SHOW ME HOW

Chapter 10

"Sweetheart, are you still in bed?" I heard Mom's voice call from just outside my bedroom door.

I squinted toward the wall clock, stretching my sore limbs before sitting up. Her voice had just pulled me from sleep—and it was already 14:00 in the afternoon.

Last I heard, she wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow. I guess plans changed.

I was still completely wiped from the chaos earlier this morning. Honestly, I could've slept straight through to the next day. My body felt heavy, my mind foggy—completely drained.

"I'm up, Mom. You can come in," I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

She peeked in, the dark circles under her eyes impossible to miss. She tried to smile, but the exhaustion clung to her face like a shadow.

As she reached my bedside, her smile faded, her gaze drifting to the pillow behind me.

"Are you feeling, okay?" she asked, placing a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, her expression tightening with concern. I frowned.

"I'm fine, Mom. What's going on?" I asked, uneasy at her sudden shift in mood.

"You had a nosebleed," she said, pointing to the corner of my pillow where a dark stain marked the fabric. "And Dr. Montgomery wants to see us. He said there's something he needs to discuss."

"Come on, up you get—go take a shower," she added, trying to sound light hearted again, though she avoided meeting my eyes.

"My next appointment isn't for a few weeks. Can't it wait until then?" I asked, confused and a little unsettled. I just wanted more sleep.

"That's more blood than I'm comfortable with, Devin. We need to get that nosebleed checked out," Mom said—her voice a bit louder than necessary—as she yanked the covers off me, leaving me no choice but to get up.

"Alright, I'll shower and get ready," I said quickly, not wanting to push her any further. The irritation was written all over her face, barely concealed behind a forced smile.

"I'll make you something to eat before we head out—just as soon as I'm done here," she said, half-rambling as she set the bloodied pillow on the floor and began stripping the rest of the bedding.

I knew her frustration wasn't aimed at me. She was angry at the situation—at how helpless she felt not being able to get me the treatment I needed fast enough. To her, every new symptom was a warning bell, a reminder that time was running out.

I've always had random nosebleeds, but it had been a while since the last one—and never this much blood.

After stepping out of the shower, I gave myself a quick once-over. A faint bruise had bloomed on the left side of my torso—still light, but noticeable against my pale skin. The one on my leg hadn't faded, which meant the one on my back was probably still there too.

Ugh, the joys. At this rate, I won't be able to hide them much longer. It always takes just the slightest bump to leave an ugly bruise.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Mom was no longer in my room—probably downstairs making lunch.

I pulled on a pair of black leggings and a white long-sleeved T-shirt, covering as much skin as possible. The last thing I needed was Mom spotting the bruises and spiraling into more worry.

Grabbing my phone, I left my room and headed for the stairs. But halfway down, I froze.

Mom's voice drifted up from below low, hushed, and tense. She was on the phone, and something in her tone made me stop cold. It felt like I was overhearing something I wasn't meant to hear—something she didn't want me to know.