VIII
The (semi) short burst of happiness ends at Luke’s next chemo treatment. Only Fox and I go because Amy and Kylee are on a mini road trip to go see a band I don’t like. They’re going to be home tomorrow, but I leave to go to my Dad’s. They promised to take turns watching the twins. Amy on Friday, Kylee on Saturday, and they’re going to drop by on Sunday to check in on them. I’ll be home Monday afternoon. It’s a three hour drive to my Dad’s, which I’ll be driving by myself. I’m nervous, and Fox picks up on it. “You okay?” he asks.
“Not really,” I admit.
“Your dad or Luke?”
“Dad.”
“Want me to stop talking?”
“No.”
“The twins are going to be just fine, you know? Kylee and Amy will make sure they get taken care of.”
“I know. I’m nervous to meet the family my dad replaced us with.”
“Then don’t go.”
“That’s rude.”
He glares at me, “Then go.”
“I am, I am. I want to go but I also don’t.”
“I’ll act like that makes sense.” I shake my head and smile slightly.
He pats my hand, “It’ll be okay.”
Fox holds my hand through chemo, and I let him because it feels like he’s holding me together. We wait around for Luke to get sick a few times, then head back to my house. Fox spends a lot of time with us, and I’m not complaining. Every time we go to chemo we go home and watch a few movies. Today he had a late appointment, so we’re only going to watch one. We watch The Breakfast Club even though we’ve both seen it more than ten times each. Lauren falls asleep halfway through and so does Fox. When the movie is over I go and sit in the backyard. It’s clear and chilly and still. Sitting outside calms me down, especially at night. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. The air chills my lungs but I keep doing it. Fox sits down next to me and I jump.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mumbles sleepily, “Why’d you let me sleep?”
“Honestly? You looked peaceful and I was jealous,” I shrug.
“Should have woken me up.”
“I’m okay alone sometimes.”
“Like now?”
“Well no, I’m not alone now, but I’m still okay,” I see him smirk in the dark. We’re quiet for a minute, and then I ask, “Why do you stick around?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems like all we do is go to doctor’s appointments.”
“That’s not true and you know it. We’re not at the doctor’s right now.” I shrug, pull my knees up to my chest, and rest my chin on them. We sit quietly for a little while, lost in a sea of thought that could pull us under and drown us at any given time.
“How long since you… you know…” he says, glancing at my wrists and then meeting my eyes. I forgot he even knew about my self-harm.
“More than a month I guess. I don’t remember.” I do remember, and my wrists burn constantly with the want of feeling the bite of the razor once more. I don’t voice these thoughts. He nods. I yawn and he stands slowly and stretches.
