The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)
Page 5
"What about?" I asked, relieved that he'd closed his eyes again. Was he sad? Was he lonely? Was he hurting?
"Anything. You."
"Wow, I'm not very interesting," I said, pausing and his closed eyes tightened momentarily, like he was wincing in pain. And I knew then that I just needed to talk, to distract him, to take his mind off of whatever was going through his head. "I'm seventeen, I'm going to be a senior this year. I was supposed to go to Houston for a gymnastics training camp this summer, but I can't now. Obviously. But Mom's going to take me to Washington next month. To the Smithsonian and Lincoln's Memorial." I stopped myself: a burnt boy with a tattoo who would be spending the rest of the year in hospital, and I was blabbering on about taking a holiday. My insensitivity appalled me.
Spider twisted his neck a fraction, and again, a look of discomfort on his face.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Nineteen," he said.
"My brother Damon is eighteen. He just graduated. He's going up north to college." Oh my, there I was talking about school and the future, when Spider was unsure he even had one. "I've got two brothers, Damon and Cassian, and an older sister, Magdala. She has two little boys. What family have you got?"
He didn't answer. His eyes were closed, so I wondered if maybe he had fallen asleep. His cheeks were wet, and the tears were rolling down to the pillow. There was a box of tissues on the cabinet so I grabbed one, wondering if I should wipe his face. I leaned forward and unexpectedly his eyes popped open, and in his watery gaze it felt like he was pleading with me to take away his pain.
I had everything in this life, I'll admit that, even though I felt my life had crumbled with a failed boyfriend and a waning gymnastics future. But I had family, friends, travel and opportunities. Yet in that moment, with Spider's pale blue eyes trying to blink away the tears, all I wanted was to help him; I had to find a way to help him.
"I'll wipe your cheeks," I whispered, and though he didn't say anything his eyes showed gratitude, as they closed again. I dabbed gently, like I did with Ryder when he had a sticky face. Ryder hated having his face washed, so I always had to make a game out of it, telling him I had to wipe his mouth before his tongue caught me. Of course Ryder would then poke his tongue out in all directions. Spider didn't protest, and I lingered as my tissue traced the dark green ink outline of the spider web, noticing that up close the skin was covered in lines of thin white scars, making me wonder if he'd been cut up in the accident. I wiped across his nose to his other cheek, where the skin was discolored with splotches of pale pink and white, like it had been burnt, but to a lesser degree. He was clean shaven, except for a row of stubble under his chin. And despite the ink and scars, I found myself drawn to his face, not conventionally handsome, but his eyebrows arched perfectly, his eyelashes curled longer than was necessary for a boy, and though chapped, his lips were pink and pouty.
"That's better," I said, clutching the tissue tightly into my hand. I sat down again and dropped it into my bag. I watched his chest rise and fall, mesmerized by his breathing pattern.
"What sort of things do you like?" I asked, "I mean, I could bring books about things you like." I paused, because talking to someone with closed eyes was strange. I had no idea if he was listening or whether I was on a monologue. "Um, do you like animals? Or sports?"
"Yes and yes," he said.
"You're funny," I said and laughed. A smile curled at his lips and he seemed to relax against his pillow. For minutes I sat and watched, my eyes casting over the various machines, wondering what they were used for.
"I'm probably going to fall asleep now," Spider said.
"Oh," and the level of disappointment I felt surprised me, "I, I guess I did my job then," I said, trying to sound bright.
"You did good," he said, and he slowly lifted his hand, the fingers spreading out.
I leaned forward, lining up my tiny hand against his, but my glove slipped, my fingers falling between his. Spider's fingers bent and he clasped at my hand, squeezing it lightly, but I suspected it was all the strength he could muster.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"You're welcome," I whispered, squeezing back. His grip weakened but he didn't move his hand.
For some reason I didn't want to leave him and I sat like that for more than ten minutes, watching him in what appeared to be a peaceful slumber, my mind trying to comprehend the enormity of his suffering and his journey ahead. It was only when I saw Jill coming that I slid my hand away and tip toed out to meet her.
"He's sound asleep," I said, as I removed my gloves, hat and mask.
“Ooh, you are a miracle worker then, sweetheart," she said. I'd taken an immediate liking to Jill. She was a tall, slim woman with a short blonde bob flecked with gray, and she wore a glossy pink lipstick. She had purple reading glasses on a chain around her neck, smelt of mango and wore bright blue sneakers. She seemed to be a crossover of several generations.
"I'm not sure that's a compliment," I said with a wry smile.
"Oh it is, sweetheart," she said. "He sleeps when he's relaxed and calm."
"Cassian would say it's because I'm boring."
"That brother of yours is a devil.” She laughed and put her arm around me. "It's wonderful that you visited today, sweetheart."
"I...could...come again,” I said hesitantly, because I already knew I wouldn't be able to wait a whole week to see him again.
"Oh sweetheart, you come any time you want," Jill gushed, and her words brought me an inexplicable joy. "Every morning he has his bandages changed, but-" she glanced over her shoulder at Spider's room, "otherwise he's not going anywhere any time soon."
Cassian was busy with patients so I took myself home, did my knee exercises and rode the spin bike for thirty minutes, now seeing how lucky I was that my injury hadn’t totally immobilised me. My self-indulgent and self-pitying behavior of the past few weeks disgusted me.
I was sorting through the books in the living room when I heard Mom come home. I placed a pile of books on the coffee table and limped out. Mom was at the kitchen island, putting some bowls on the counter.
"Hey baby," she said as I came in, "how was your day?" I raced as fast as my leg allowed and wrapped myself around her. "Hey hey hey, what's all this about?"
I buried myself in her neck, inhaling her perfume. Mom always smelt nice, her perfume collection enviable. I looked up into her dark eyes and said, "Don't ever let me complain about anything ever again."
I proceeded to tell Mom about Spider, that he was not a 'young boy' but in fact a nineteen year old who had a facial tattoo. I noted her look of disdain but she didn't say anything. I told her he would probably be in hospital until the end of the year, that he needed to have a lot more skin grafts. She said she was proud of me and asked when I would go again. But her phone started ringing and I never answered her.
I went back to the bookshelf and gathered together the books, my thoughts obsessed with the boy with pale eyes, stuck in a hospital room.
CHAPTER 4
The next day I spent the morning swimming, biking and doing my exercises. I was now on a mission, determined to work on my fitness and strength, knowing that being able to get out of bed each day was indeed a blessing.
Dad had spent the morning working at home and he went out after lunch. I had an appointment for a haircut at one o'clock and I was thinking I would drop by the hospital afterwards. The thought of Spider lying in that bed alone, wrapped up like a mummy, staring at the muted television screen saddened me. The hair salon was only a few miles from the hospital, virtually around the block; it would be no trouble to pop in.
My hair appointment took less than thirty minutes and walking back to my car I saw a florist shop. I couldn't remember if Spider had any flowers in his room. I stood outside the window looking at the various bouquets, debating whether I should buy one. What sort of flowers would you take for a boy? Were flowers even appropriate? Would he think they were silly? I'd talked myself out of it, dismissing
it as being a stupid idea and was about to walk away when an old lady stopped next to me. She was walking a cute little dog dressed in a little tartan coat.
"Can't decide, sweetheart?" she said. She was wearing bright red lipstick — on her lips and teeth. "I love the lilies, the pinks and purples are so pretty."
"I don't really know my flowers," I admitted, gingerly bending down to pet her dog, "but they're all beautiful." Well, a slight lie, I did know roses.
"For someone special?"
"I wanted to brighten someone's day," I said, not sure why I was revealing that.
"Sunflowers," the lady said, "I get myself sunflowers when I'm feeling down." She pointed in the window and smiled, "What a sweet girl you are."
I now felt obliged to go in and she seemed to be waiting for me to do so. I thanked her and stepped inside the store.
I started to have second thoughts as I drove towards the hospital. Was I overdoing it? Was I going to suffocate him? He wasn't expecting me today, neither was Cassian. I could just drive home, give the flowers to Mom.
I decided that if I didn't get into the right lane at the next traffic lights, I would go home. A car slowed and let me in. As I drove into the parking lot, I decided that if I couldn't find a spot straight away I'd keep driving. A silver convertible chose to leave right at that moment.
As I entered the elevator, I decided that if Jill wasn't at reception I would say I had the wrong floor, and if Spider was asleep I would leave the flowers and not wait around.
But it was as if fate wanted me to be there, because Jill was walking to the nurses’ station and exclaimed, "Oh Dominique! How good it is to see you!"
"I was just in the neighborhood," I mumbled, "And thought I'd bring these." I sort of thrust the flowers into her line of sight, "though probably they can't go in his room, can they? I didn't really-"
Jill interrupted me. "They're beautiful. Absolutely stunning."
"I'll just leave them if he's asleep-" I started to say, but again she cut in.
"As a matter of fact, he's awake. He's just had a wash and a shave." She winked at me. "He's big on grooming." She walked me to his room. "You know he said he had the most fantastic sleep yesterday, that he dreamed of food!"
I smiled, and she told me to dress up and go through while she'd get a vase. I put on the gloves, hat and mask, trying to catch my reflection in the glass, checking I'd pushed my hair back enough.
I felt nervous as I slid the door open, and hitched my tote bag over my shoulder. My sandals were soundless on the floor and as I approached the end of his bed I could see his eyes were closed. For a few seconds I stood there. He had his beanie on and his sheet pulled up, but his bed was more elevated today so he was lying more upright. He looked peaceful and I felt bad that I was intruding.
I cleared my throat and his eyes opened. It took him a moment to focus, a slow smile coming onto his face.
"Hey there," I said, "um, Jill said to come through. She said you were awake, but if you need to sleep I can leave and come back some other time." I talked so fast that I wondered if he understood anything I said.
"Hi," he said and he lifted his hand up, spreading his fingers. I stepped closer, and had to bend down to connect my hand to his. Our fingers interlinked and I understood that this was to be our greeting. He grinned as we both squeezed.
"I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd see if you wanted a story or something, but it's okay if you don't. I just had my hair cut, just a few blocks away." I was blabbering again, talking a mile a minute and our hands were still joined. "If you don't want one, that's fine, I can come back some other time." I wasn't sure why I was feeling so nervous around him.
"It doesn't look like you've had a haircut," he said.
"Oh, it was just a trim," I said, absently touching my ponytail that poked out from under the cap, "it was only an inch or so off." I demonstrated the amount with my thumb and forefinger.
"I would," he said, "like a story."
"You would?" I exhaled in relief, crazily happy that he wanted me to stay.
Spider nodded. "The chair's over there," and his eyes glanced to the far corner. He slowly released his fingers from mine, I think the vinyl glove was sticking to his hand. I brought the chair back and sat down, smoothing down the short sundress I was wearing. Yesterday I had sweated in a t-shirt and skirt with the room being so hot. Cassian had told me Spider needed to be in a warm temperature as burn victims had difficulty regulating their body temperature.
"Jill said you slept well yesterday," I said, pulling new books from my bag.
"I dreamt I was eating oranges and cake," he said, his voice husky, but it sounded stronger today.
"Is that what you're missing? Oranges and cake?" That was another thing Cassian had told me, that burns survivors required many calories, but Spider didn’t have much of an appetite. Then it dawned on me and I teased, "Wait, isn't that what the hungry caterpillar ate?"
"See, I was listening," he laughed, his pale eyes twinkling. For some reason it made my heart skip a beat. "What have you got today?"
"Benji Bear Plays Baseball." I held the cover up, a picture of a bear in a baseball uniform. It was an old book of Damon's, probably aimed at six year olds. "We're going to kill two birds with one stone. Animals and sports."
"You're funny," Spider said and he wriggled a bit, putting himself into a more comfortable position. "Let me guess, it's about a bear who plays baseball." He tried not to wince as he shifted his hips, but I saw his face change.
"We'll have to find out," I said, and I started reading, holding up the pages for him. The story ended with Benji hitting a winning home run and his team celebrating with cake.
Spider closed his eyes when I finished and a thought rushed through my mind that I must have bored him. I wondered why I'd brought in such a childish book. Was he thinking I was making fun of him? Did he only keep his eyes open to be polite?
"If you need to sleep I can disappear," I whispered.
"I don't need to sleep," he said. "Benji did good."
“Yes, he did. Did you play baseball?" I asked. "Or any sport?"
"Football," he said.
"I'm not sure if Benji Bear plays football," I said, and Spider opened his eyes and smiled, but he looked worn out.
"Does it hurt?" I asked. He nodded. "Bad?" I asked, and he nodded again. I reached out for his hand again, but this time sandwiching it between mine. I guessed the pain he was going through was incomparable to that sharp twinge I'd felt when my ligament tore, or the initial ache when I'd tried to put weight on my leg. Or even the pain I'd feel after three hours of gym training, push ups, sit ups, planks and tumbles. Fatigue, exhaustion, a kind of pain. But not like this. Not a pain that virtually fried him on the inside, that sapped his whole energy and was inescapable.
"Should I get Jill?"
"No," he said. "Talk some more." And his grip tightened a little.
"Oh," I pretended to sound exasperated, "you want my life story? Or you just want a faster way to get to sleep." He smiled, his lips parting a little. "This morning I woke up before my alarm."
"What time?"
"Seven," I said, "then I took a swim, I swam about thirty laps. For my knee. Then I rode the spin bike for twenty minutes. Then I did my exercises. For my knee. Then I showered and ate breakfast and then just ordinary stuff till I had to go to my haircut."
"What ordinary stuff?"
"Ordinary stuff. You know, tidy my room, sort my laundry, do my makeup, talk to friends, go online," I said. And it was ordinary, regular day-to-day stuff. But Spider couldn't do any of those things, he was like a prisoner in this place. "What about you?" I asked, "How's your day been?"
"Good," he said.
"Tell me about it," I said, and I pulled my hands from his. "Sorry, my hands feel like they're sweating in these gloves." I wiped them on my dress. "I wish I didn't have to wear them."
"I got my bandages changed, I was washed, the physical therapist made me do exercises."
He smiled. "Yeah, then I shaved, did my hair and makeup..."
"Now you're just making fun of me!" I laughed and I reached forward and tapped at his arm. He took hold of it, and something about his fingertips on my skin made me stop. Stop laughing, stop moving, stop breathing.
For a moment the whole world ceased to exist, it was just the two of us, virtual strangers, complete opposites, connected by a touch and our eyes locked together.
The door clicked and I found myself pulling away from him, scrambling off of my chair, standing awkwardly and reaching up to adjust my hat. Jill was carrying in my bouquet but she'd put a cellophane covering over it, explaining that it was to limit the risk of infection. I didn't ask how a flower could cause an infection.
"Aren't these beautiful?" Jill directed at Spider, "Isn't she a sweetheart for bringing them in? They'll brighten up the place."
I took that moment to bend down and inspect my knee brace, my cheeks heating up. Bringing flowers now seemed like a dumb idea.
"I couldn't remember if you had any," I mumbled, still fiddling with the strap on my brace. I was tightening it, though it didn't need to be tightened, and then I heard Jill naming the flowers: Sunflowers, gerberas, daisies.
"Thanks Dominique," he said, "I love them."
"You do?" I looked up shyly, almost afraid to meet his gaze, thankful that the face mask hid my red cheeks.
"My Grandma grew sunflowers. When she was alive," Spider said, and I thought that was an odd thing to say. Jill rearranged the top of the cabinet, made some checks, typed things into a tablet. She made Spider take a drink of water, asked him about his pain. He said he was okay, though his eyes said otherwise.
When she left we found ourselves staring at each other again, and inexplicably my heart rate raised substantially. It was silly that I was having those sorts of thoughts about a boy who was older and rougher and burnt to the bone. In fact, it was ludicrous.