Oh, Lucy

Chapter Two: Drug Trials and Tribulations

"Let me take a hit."

"I thought you said you couldn't smoke." Thomas questions as he exhales. Wisps of smoke escape his mouth and are consumed by the atmosphere with his every word.

"Said being the relative word. Now I'm saying to let me take a hit." I retaliate, putting my hand out as a signal for him to put the bong in it. He rolls his eyes but doesn't ask further questions. I smile as wide as a Cheshire cat and put the bong to my lips. He lights it for me and lets the smoke gather before expertly pulling the bowl off. I take the longest rip I can muster, my lungs fighting back the poison they hadn't registered in months.

I frantically move the bong away, coughing out in puffs.

"Easy now." Thomas says, taking the bong back. "You've gotta work up to that Luce." He takes a rip from the bong himself, and I roll my eyes at his patronizing tone.

"Shotgun me."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, throwing the lighter onto his bleached white sheets and guiding my mouth to his with his free hand. He doesn't even have to try to pry my mouth open, my body having grown more than accustomed to this poison. He slips his tongue past my lips along with the smoke, every bit as intoxicating.

His other hand becomes free as well, the bong gingerly placed on his nightstand behind him.

He doesn't handle me with nearly as much care, pushing me back into the bed and biting at my lips until he's smudged all of my lipstick and torn the fleshy, pale-pink skin underneath.

Maybe he'd be more careful if he knew I was dying, and not in the dragged out, mundane way that he was. I'll never know.

That's why I've kept coming back to him after all, because with him I never have to think about tomorrow or the next day, but only about the now.

I might not be able to focus my eyes soon but at least in the moment I can focus on the way he touches me.

And I tell myself that I love it, the way he uses me and I use him. Because it's the closest I'll ever be able to get to love again.

Soon enough we've gone through the motions and it's all over and he has no use for me anymore.

I get up from his bed as he pulls his boxers back on and kiss him goodbye.

"No round 2 today?" He mutters as I remove my lips from his.

"I've got some things to take care of." I say and he nods, never one to pry. I throw my clothes on and see myself out like I always have. This is how it's always been for Thomas and I and something as trivial as Huntington's wasn't going to change that.

I find my car and get in, making sure to make myself presentable. I reapply a little makeup here, spray some perfume there and then I'm on my way to meet my mother, my respite from dying over.

I follow the directions to the latest clinic she's heard all about, not really caring whether or not they accept me into their drug trial but not willing to say it aloud.

I find her delicately seated in a plastic waiting room chair once I enter the clinic, always the epitome of elegance and grace.

I make my way to her, hoping that my mask is as well placed as hers, praying she will not find any cracks.

"You're late." I meet her greeting with a flippant head nod and sit beside her, hating the feeling of the plastic underneath me.

"You smell like marijuana." She comments and this time I do not reply at all. "Lucia please tell me that I'd be crazy to think that my daughter would show up high to a meeting that may decide the future of her state of health."

I shrug carelessly. "I thought my perfume would mask the smell better."

She shakes her head exasperatedly but otherwise maintains her composure, always one to consider her surroundings. "Get out."

"What?" I ask incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I will not have you make a mockery of this family, Lucia Antonella Mason. God, it's like you don't care about your future at all anymore." She berates and I barely contain a bitter laugh.

"What future, mom? I don't have a future. I have Huntington's remember? Does living until my thirties sound like much of a future to you?" I reply, staring her down.

She stays quiet, knowing I'm right but not willing to admit it. "Go home, Lucy. I'll tell you if you got accepted into the trial when I get back."

I let out a long sigh. "Okay." I finally muster out and then make the walk back to my car.

It takes all I have to keep back the tears once I'm in my car. It'd hurt much more than I'd ever let on to say it out loud, to put my reality out into the universe like that.

The truth was that I was scared out of my mind, but I didn't want anyone knowing that. I knew how disease has a tendency to change the way people see one another, and I wanted no part of that.

I'd fought my way to get to where I was, worked hard to earn every medal and title I had under my belt, broken my back to earn the fear and respect of others.

Sure I was a mistake, but that wasn't anyone's business or burden but my own.

As I drive through the busy Miami streets, I can't help but think of how fucked up the world is. War, Poverty, Hunger, Violence, Cruelty, Disease.

"Fuck you Pandora and fuck your Hope," I mumble under my breath, remembering the old Greek myth. "Hope can't save me now."