by Daisy Allen
My eyes travel from her eyes to her lips. She's biting the bottom one, gently. There's the slightest flash of white from her tooth digging into the plump, beet colored cushion of her mouth. It's the most alluring thing I've ever seen. I feel my body inch forward of its own volition. My head lowering to her, my eye fixated on her heart shaped lips.
I'm going to kiss you, Noémie. My mind tells her. And my heart performs a tango in my chest at the anticipation.
I'm going to kiss her.
Right now.
Finally.
"What in the world? What in hell do you two think you're doing? It's almost 1 a.m.!" Robbie's loud and gruff voice cuts into the quiet and he flicks the light switch on, flooding everything in the harsh neon light.
We both spring apart so fast, there's almost a sound of tearing.
"WHOA, man! Cool it with the lights!" I say as we both raise our hands to shield our eyes.
"To hell with that. Back to your rooms, you two! Damn, like a pair of teenage delinquents!"
Noémie jumps to her feet, her hand wrapped around the neck of her ukulele, avoiding my eyes.
"Nuh-uh! We were just talking," she argues, straighten her clothes.
"That's not what it looked like to me!"
"Yes, sir, we're sorry," I say, as we file out of the room and Robbie flicks the light off.
"Yeah, that's the last time I deliver notes between you. Like I'm the goddamn funny friend at high school trying to get you two together.” He mutters under his breath as he watches me stop at my room, then leads Noémie down the hall to hers.
She turns just as she reaches her doorway, and sees me still standing there, waiting. She lifts her hand in a small wave, and then steps into her room. Robbie comes back into the hallway and shakes his finger at me, and gestures for me to go to bed. I wander into my room, happier than I have been, for longer than I can remember.
***
The nights are always the hardest.
But not tonight.
I press the button than bathes my room in complete darkness. I turn on my side and press the play button on the recording on my cell phone.
The sound isn’t perfect, but it’s enough.
I listen until the end. Then I replay the audio.
And I fall asleep, to the sound of a ukulele and a girl. Singing about love.
***
"And one more time."
"You're serious?" I ask my PT. The complete lack of humor on his face tells me he is.
I lift my arms straight up to the sky and then lower them slowly, inch by inch down against my body.
"Now the bend."
"I hate the fucking bend." I hiss.
"I care, oh so not at all."
One at a time, I bend my arm at the elbow and lift my forearm until it's perpendicular to my body. It's stiff and takes some force and effort to keep it at the angle.
"And down," he says. Music to my ears as I lower my arm back down. "How does it feel?"
"Like a barrel of laughs."
“I'm not sure how many laughs that is,” he says, as he grabs the bands from his bag of terror.
"It's none. No laughs. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Because the barrel has a leak in it."
"That's actually one of your better ones."
"Thanks, I have plenty of time to think them up, cooped up in my room."
"Glad you’re spending your time wisely." He stands behind me and pulls my arm back, making my shoulder wish for amputation.
"Uhhh. OW! Seriously, when can I go?"
"That's not up to me. I'm just here to make sure you regain as much control of your body as I can. "
"Well, I feel pretty good." And for once, I mean it.
"Good, then the doc should see that when he sees you next.
"Ugh, that blood hungry ghoul.”
Brian laughs and lets go of me. "And what am I?"
"You're the sadist."
"You're right I am. Time for wrist rotations, your fav."
"I knew it, you’re enjoying me pain."
"Not only that, I get paid for it. Come on, ten times clockwise and then anticlockwise, start with the left."
I do what he says, because I’ve learned there’s no point in trying to do otherwise. “Owwwww, son of a bitch in heat!” I curse as my wrist turns.
"Yup. Just what I like to hear."
***
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, testing out the range of my wrist again an hour later, when it sounds like an entire bus of school children is emptied into my room.
"What the-..." I say, before my words are drowned out by the noise.
I watch as my three band mates, their three partners, Dennis, Hailey, Hank, our assistant, Mike the bodyguard, two of our sound technicians, and four of our roadies pile into the room. They're talking amongst themselves, each carrying baskets and bags and magazines and toys.
"Excuse me," I say, trying to get their attention.
No one bothers to even turn in my attention.
"OI! Seb! Cadence! Brad!" I call out their names one by one. Nothing.
"ANCA!" Surely my baby sister won't ignore me. But she doesn’t even flinch, just continues laughing at something Dennis is telling her.
I push through the crowd into the middle of the room, and let out the longest dog whistle I can.
Everyone finally shuts up.
"What in the fuck is going on here, you bunch of DICKMUFFS!" I yell, throwing my arms as high as they will go.
They just all stare back at me, before bursting into laughter and resuming their conversations.
I must be crazy. This is some weird alternate wonderful life type fucked up universe where I don’t exist or everyone is playing a prank on me.
I whistle again.
And this time they shut up, and stay quiet.
"Thank you! Now would some please explain what is going on here?"
Anca clears her throat and steps into the middle of the room next to me.
"We are here. For an intervention."
I roll my eyes. "Good god. What'd I do?"
"Oh no, it's not an intervention for you, it's an intervention for us." She gestures to everyone around the room and they all nod along.
"What the fuck for?”
"Oh, we are all here, to intervene each other from falling for your self-pity partying, whiny bull shit." There’s a cheer from somewhere in the back, and Dennis hushes them.
I frown at Anca. "What the fuck?"
"Yeah, YOU, big brother, have been wallowing in your own self-pity for three months now and we have all been here for you. Even when you wouldn’t let us. So we're here to tell each other, no more. We are not going to let us, let you feel sorry for yourself, for another day."
"So, it's not an intervention for me."
"No. You're just here to witness it."
"But I don't want to."
"Tough, that's part of the intervention - that we are not going to listen to what you say, until you shape up."
"This feels curiously like an intervention for me." I narrow my eyes at her, but she just smiles her angelic smile back at me. But I know that smile. I’m in for some pain.
"You're wrong, not everything is about you. Sheeeeesh.”
"You're bloody nuts. All of you."
"Quiet. You’re not allowed to speak out of turn. So! Who's up first?" She looks around the room of all the people who know and love me most.
"Me!" Sebastian yells, from somewhere at the back of the room. He sidles up next to Anca and pulls a sheet of crumpled paper out from his back pocket. He clears his throat and then gestures with his head for me to move.
“For fuck’s sake. We're really doing this?"
"Of course. We brought snacks, man. You know it's serious if we brought snacks. Now, get out of the way please."
"It's MY room."
"Well, it's being paid for by your health insurance which the band pays for, so, yeah, it's ours. Now shush. I've got the floor."
"This is insane." I shake my h
ead and take a step back.
"Ahem. Dear group. I’m Sebastian and this is an intervention."
"Hi, Sebastian,” everybody chants.
"Oh, we're going that? Okay. I would like to say that since Jez has been in this hospital, he has been a meanie poohhead and has hurt my feelings on numerous occasions."
"Oh, shut up, anus-cream-rub!" I holler.
"Like, one time he called me anus-cream-rub. I think as a group it's important that we need to not let Jez be a mean poohhead to us anymore. It’s not a good example for, you know, the children."
Anca nods and pats his shoulder. "Thank you, Sebastian. Next?"
"ME!" Brad yells and does a somersault into the middle of the room.
"I don't need to read from paper because I'm going to speak from my heart,"
"Your heartworm maybe,” I mutter under my breath.
"SHHH.”
"Dear Group." He pauses. "Oh, so there’s a ‘Hi, Seb’ for Seb but no ‘Hi, Brad’ for Brad? That's okay. I'll cry about that later. I would like to say that as a group, I think we are sick and tired of Jeremy’s boo-hoo attitude. and we shouldn't take it anymore. Someone should remind him that he has the best friends in the world, millions of dollars and a six pack. What more does he want?"
"Hear, hear!"
"Thank you for your touching words, Brad.” Anca tells him and turns to the group. “Anyone else?"
"Um, I have one." A voice from the doorway speaks up.
"Oh! Toni... everyone, this is Jez's day nurse, Toni.” Anca introduces my traitor nurse to the crowd. “I bet she has a lot to add."
"Yes. Um, Dear Group, I'm Toni."
"Hi, Toni," everyone chants.
"Sure," Brad grumbles.
"I have been taking care of His Highness Petrescu for about two months now, since he came out of his beauty nap and moved up here from ICU and I have to say, he is very lucky to have you as a group. As a group you are kind, and loving, and rowdy as all hell, but I've seen you, and I could only wish that every single one of my patients had a group like you. So, I would like to be added to the intervention group ethos, that we shall no longer allow ourselves to be bullied by his Dimple Butted Highness."
"Thank you, Toni. We love you, too." Anca says, giving her a hug. "Alright! Is that all?"
I sigh and step back into the middle of the room. "Since it's my intervention, surely I get a chance to say something"
"But it's not your-..."
"Yeah, yeah. Your turn to shush now, little sis. Okay, Dear Group. I am Jez."
No one says anything.
Brad jeers. "Yeah, see how you like it."
"I'd just like to say... I get it. I'm sorry I've been a sour dickpuss and I'm going to try harder. I’m sorry. I really am."
Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for more. But there’s nothing else to say. I was wrong. And I will try.
"What do we think group? Should we believe him?" Anca asks.
"Let's make him do something to prove it,” Sebastian suggests to the sound of agreement.
"LET’S MAKE HIM STREAK THROUGH THE HOSPITAL WEARING NOTHING BUT A SHOWER CAP!” Brad yells, and the cheers drown out all other sound for a minute.
“Er, I think this is where I go on break,” Toni leans over and whispers to me, patting me on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Mr. Petrescu. Everything you can do, you’re doing it. And everything you can have that will help you, you've got it. Just have a little faith. Push the button if you need anything, Mr. Petrescu.”
"Hey, Toni?" I call out to her as she slips through the door.
"Yeah?"
"It's Jez."
She winks and closes the door behind her and I turn back to my friends.
"Alright, shut up, you degenerate bunch of crazy titmuffins. Look, I'm not whole yet. But I'm going to be, ok? I'm going to do whatever it takes, to be whole again."
"That's all we want. For you just to try. We'll take it from there,” Marius says, giving me a hug. “Now, where’s that damn shower cap.”
I run into the bathroom and lock myself in there until I’m sure they’ve all gone home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Noémie
There's a vase of bright flowers on my bedside table when I wake up. It's the very first thing that I see when I open my eyes. A shock of different shades of yellow and orange and vibrant red and purples and it reflects light and warmth into every corner of my hospital room. There's no note, but I don't need one to know where it came from.
I reach over and pull a rose free from the arrangement and bring it to my nose and inhale.
The fragrance is so strong, I'm almost dizzy as it permeates and spreads throughout my body.
I smile and hug it to my chest, my stomach feels a tickling from inside, like a butterfly unfurling from its cocoon and into life.
Jez.
His name plays on my lips.
I lift my fingers to run across them, remembering last night.
He was going to kiss me. He was going to kiss me, and I wanted him to. Wanted him to so badly that I couldn't sleep until the sun had risen, and fatigue finally took over.
I don't know what happened in those few minutes last night talking, but something makes me feel as though we've shared moments like that before.
And in those seconds before I fell asleep, I couldn't help but whisper a prayer that when I woke up, my brain would refresh, would heal, and I would remember how this man was part of my life before.
I told him I didn't want to know.
Because I don't.
I don't want to be told that we were lovers, I don't want to be told that we hated each other.
I want to feel what I feel for him now, as I am discovering him in the present. How often do you get to wipe the slate clean? It may be the only silver lining that's come out of this whole experience.
If I hated him in the past, then maybe he gets to fix that.
And If I loved him... then maybe I'll get to fall for him all over again. How many chances do you get that in your life?
I rifle through the few clothes I have and choose a royal blue polka dot summer dress that hasn't been worn since I came here. I blow dry my hair, brushing volume into it and then let it fall around my shoulders. I run my fingers through it as I look in the mirror, barely recognizing the face smiling back at me. I dig through the bag of things that Paige brought for me, and send her a thank you, when I see some makeup essentials. Only Paige would think that I would have a use for makeup while in the hospital with a head injury. Apparently, I shouldn’t question her instinct. I run the eyeliner over my eyelids and dab on some lip gloss and stand back from the small mirror in the bathroom.
Not bad, I think to myself. A definitely improvement on the knotted pony tail and torn jeans and T-shirt I've been living in for the past few months.
Hopefully the blush will combat some of the yellow pallor of the neon lights.
I step out into my room, and there's a spring to my step. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to what the day will bring.
There’s a knock on the door around lunch time, and I look up from the book I'm reading to see Jez standing there, a large paper bag in each hand, a giant grin on his face.
"Jez. Hi," I say, my hand unconsciously coming up to pat my hair.
Damn. Did he look this good last night? His long fringe is brushed back from his face, instead of hanging over his eyes like it has the last two times I've seen him. He's wearing a tight navy green shirt that makes his eyes look like liquid emerald pools and a pair of dark grey jeans, that hug… just where it counts. He looks like he walked right out of a Calvin Klein ad, and I suddenly wish I was tall and thin and dressed only in a white T and jeans so I could drape myself over him and stare out into the distance with a nonchalant look on my face. Picture perfect.
"Noémie? Did you hear me?" I hear him say, and my mind snaps back to reality. Apparently, I didn’t.
"Are you okay?" The look of genuine concern would be touching to me
, if I wasn't too busy being embarrassed at the thoughts I was having.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I just zoned out for a minute... must be from the delicious smells coming from those bags. Are you just here to torment me while I get to enjoy the gourmet offerings of the hospital kitchen? Let's see what we have here on the menu - it's a choice between green gloop or orange."
He laughs and I get a little thrill that I can make him do that.
Him. Mr. Calvin Klein. Laugh. At something I said. Squee. Seriously, Noémie, get it together.
"No, I am not that evil. I was wondering if you'd have lunch with me. Or, I could just eat what I have and you can have the green/orange gloop concoction but still eat together. I hate eating alone."
"Well, it all depends on what you have there. I can't choose without having all the information."
"Let's see." He comes over and sits down by the couch pulling container after container out of the paper bags.
The smell is making my stomach rumble and I try not to just snatch one from him.
"This is... a roasted pumpkin and garlic soup. With parmesan croutons, of course." He opens another container, and the smell almost makes me faint. "This one is a roast duck salad with quinoa and something else that looks greenish and healthy.”
“Arugula?”
“Gesundheit!”
I guffaw and let out a little snort, and cover my face with my hands. I pray he doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t.
“...and finally, oh, dessert is a tiramisu. All homemade of course."
"Where in the hell did you get this from?"
"Emily, my ban-, er, my friends' fiancée is a pretty good cook. Which is totally wasted on him because he could live off a diet of microwave hot dogs, which he doesn’t bother to microwave, and soup eaten straight from the can. While he's sitting on the toilet."
I wander over and sit down next to him on the couch, emboldened by the food.
Shifting over to make room for me, he hands me some cutlery and I practically snatch it from him. He just laughs and pushes the soup container toward me, "I guess the gloop will have to wait another day."
"Oh, my god, my mouth is having an orgasm," I moan as I take the first sip of soup. It's still hot and sweet and rich and I lick it off my lips, not wanting to waste a single drop.
