Authors: D.nichole King
His eyebrows shot up
. “Feel better?”
I nodded, surprised
that he was there. His gaze was kind, his expression soft.
“Can I get you some water or something?”
“Yeah. Please.”
The door opened and Leslie walked through. It only took her a millisecond to analyze the scene before she rushed over.
“You all right, Katie?” She picked up the full garbage can. “Do you need some water?”
Damian appeared next to her, holding a Styrofoam cup. “I’ve got it.”
Leslie watched as Damian handed me the cup. She looked sideways at him and then at me. Her mouth opened as if she was going to make a comment then decided against it.
“We’re fine.” He took the empty cup from me
, then faced Leslie.
What?
Did he just say “we” were fine? As in, him and me together?
“Well,” she drawled
out. “Uh, I guess if everything is under control, I’ll just…”
Leslie looked at me and sighed. I nodded, hoping to reassure her. I knew what she thought. The look in her eye
said,
Be careful, Katie
. Leslie took a final glance at Damian before she walked out.
“I’m real popular with the nurses around here
,” Damian jeered at the closed door. “Especially that one.”
“She’s just protective. This is the last place she ever wants to see any of us who’ve been here and left.”
Damian sat down beside me and grunted. “I doubt that.”
“You doubt what?” My eyebrows furrowed. “She cares about us, Damian.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t,” Damian snapped, his blue irises drilling into mine.
“Then what did you mean?”
“The last place she wants to see you is in a coffin.” His words were hard and fell to the floor. As soon as he said them, his sad gaze shifted to his feet.
Was he thinking about the last place he saw his mom and brother?
I didn’t say anything. We sat in silence for a few minutes until he shifted his eyes to my lap. “What’s that?”
“My diary.” It sounded so childish when the words came out. “Uh, cancer diary. It’s my cancer diary.”
Yeah, nice cover-up, Spaz.
“So, you write down stuff about cancer?” Damian asked, glancing at me.
“Yeah. A nurse in my mom’s support group suggested it when I was first diagnosed.”
“So, you’ve always written in one, huh?”
I wanted to brush it off like it was no big deal. Just a dumb diary thing. But, honestly, it was a big deal. It helped me more than anything else. “I know it sounds stupid, but the diary gets me. I can talk to my parents, or the nurses, but none of them have to go through this. In reality, I’m alone. So I write down how I feel about having cancer, about the treatment, the side effects, about stares and whispers from kids at school. About anything. It helps me cope—like three-dollar therapy between two pieces of cardboard.”
Damian chuckled. “C
heap therapy.”
I tilted my head to him and chuckled. “Yeah.”
The door creaked open, and we both jumped. Dr. Lowell cleared his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt, b
ut, uh, Damian, can I see you for a few minutes? In my office?”
I couldn’t see Damian’s face, but his hand curled into a fist. “Sure.”
Dr. Lowell nodded at me, then the door closed. Damian shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“Are we still on for dinner in the cafeteria?” he asked, standing up. “Crappy food, but hey, I’m paying.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
“When are you done in here?”
I glanced at the clock. “Forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“See you then.”
Damian flashed me a dimpled
grin before he disappeared out the door.
Unable to stop thinking about him, I opened my diary and wrote about our conversation and how he had sat right there while I puked. His expression showed the normal reactions of concern and worry, but there was something else
, too. Something I didn’t recognize. I wrote about the feel of his hand on mine. How I couldn’t decide if the butterflies were because of the chemo, the fact that I just finished throwing up, or because his touch felt amazing.
I was so engrossed in writing that I barely noticed Leslie standing next to me. When I looked up, I jumped.
“Sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh. That’s
okay. I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
Odd. Leslie had never asked before. “Go ahead.”
“I wanted to speak with you,” she started. “About Damian.” Leslie was older than my mother with t
wo grown children of her own. She’d always treated me as an equal, but this was going to be a “mom” conversation, I could tell.
“I know you
said to stay away from him. Really, it just happened. Nothing is going on, though. We’re just friends.” I fidgeted with the corner of my diary as I fumbled over my words. “I don’t know if we’re friends. I mean, we’re not more than friends.” I flushed.
Leslie’s voice was soft. “
Kate, Damian is in a lot of pain.”
“I know, but I don’t think that’s a reason to stay away from him.”
“No, it’s not.” Leslie placed her hand over mine. “That’s not why I said that.”
“Maybe him getting into trouble is his way of reaching out.”
“It is,” Leslie agreed.
I was confused. Last time, Leslie tried to scare me into having nothing to do with
him. Now, she suddenly agreed with everything I said.
“Then what? Why did you tell me to keep my distance?”
“I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. Like I
said, there’s nothing going on.”
Leslie sighed. “Kat
e, I saw the way he looked at you. I’ve never seen him actually interact with a patient before. What he did for you in here, well, that’s what scares me.”
I shook my head. “It was just a kind gesture. Anyone would have done it.”
“You’re strong, and you can handle it.”
“Okay…?” I didn’t know where she was going with this. The expression on her face morphed from concerned to sad.
“Oh, Kate. I’m worried about what
you
might do to
him
.”
“What…what do you mean?”
She glanced away, but not before I saw moisture in her eyes. Turning back to me, she cupped my hand in both of hers. “Damian is still mourning his mother and brother’s death. It’s destroying him. He’s destroying
himself
. Damian isn’t as strong as you are.”
Leslie fell silent. I watched as she pursed her lips. She squeezed my hand inside hers. “If he falls for you, and something happens to you…” Leslie swallowed hard. That’s when I knew what she was going to say. That’s when I understood her warnings.
I dropped my head, closing my eyes as Leslie finished. “If you die, if you don’t recover … Katie, it’ll kill him.”
“They might look like mashed potatoes, but I guarantee, they’re not. I think they come from a box and are mixed with some sort of mashed turnip and white sand. May I suggest a baked one, instead?” Damian picked up a foil-wrapped baked potato and plopped it on my tray. He grabbed a dollop of butter in a paper cup. “The butter is actually real.” He winked at me.
I giggled. In the back of my mind, Leslie’s words repeated over and over again.
I saw the way he looks at you. He’s never interacted with a patient before. If he falls for you and you die, it’ll kill him.
I just wanted to enjoy dinner. Okay, maybe
enjoy
wasn’t the right word. Tolerate dinner. Enjoy Damian. But how could I enjoy being with him, stare into his ocean-blue eyes and not think I could kill him?
No
. I shrugged inwardly. Leslie was obviously exaggerating. Still…Would I have one more person to disappoint if I couldn’t fight hard enough?
One step at a time. Just concentrate on keeping this meal down in front of him.
“Corn or broccoli?” Damian asked.
“Hmm.” I shifted my eyes between the two. “I’ll go with corn. Is that safe?”
Damian laughed. “Well, none of its safe.” He scooped up a heap of corn for my plate and dumped another on his. Like with school cafeteria food, there was no end to the horrible hospital food jokes.
We found an empty table and sat down. “I still think you’re risking your life with that meatloaf,” he
said.
“Well, I wasn’t sure if that was chicken or cat meat.” I nodded to the chicken strips on Damian’s plate.
“It’s hospital food, not Chinese!” He looked offended.
“Either way, I think we’re doomed.” I laughed.
“Cheers.” Damian held up his glass of Mountain Dew.
Our glasses clinked as we hit them together, then we both took a sip.
“So, tell me about life before cancer,” Damian said, taking a bite of his turnip and sand potatoes.
I tilted my head and eyed his spoonful.
He laughed. “I’m immune. Besides, I like sand.”
“Well, during remissions, my dad and I would go to the country club and golf a lot. I don’t think I’d mind joining the LPGA. My dad says I’m pretty good,” I
said, tipping my head up. “I really wanna make the varsity golf team at school this spring.”
“Ugh. Country club brat, huh? You probably do everything your parents say, don’t you?”
I forced a smile. After all they’d done for me, it was the least I could do. “Your dad’s a doctor; I’m sure you’ve swung a club or two in your day.”
Damian grunted. “Cliché.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and smirked. Damian licked his lips slyly, shook his head, and gave in. “Private golf lessons. Every summer. Since I was seven.”
“I knew it!” I sat up.
Damian laughed. “I haven’t set foot on a golf course in over two years.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I never played with my dad. It was sorta me and my brother’s thing. And now…” Damian eyes clouded over, and his voice softened as if he just realized what he’d said. “Well, I don’t play anymore.”
Damian’s head lowered, and he took a bite of his corn. I averted my eyes
, embarrassed about bringing his brother to his attention.
“Maybe we can play together sometime?” I
said, wondering if it would be enough of a topic change.
“I dunno. You’d probably kick my ass.” He shifted his weight in his seat. Then he cleared his throat. “God, I need a cigarette. Uh, I’ll be right back.” He almost tipped over his chair as he stood and hurried out of the cafeteria.
I felt stupid as I watched him go. Alone, I plopped my elbow on the table and picked at the food. I ate a few bites then put the fork down.
Part of me wondered if he would come back. I’d hit a nerve, a memory of Liam.
“
He’s not strong like you, Kate
.” What a great first date. Was that what this was? No. I pushed the ridiculous notion from my mind. A guy sitting next to me in the chemo room and afterward meeting in the hospital cafeteria hardly counted as a date.
I ran my fingers through my hair, mulling it over. When I looked at my hand, it was full of auburn strands. I stared at it. Why did I do that? The hair was soft and beautiful, but it wasn’t supposed to be intertwined in my fingers. What would Damian think of me with nothing but skin on the top of my head?
“
I saw the way he looks at you
.” Would he look at me like all the kids at school? Feel sorry for me? Avoid me? I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
T
ime passed at warp speed. I didn’t remember him sitting back down as I was still staring at my hair-covered hand.“It starts happening that quickly, huh?” Damian’s voice was soft.
For a few moments, he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up. All I could think of was why I hadn’t tossed the hair away. Now, not only had he seen me balding, he’d also seen my insecurity.
I lifted my eyes to him, nodded, untangled the hair out of my hand and wadded it up.
“I’m sorry,” he
said. “Some people do wigs, don’t they?”
“Yeah. I don’t. They itch,” I
said, dismissing how much it really bothered me. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. It always does.”
“But you still have to deal with it falling out all the time until it’s gone. That’s just a reminder of what’s happening.”
Did he really just say that?
“Side-effect of chemo.” I shrugged, hoping he hadn’t heard the crack in my voice.
I wanted to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I worried that another clump would fall out. Instead, I picked up my water and gulped it down.
Damian’s phone
rang—an old Journey song, something my dad listened to. He grabbed it then touched the screen. He tensed and shoved the iPhone back in his pocket.
“If you have to go…”
“No. It’s just the old man. He can wait.” Damian shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth. “So, where do you go to school?”
“Roosevelt.” I hesitated. “You?”
“I’m between schools right now. I’ll start at Valley in January.”
I wanted to ask why he’d been expelled. Instead I
blurted, “Why did you steal a car?”
Damian’s eyebrows shot up faster than a rocket. “My favorite nurse told you, huh?”
“Sort of.”
“Bitch,” he muttered to himself. Then he grinned. “To see if I could.”
Damian’s phone rang again. This time he jerked it out, cursed, and switched it off. “I’d better go before the asshole pages me over the intercom.”
“Yeah. That’d be embarrassing.”
“Thanks for eating with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
He pivoted and walked away before I had a chance to say anything. I watched him until his sky blue scrubs were just a small speck down the corridor.
I shoved my tray aside and laid my head on my arms, taking a deep breath. I wished that my life recorded itself like a DVR. The rewind button looked real good right now.
If only I had chucked the hair.
If only I hadn’t run my fingers through it in the first place.
If only I could stop Leslie’s words from repeating in my mind.
If only I hadn’t mentioned golf.
The list went on and on. The rewind button would have been busy.
I sighed and dug through my bag, finding my diary.
November 15
Dear Diary,
Worst non-date ever!
What
did I get myself into? I have no idea what I’m thinking! Sure, Damian pulled me in with his amazing eyes, and well, let’s face it—he’s gorgeous! But he’s carrying around more Dixie cups than the medication cart.
Oh, and he’s so not my type. Agh
! Well, I guess I don’t
have
a type. All I know is that I never dreamed I’d have a crush on a guy who smokes, apparently hates his father, has been arrested, and Lord knows what else. I think I’ve lost my mind. It’s the only explanation.
Unless…hmm. I never thought of that. Do I see him as my charity case? Someone I can fix? I don’t know. At the same time, he held the garbage can while I hurled in it, for crying out loud. What teenage guy does that? I must be crazy.
I do like the fact that he’s not afraid to challenge me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m going to break. Or like I have cancer. I feel almost normal around him.
He knows my hair is falling out, and he didn’t make a big deal of it. He kno
ws who I am—the cancer patient—and still talks to me. I care about what he thinks and how he sees me. What I might mean to him. I wonder what he’s doing now. If he’s thinking about me. If he worries about me.
This makes no sense. I’ve never been more confused in my life!
~*
~
Going bald in the winter was nicer than in the summer. I could usually find cute hats that went well with my outfits, and I was thankful that the administration at school made an exception for me to wear them to class. It cut down on the stares and sorry looks I got from my classmates. Generally, I took it off for treatments, since I didn’t feel awkward on the cancer ward. In fact, it might be about the only place I felt somewhat normal.
My hair had thinned so much I was beginning to look like Gollum. I kept my black hat on at the hospital because Damian
said he’d be there. Leslie didn’t say much as she hooked the IV into the tube sticking out from my chest. I tapped my fingers on my diary and watched the clock. At four-thirty it crossed my mind that maybe he forgot or something.
At four thirty-five, I had given up on him, and at four thirty-eight, Damian twisted the knob and let himself in.
“Nice hat. I like the little, uh, flower thing.” He pointed at my head.
I laughed at his
odd hand gestures. Seeing him standing in the doorway lifted my spirits.
“Can you leave this
room?” he asked. I peered around him and noticed the black bag he held behind his back.
I looked at him sideways. “Yeah
. But the pole has to come with us.”
“Eh. I suppose, if
it must.” Damian held out his hand to me. Reluctantly I took it, and Damian helped me to my feet before letting go.
“Where are we going?”
Damian held the door open. “One of the empty rooms.”
I
stared at him for a few seconds, biting the inside of my cheek. He had a quirky smile across his face, and his eyes danced as they stared at me.
“Oh, come on.”
Damian reached out and grabbed my hand again, tugging me forward. An odd-looking caravan walked down the hall: Damian pulling me and me dragging the IV pole. I wasn’t thinking about where we were going or about the bag slung over his shoulder. I just enjoyed the feel of my hand in his. Never before had a guy who wasn’t related to me or treating me held my hand. Damian didn’t hesitate as if I were contagious. He just reached out and took it, and didn’t let go.
We rushed past the nurses’ station
. I felt three pairs of eyes follow us—including Leslie’s. Damian didn’t seem to notice. We rounded the next hallway and swept into the second room on the right. Damian let go of my hand to close the door behind us, and I wanted the warmth of his touch back.
“What are we doing?” I asked as Damian took my hand again.
Oh, good!
“In here.” He led me into the bathroom
and locked the door. “Sit.”
“On the toilet?” I looked down. “There isn’t a seat.”
“That or the floor.” Damian put his bag on the counter and unzipped it.
“Are you going to tell me why you
’ve locked us up in the bathroom?”
He
grinned, facing me. “Your hair.”
I shifted my weight. “My hair? What do you mean?”
Dinner on Monday flashed through my mind—me staring at the strands woven through my fingers and Damian’s sympathetic eyes as he watched me. My growing feelings for him made me even more self-conscious. Now my hair was the reason we were locked in a bathroom together. Fantastic.
“I saw how you
looked at it during dinner the other night. It must be annoying having to lose it little by little like that.” His eyes were soft. He pulled out a pair of scissors and an electric razor from his bag. “I thought it may be easier if you got rid of all of it in one shot. Then no more worries.”
I had nothing to say for a few seconds as his words sunk in. He had been thinking about me. He’d come u
p with a plan. Wow.
He took a step closer. I
felt his breath on my forehead. It smelled like smoke and spearmint gum. “What do you say?” he whispered.