Wings

36. Alexander

What are you supposed to do when your heart keeps beating while your body decays around it?

Cry for help with a mouth full of maggots that are really secrets? Or just paint on a smile and say "hello"?

I took the latter.

No one noticed the bags under my eyes, growing larger and darker every night I couldn't sleep because her smile haunted me or because Gracie wanted a "wild night of fun." I couldn't say no, so I just kept my shirt on.

She didn't notice every wince and whimper.

It took a few days for me to muster up the courage, but I did eventually get to Liz. She was sitting in the auditorium, staring at the empty stage with her tiny hand in Kenith's. She heard the door close as I approached and didn't turn, saying, "Hello, Alex."

She stood up, pulling her massive boyfriend beside her. "Let's go talk about why you've suddenly become a leftie."

She sauntered out of the auditorium, to the costume room where I'd first met her. I followed, and shielded my eyes when she turned on the lights. It was May, nearly showtime for the spring play. The costume room was full of messy white shirts and shoes without matches.

Liz leaned herself on the counter, Kenith sitting in the chair beside her. He reached for her hand, but she pushed it through her hair instead. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I tried to seem honest. It was half true.

Her eyes snapped up and into mine for the first time. It was still jarring, like she knew something about me that even I didn't know. "Don't you lie to me. I'm too stressed for that."

I sighed and brought my hands to the bottom of my shirt, tugging it up.

"Woah, buddy, we're not into that," Kenith joked. "You're not my type."

I looked to Liz for permission, but she was snickering at Kenith's joke. Her smile was reluctant, her eyes rolling. Her whole body said, "I love you, dumbass."

I pulled the shirt off.

Liz and Kenith both stared for a moment before the short woman came at me, hands pulling the dirty bandages off, questions firing out at record speeds. "Where did this come from? When did you last clean it? Is it infected? Who did this? When did it happen?"

I winced as the bandages tore off some dried blood. "I got shot." After four days thinking about it, the statement no longer scared me. "It happened like a week ago."

Liz took a deep breath as she looked at me, like my mom when I tell her I failed another French test. "Sit down and explain while I properly clean this."

"Do you know how to?" I questioned as I sat down in a vaguely cushioned chair.

Liz glanced back at me over her shoulder as she dug through a pile of dirty clothes. "No, but I'm your best bet if you haven't gone to the hospital yet."

"She knows what she's doing," Kenith tried to comfort.

"Babe?" Liz asked with a huff. "Could you go find the disinfectant?" Kenith nodded and walked out. She turned back to face me, crossing her arms. "Now start talking."