Page 136 of Irreversible

God…conditioner.

I want to drown myself in it. I leave it in my hair for twenty minutes too long while I shave my legs and let the scent of clean citrus and honeysuckle wash away the remnants of my captivity. An hour rolls by before I’m towel-dried and tucked back intobed, spooning a mouthful of lime Jello between my freshly brushed teeth.

A nurse glides into the room a moment later, her smile bright and cheery. “Good morning, Mrs. Cross. How are you feeling today?”

I swallow the Jello. “A little better. The pain meds are working, and my fever finally broke overnight.”

“That’s good news. Any other symptoms?”

“Just loss of appetite. The Jello is good, though.”

She nods.

My diagnosis came through last night: ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, or OHSS for short. It’s when the ovaries swell to a dangerous size—a rare and potentially deadly complication that can occur in women who take fertility drugs to stimulate egg growth.

The egg transfer almost killed me.

If my captor hadn’t given me that initial dose of antibiotics, it likely would have.

I set the empty bowl of Jello aside while the nurse checks my vitals and takes notes. “I’m thinking you’ll be with us for another day or two. You’re right, your temperature is back to normal. The doctor just wants to monitor you for any setbacks.”

My legs itch to walk through that curtain and never look back, but I send her a tight smile. “I understand. Thank you.”

“Get some rest. I’ll check on you again shortly.”

I curl up under the covers and search for the television remote as external noise echoes all around me. Other patients with different stories. Doctors chatting, nurses laughing. Sighing, I flip through the stations, hoping the sight of colorful, flickering images and the sound of laugh tracks might lull me into a sense of normalcy. But my mind is scattered, my attention flimsy. It’s too much; an assault on my senses.

I turn off the TV and collapse back down to the bed, begging for sleep to steal me away for a few hours until the next round of tests.

Not a moment later, Jasper strolls into the room. “Everly.”

Glancing up at him, I scoot back into a sitting position and grin widely. “Hey. Good morning.”

“I brought you something. It’s not much…” He unwraps an arm from behind his back, showcasing a bouquet of fresh pink, violet, and cream flowers. A timid shrug claims his shoulders. “Feels silly, really. But I thought maybe they would cheer you up.”

“They’re beautiful.” Tears moisten my eyes. “Thank you.”

He cautiously approaches my bedside, setting the vase atop the adjacent table. Uncertainty filters through him, seizing his steps, his gaze, his movements. Glancing over at me, he swallows, then looks away. Taps at his thighs with tense fingers. Shuffles in place.

I hate this.

This limbo we’re in.

He’s my husband; I’m his wife.

And yet, we feel like strangers.

Years have come between us, and I don’t know how to get them back.

Wetting my lips, I gesture toward the nearby chair. “You can sit.”

He clears his throat. “Right.” Jasper moves the chair over to my bed, the legs scraping against linoleum. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I took a shower. It was heavenly.”

A smile spreads. “I can imagine. You smell divine.”

“I’m sorry I stank yesterday. I’m sure you needed to take ten showers to eliminate the stench by association.”

---