What I Couldn't Tell Him

48 - Go Find A New Wh*re

JAIMIE PERRON

I woke up, after a steady sixteen hours sleep, at midday. I drained a glass of water when a nurse came in, dribbling a jug of water into a vase full of tea roses. They were brought by a grumbling Alden yesterday; a gift from Luke. I thought they were quite pretty, but  I repeatedly assured him that I didn't like them as much as the sunflowers he brought. It doesn't mean anything; he is a good friend. And I don't want Alden breaking anyone else's jaws. It is nice to think he would be like that for me, and also a little strange.

I long since decided that I will not tell anyone that I could hear them. Maybe anecdotes, blurring memories, but not much. I think they may have said some things they would rather I didn't remember. It is easy to blurt out things you don't mean when you think you're about to lose someone.

The nurses understood, especially James. He would sneak in bits of medical explanations, telling me how to make my lie believable,  then wink at me or give me a meaningful glance. He told me this morning that some patients claim to hear everything and others nothing. He didn't ask about me.

The nurse comes to my bedside, a bundle of clothes tucked under her freckled arm. I don't recognise her, and the coiled auburn hair and spattered freckles would be unmistakable. She looks like Jenni, but with a bigger nose, few decades in the future and a few stone heavier.

"Here, love. We thought you might want a change to see your Dad. It was your mum's idea," she unfolds a t-shirt and ripped jeans on to my bed, smoothing them out, "Don't feel any pressure to stand if its too early yet. It is not often that anyone recovers this drastically in a day anyway." She smiles, and the lines around her eyes deepen, "You must be a strong girl."

I stare at them, back at her, then at the door. She shuffles over and twists the blinds. They click against each other like teeth and give me relative privacy.

She peels back the covers, exposing my jutting hips, bones and knees. I try to avert my eyes, disgusted. The nurse smiles, but her eyes betray her sympathy.

I feel hideous. There's no femininity or strength. My physical being is a reminder of every lie and every doctors office, every terrifying moment and surge of desperate claustrophobia. I'm fascinated by it too, studying each cleaver of bone, each slither of pulsing flesh, like a skeleton draped in cracking, pink cloth.

I shift, aching. I half expect my knees to creak like the tin man. They don't, but they click. I shudder each time. My energy dwindles, legs shaking when I swing them over the edge of the bed. My knees are the thickest part of my legs. My hands move to the buttons on my back but she stops me, giving me a chance to examine my long fingers, knuckles sticking out against tight, dry skin. I feel her warm hands brush the beads of my spine, straining out of my baggy skin.

"Right. You are doing so well. Do you want to try standing for me? You should be okay, focus on the movements hun."

I touch my foot to the floor, surprised that it is not cold. I shift my weight on my arms, pushing up. At first it feel fine, then my knee gives and I collapse onto Jenni senior's shoulder. She props me up, half carrying me. I'm pathetic. Useless. Worthless.

"Okay. Breathe. One more." She supports half my weight, letting me wobble like a newborn calf.

"That's it. Brilliant, you're so strong, darling, remember that."

A warm river of pride fills in some of the cavernous spaces in my body.

Then she pulls off my shift. I catch my reflection and a whimper tumbles out of my throat. My ribs slice through my skin, so defined you could count them. Any trace of abdominal muscle has depleted, leaving my hips to jut out like knives strapped to my waist. I have no colour in my skin. No life. I may as well be dead for all the use I am to anyone. I might snap at any moment.