Heart Condition

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Incomparable

I stared at the mirror, my maroon dress making my eyes more obvious than ever. Against the purple fabric of the bed, I laid out my various accessory options for the evening, and debated on pulling my hair back, or wearing a red knitted beanie I’d found hiding in my closet.

            There was a knock at the door, and Sasha said, “Ten minutes?”

            “Less than!” I replied, plopping myself on the bed and pulling on my brown ankle boots. As I sat, I thanked my mother silently for buying a pair of silk boxers to wear underneath this dress; I wasn’t quite used to the no-pants thing yet.

            Settling on the red hat, I adjusted it in the mirror and took a breath. Slowly, I walked to the door, and listened.

            He wasn’t on the other side. Good.

            The toiletry bag unraveled, the contents baring themselves. The orange pill bottles faded, each pill lining up carefully; I picked up one, studying the marks of what they meant. Make my pulse stronger. Lanoxin fading off of the bed and into my bloodstream, InnoPran rolling around the rim of the white cap, tipping down my throat, and nudging my esophagus to let it through.

            I slid down the foot of the bed, taking a breath. I’d enjoy myself tonight.

            “Abbie? You ready to go, Little Bird?”

             My feet walked without me, my hands opening the door carefully. And someone else stood in his place. He wasn’t a boy; he wasn’t some high school, seventeen-year-old boy who laughed at bad jokes. He was Sasha, old soul and young bones, waiting for my sick heart to carry me out the door.

            The fact that an acoustic version of an Adam Lambert song existed made me as equally intrigued as uneasy. But it relaxed me, if only for a minute.

            I turned my head, cheek against the headrest. Don’t ruin it. Don’t break this.

            Part of me wondered if my medicated self was pushing it’s way through my skin, and he could see how drained the pills made me.

            “Sasha, can I ask you a question?”

            He looked over, and I could feel the chill from outside chisel at the window. He whispered, “Sure.”

            “Will you still love me when I’m strapped to an operating table?”

            He stared straight ahead, dared not look at me and see what would become his future.

            “Don’t say that.” He said, and I could hear the car accelerate slowly.

            I tried to take another breath, “You’re right. We haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet. That was presumptuous.”

            He hesitated, “Abbie…” I glanced out the window, seeing the golden lights of…

            He didn’t. Not tonight. Not when I was like this. He pulled into the parking lot, and turned off the car. In the dark, everything slowly started coming together.

            I turned, feeling sick “Sasha, no.”

            “I wanted to do something special.” He said, his voice catching. He reached for my hands, “Abbie, listen to me. Just listen, and don’t try to do that thing you do when you make some snarky quip; just listen to me.” I nodded, and he opened his mouth. Nothing. He tried again, but I couldn’t focus on his face; my brain felt dizzy. Stupid medication. Finally, his head fell, and he kissed my fingers. He spoke softly, “I hate this. I hate it when you’re hurting.” He looked up, his dark eyes made me hate it, too. “You’re scared, I know; I’m scared, too. We made that deal, and I thought it would be difficult, but I didn’t think it would…That it would…”