by Hotcheri
“No, I mean what are you doing here, in the hospital,” Luke amended. He propped himself up on one elbow and I frowned as he winced slightly. Something’s wrong with him. But that wasn’t my business. Not getting fired, that was my business. “Are you stalking me?”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Luke, you are the one who followed me to the music studio yesterday. If anything, I should be asking you that,” I said, my hand on my hip. Ha! Indisputable argument!
He grinned, that damned dimple popping into view again as I stood by the foot of the bed. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say,” he said, yawning again.
I nodded. “You seem to have a knack for saying the wrong things,” I said snootily, summoning my inner Shazia. What would she do in a situation like this? Would she be nice? Rude? I had no idea. What was I supposed to do? Accept his apology? Would he even apologize? How was I supposed to think straight when he had that cute smile on his face? Focus! “I work here.”
See? That wasn’t so hard-oh crap, he’s smiling again.
“You work at a hospital?” Luke laughed, squeezing his eyes closed as I glowered at him. What’s so bad about working in a hospital? “Why would you choose to work at a hospital? Are you a doctor wannabe? A nurse in training?”
“No,” I replied, feeling somehow defensive. “I volunteer at the daycare.”
Snorting with laughter, Luke sat up in bed, resting his head on the headrest. “A daycare? Why the hell would you want to volunteer at a daycare? That’s even worse!”
Why do people hate on daycares? Everyone was a kid once, too!
“It’s my community service.”
“Yeah? I only logged like two hours of my community service,” Luke replied, running a hand over his face.
I’m not surprised.
Another snort of laughter. “What? Why?”
Crap, I said that out loud. Again.
Biting my lip nervously, I said, “You just- don’t seem the type to give back to the community.”
Talk about digging myself deeper! But Luke didn’t seem to mind me insinuating that he didn’t care about his community. “I do too give back,” he protested, rubbing his chin lazily. “I recycle- and stuff.”
“Cool,” I muttered, slowly backing away from the bed till I was standing by the door, my hand on the handle, ready to make a run for it.
“So, okay, we’ve talked about why you’re here,” he started hastily, seeing me about to leave, “and good job, by the way, I bet the kids love you.”
He winked at me and I sighed silently. There’s that charm again.
“I guess they do,” I replied. Even though if I didn’t leave and right now, I would never see any of them again. Miss Campbell was harming them right now, I was sure of it. “Anyway, I gotta-.”
“Don’t you wanna know why I’m here?” Luke cut in, pushing his hair out of his eyes with both hands.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head to prove my point. I wasn’t being rude. I had to get back to the daycare before things fell apart.
Luke pointed a finger at me. “You’re still mad at me,” he said in a sing-song voice. In spite of myself, I smiled. Were we little kids again?
“I’m not mad at you,’ I said honestly. In truth, I didn’t really feel anything about what had happened the other day. Just- empty. I had pushed it to the back of my mind, where I wanted it to stay.
“I couldn’t find all your pencils,” he started, shrugging. “I tried but – I borrowed way too many.”
“Well, that was the condition. No deal,” I said, wondering if he really had looked for my pencils or if he was just saying that. Then again, he had found my polar bear pencil. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. But I couldn’t stay to ponder the many mysteries of Lucas Astor. “I really have to-.”
I really wasn’t expecting what Luke did as I pushed open the door.
Opening his mouth, he started to sing. Loudly. And really out of tune.
“Please forgive me I know not what I do...Don't deny me, this pain I'm going through, please believe me, every word I say is true, please forgive me-.”
Slamming the door to the hall shut, I turned to face him. “What are you doing? Stop singing! You’ll disturb people!” I exclaimed, spreading my hands in a ‘shut up’ motion.
A crafty grin on his face, Luke shook his head. “I won’t stop singing till you forgive me,” he said, a gleam in his eye.
“But singing won’t make me forgive you,” I protested. “And you’re singing it wrong! I mean, the lyrics are out of order and-.”
Wasn’t registering. He started singing another song, even louder than before.
“I'm not a perfect person, there's many things I wish I didn't do, but I continue learning, I never meant to do those things to you, and so I have to say before you go, that I just want you to know-,” Luke started, smirking at me like he knew I was going to accept his apology after this song. Dammit, he had a nice voice, and as a hopeless romantic, it was one of my dreams to be serenaded, but this was just weird.
“Okay, okay, stop,” I hissed, anxiously looking at the door. If I heard knocking, I would totally hide under the bed. “Stop singing and give me one good reason why I should forgive you.”
That oughta shut him up.
“I’ll give you two,” Luke said brightly. Crap. He held up a finger. “One. I can’t sleep at night coz I feel so guilty.”
“Not my prerogative,” I said, trying to appear heartless. So that’s why he’s yawning! It’s because of me! I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or pleased with that update.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know, you don’t look as evil as you act.”
“Oh, we po’ folk are usually bitter when we come across rich people such as yourself,” I said, sarcasm lacing my voice.
Luke looked stung and I bit my lip. Was I being too hard on him?
“Look, CiCi, I’m sorry I was nasty about you being poor,” he said softly, looking across the room at me. The playful act was gone, a sincere look on his face.
“And you called me a slut,” I put in, the fighter in me not wanting to let go for just a while longer.
“I’m sorry for calling you a slut.”
I nodded pertly. “You should be.”
He looked at me through his bangs. “I am. Really.” Then a slow grin spread across his face and I sighed. I was getting pretty good at predicting what he was going to do next (apart from the singing, which really caught me off guard) and I knew he was about to say or do something stupid. Just when I thought he was actually being serious... “But that being said, I think you should forgive me coz I might die.”
What did I tell you?
“Dude, I seriously don’t think that you would die if I didn’t forgive you,” I said with a sigh.
“No, I mean I actually might die. Take yourself out of the equation; my dying has nothing to do with you.” He chuckled as I gave him a skeptical look. “You wouldn’t want to deny me my dying wish, would you?”
I found my voice. “That’s disgusting! Is that supposed to be funny?” I was outraged. The nerve of this guy! “You think joking about death is funny?”
Luke burst out laughing as I ranted and raved. “Calm down for a sec! You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked, sounding very amused.
“That you’re gonna die? No! This is obviously another ploy to get my attention, like when you asked me to marry you that day.” My cheeks smarted as I recalled the look in his eyes when he had said ‘marry me.’ He had seemed so- earnest. He was playing! You know that, Celsi! Right? –Right?
“That worked, didn’t it?” he asked, a smug look on his face.
“Well, this won’t work. Save your awful practical jokes for someone who’ll fall for them. I have to leave.”
Pretty good for a dramatic exit. Unfortunately, Luke just wouldn’t let me leave. As I was opening the door again, he got up from the bed, wincing again (curiosity was kicking into gear. I had to know why he was wincing), a
nd picked up a sheaf of papers from the side table. “I can prove it,” he said simply, padding over to me and handing me the papers.
Our fingers brushed as I took them and I tried to ignore the frisson of electricity that passed between us due to that fleeting touch. Figment of my overactive imagination. But my eyes flickered up to Luke’s and as his eyes widened slightly, all of a sudden I knew that he had felt it too.
“Uh, what is this?” I asked, bending my head over the papers so that I wasn’t looking at him anymore. God, every time I was around Luke I turned into a mess! Was I that deprived? Well, considering the only person who flirts with you is that homeless guy who hangs out at the subway station, I’d say yes! Shut up, mind.
But I couldn’t ignore him because he was standing right next to me now, his breath making my ear tingle. “See?” he said, pointing to a section of one of the papers. “Written proof.”
My eyes scanned the portion he pointed out for me and as I read, my throat grew dry. Looking up at Luke, I managed to whisper “You have a cerebral aneurysm?”
He raised his eyebrows, shooting me a surprised look. “You’ve heard of them? Coz I gotta be honest with you. I didn’t even know what an aneurysm was till about 30 minutes ago.”
“We learnt about them in Science class. I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t think you were telling the truth,” I said, biting my lip. Now I felt bad. Aneurysms were very serious, from what I remembered, especially if they ruptured. And just the thought of Luke going through that- even though I didn’t know him well at all, I still felt bad for him. He has to be going through hell right now.
“So I guess you have to forgive me now,” he said, a cheerful smile on his face. Or not. “Coz if I die tomorrow- or even tonight- you’re going to feel like a jerk. Hey, I might even haunt you!”
“You’re not going to die,” I said automatically, pursing my lips up at him.
“You don’t need to sugar coat it for me, CiCi; I’m resigned to my fate.” Carefully taking the papers from me (and making sure not to touch my hand again) he walked back to his bed, whistling snatches of the song ‘Just Dance’. Please don’t burst into song again. “So- we cool? You gonna accept my apology?” he asked me over his shoulder.
What would you have done?
“Okay,” I sighed, following him. I needed to sit down for a moment. “Apology accepted. But only because you’re sick. I just want you to get a good night’s sleep.”
He squinted at me, grinning. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t been sick?”
I nodded, even though I was lying. If he kept up the adorable sideway glances, I would have forgiven him for anything and everything. But he didn’t need to know that.
Luke shrugged. “Works for me.” He sat down right next to me and I took a deep breath. He smelt divine. Cologne, aftershave and Irish Spring on Luke Astor. Deadly weapon right there.
“How’re you holding up with the news?” I asked slowly. If it had been me, I would have been crying my eyes out at the chapel. Although he looked pale, Luke was definitely in fine spirits. Or maybe he was faking.
My heart went out to him as he bit his lip, turned to me and said in a low voice, “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”
Faking.
I didn’t know what to say to that, even though I racked my brain. The sad look on his face- it just pierced me right to the core. Everyone tells me I’m too softhearted. Maybe that’s the reason I felt like crying as I looked at him, running his hand through his hair. This was Luke Astor like I had never seen him before.
“Did they offer you therapy?” I finally asked, remembering that when the illness was serious, the hospital usually referred the patients to a therapy group session. It helped boundless people. Maybe it would help Luke too.
“Yeah, I’m not big on therapy,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m not going.”
I blinked. “Why? They would help you deal with it! I’m sure it would be good for you,” I told him. He gazed at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“It’s a personal reason,” he said.
In other words, butt out, Nancy Drew.
My cue to leave. “Um, I ought to be going,” I said, hesitantly getting up from the bed and moving towards the door.
I braced myself for another bout of singing, but Luke just gave me a lopsided smile and wave. “Great. Thanks, by the way.”
For what? What?
“No problem,” I said ungracefully. And then the softhearted side of me kicked in and just ruined everything. “Um, if you ever, you know, need a shoulder to cry-,” I started, stumbling through my ‘I’ll be there for you’ speech. But maybe he didn’t want me to be there for him! And what in God’s name am I doing, offering him a shoulder to cry on?
“A shoulder to cry on?” Luke asked incredulously, chuckling as he stared at me.
I ran a hand through my hair nervously. “I mean- anyone to talk to- about anything- my aunt says I’m a good listener and-.” Luke laughed harder as I decided to cut my losses and get the hell out before I embarrassed myself further. Like that’s even possible. “I’ll see you around,” I blurted and scurried out of the room, Luke’s laughter ringing in my ears as I power walked down the hallway to the daycare.
Why am I so awkward around guys? No, scratch that. Why am I so awkward around Luke Astor?
Luke’s Point of View
“Mr. Astor, perhaps you can tell us what the answer is?”
Mr. Floyd’s voice jolted me out of a deep doze and I groggily raised my head from my desk, blinking blearily and trying not to yawn.
I felt like crap. How the hell was I going to get through two months of this?
Mr. Floyd pointed to an equation on the board, his face set in grim lines. He reminded me of my dad so much I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from bursting out laughing. I wasn’t scared that I would be looked at funny for just randomly laughing like an idiot; I simply didn’t want my head to hurt more than it did.
Rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm, I tried to focus.
“Well? We’re all waiting for your informed answer,” Mr. Floyd said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
People twisted in their seats to stare at me and witness Luke Astor’s public humiliation at the hands of his much loathed Math teacher. The old me would have cracked a dumb joke, made everyone laugh and admitted that I had no idea what the answer was. The new me felt so slow, so totally out of it that it was all I could do to stop myself from going back to sleep
“Uh-,” I started, scratching my chin and trying to look like I was really thinking. The pretense didn’t work. Wendy, who was sitting in front of me, tittered behind her hand while Ahmed turned his laugh into a cough. With friends like these...
Mr. Floyd scowled at me, acting like I was the first person who couldn’t answer his notoriously difficult equations.
“I thought not,” he muttered loudly. He looked directly at me, catching me right in the middle of another yawn. “I realize that trigonometry isn’t very interesting, but try not to fall asleep again. You of all people need a pass in this class.”
Even though it was true, it was still a low blow. People chuckled at my expense and turned to face Mr. Floyd as he resumed teaching.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching lazily as I tried to ignore what seemed like sledgehammers at work in my head. Doctor Khan had prescribed Tylenol for my headaches. I was still waiting for the three I took in the morning to kick in, but so far, no dice. I wondered what would get me first, the rupture or an overdose of pain meds. Probably the last option.
As Mr. Floyd droned on and on (I’ve never met a guy that likes the sound of his own voice more) I propped my head up using my hand and tried to look like I was paying attention but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Thanks to dad, I got less than five hours sleep last night and it was showing. About half an hour after my encounter with CiCi (who I thought was really weird, but her awkwardness made me lau
gh till I had to wipe the tears from my eyes) dad came to pick me up at the hospital, grumbling as usual about missed appointments and the like. Doctor Khan was on hand to give him the news. He was impassive as the doctor explained my situation to him, as well as telling him some things he hadn’t told me (Lucas needs to come in for a checkup every week, we’ll discuss surgery options next week, we’ll do the best we can regarding treatment) and I wouldn’t have expected anything else from him. I mean, this is the same guy who said my headaches were ‘nothing but your imagination. Now, man up!’
So I was kinda surprised to hear him bark “We’re getting a second opinion,” when Doctor Khan was done explaining.
Doctor Khan blinked but managed to keep a smile on his face. “Of course, that’s your right, Mr. Astor. But I’m sure you are aware that our facilities and technology is top notch. Rest assured, our findings are correct. Your son has an aneurysm.”
Dad nodded brusquely, finally resorting to rudely talking over Doctor Khan as he tried to tell him that it didn’t matter how many doctors and hospitals dad took me to, the prognosis would still be the same.
I was embarrassed enough for all of us and I folded my gown neatly and handed it to the pretty nurse, just to give me something to do. I was exhausted but dad was arguing with a doctor? Even for him, that was stupid.
“I understand that he’s got an aneurysm, but what I don’t get is why you won’t operate immediately,” dad blustered, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers and looking down at Doctor Khan.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked to the bathroom. This was going to take forever.
When I went back into the room, dad and the doctor were glowering at each other. I didn’t want to think about the rude things dad had to have said to Doctor Khan, whose only fault had been finding the abnormality in my brain. Not that dad was worried about that, oh no. He was probably just pissed because Doctor Khan had tried to give him advice. Lucas George Astor Senior hated being given advice. Even his own advisors knew not to ever open their mouths when he was around.
