, Leslie caught up to me.
“What room is Damian in?” I whispered, keeping a keen eye on my mother ahead of me.
“Katie.” Leslie shook her head.
“Please,” I begged, tired of everyone blocking me. “I just want to peek in on him. That’s all.”
Leslie hesitated, glancing around the corridor. “Two-twelve, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
Leslie patted my shoulder and ducked into a room to check on a patient.
I followed Mom into the elevator and stood with my hands on my hips. It stopped on the second floor then proceeded down to ground level. We filed out, and when Mom and I reached the automatic doors leading out into the chilly winter afternoon, I paused.
“Crap! I forgot my diary in the drawer upstairs.” I hated depending on my acting skills; they were mediocre at best. I threw my arms out to the sides and slapped my forehead with my right hand.
Please buy it, Mom.
My mother’s lips disappeared as she curled them in her mouth. “I guess we’ll have to go back up and get it,” she finally said.
“I’ll go. You bring up the car.” The words came out fast. Too fast.
Mom’s eyes narrowed.
Smile like you’re telling the truth.
I grinned. “Uh, I mean, it would be nice if the car was warm, as chilly as it is outside. I don’t want to catch a cold. ‘Cause that would suck.” I stared at her, waiting.
Yes?
“Go get your diary and come right back down. Absolutely no detours.” The tone in her voice meant business.
I nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Before she had a chance to change her mind, I spun around and rushed off to the elevators. Inside, instead of pushing three, I followed the other patrons onto the second floor.
I noticed the number signs on the wall and started in the direction of room 212. Loud voices echoed through the hall and made my heart skip. I knew those voices. I hesitated. Taking a few steps closer to Damian’s room, I leaned against the wall outside his door.
“How do you expect to help her like this, Damian?” Dr. Lowell’s voice was harsh. “You say you care about her, then prove it!”
“I fucked up, okay?” Damian retorted.
“I thought things were getting better with you.”
“Yeah, well, I thought she was getting better, too. I guess we all make mistakes.”
“I’m doing everything I can!” Dr. Lowell enunciated each word.
I heard something crash against a wall as Damian shouted. “Then do more, damnit!”
“There is nothing more I can do.”
“Why can’t you do a transplant? She’s on the fucking list!”
“It doesn’t work that way, son.” Dr. Lowell’s voice lowered. He paused a few seconds, and I heard a chair screech against the floor. “There has to be a donor that matches her HLA.”
“Test me. I’ll do it.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?” The anger in Damian’s tone began to rise again.
“Look at you! You think the garbage floating around in your body is going to help her? It would probably kill her!”
“The cancer’s already killing her!” he roared.
I squeezed my eyes closed, pain radiating in my stomach. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t force it down.
“Clean yourself up, and I’ll be happy to run your sample,” Dr. Lowell yelled. Thick silence ascended on Damian’s room. Then in a quieter tone, he added, “She has time, son.”
“How much? And don’t feed me any of that candy-coated shit you force on your patients.”
“I can’t, doctor-patient—”
“Fuck the doctor-patient confidentiality bullshit! I love her!”
I choked. Did he just say what I thought he said? If he falls for you…I should have been elated to hear his admission. Instead, I slid down the wall with my back pressed against it and buried my face in my arms.
Dr. Lowell spoke next, calmly and carefully. “This is nothing you don’t already know. She’s getting headaches because the leukemia has spread to her spinal cord. Chemotherapy is no longer effective for her. She has a choice right now. We can do a lower dosage with hopes that it will slow down the progression. It will buy some time until a compatible donor can be found. Or we can keep her comfortable and still hope for a donor.”
Silence filled the room and cascaded down the corridor. I held my breath.
“What did she choose?” His voice shook.
“I think you should ask her, son.”
Again the room was silent for a few moments when Damian spoke again.
“Please. I’m begging you. As my father, how long does she have?”
Dr. Lowell sighed. “A few months at most.”