Page 86 of Irreversible

I swipe at my face; it’s only sweat.

“Isaac…I’m sick.” Ice-cold chills filter through me, a contrast to my burning skin. The mattress moves underneath me as I relentlessly shake, my knees tucked to my chest.

Another long pause festers before his voice sounds closer. “Sick? Like the flu?”

“Worse, I think,” I croak. “My procedure…something’s wrong.”

A thump against the wall. “Fuck.”

I can’t determine if the worry in his tone is for my health, or for the rusty wrench thrusted into our escape plan. I can hardly move, let alone woo Roger. I’ve already failed, and now I’m deteriorating by the minute. “I’m…freezing,” I tell him, my teeth clicking together. “High fever. A-and my stomach…it hurts. Dull pain and nausea. I think I might puke.”

“Goddammit.” The curse is a harsh, gritty whisper forced through clenched teeth.

I want to believe he cares.

About me.

My mind swims with fruitless fantasies and daydreams. If we were to escape, would we keep in touch? Would there be monthly coffee dates, or playing catch-up over lunch at cutesy cafes?

What would we talk about?

Our common thread is nothing but a wall, a madman, and a boatload of shared trauma—not exactly the foundation from which long-lasting friendships are grown.

Then I wonder if we’d ever become…more.

For a moment, guilt trickles through me as tears sting my eyes, the physical and emotional turmoil ruining me from the inside out.

I never imagined a life without him.

Without Jasper.

Isaac breaks into my pendulating thoughts. “How do you usually feel after the procedure?”

He sounds so far away, like a distant echo carried by the wind. “A little sore. Some cramping, no worse than menstrual cramps. But now…” I attempt to catch my breath, like I can’t hold on to it long enough, and the wind is carrying that, too. “The pain is a lot worse. I can’t stop sh-shaking. Feels like…I’m dying.” I whimper, helplessly. “Can you imagine? All these years, surviving the clutches of twisted serial killers, and a stupid infection takes me out.”

“No.” He slaps the wall, and it sounds like both of his hands. “Fuck that. Not happening.”

“Would you miss me?”

It’s a silly question, utterly pointless. Yet a dopey smile steals my lips as I gaze up at the ceiling, watching it blur and move, morphing into a star-studded galaxy. I think I hear laughter. Children. My mother is beside me, stroking my sweat-slicked hair back as she feeds me spoonfuls of soup.

Does my mother miss me?

Allison? Colleagues?

Faceless fans and followers?

I imagine how many people have unfollowed my social media accounts because I’m no longer relevant. I’m gone. I’m not sure why, but the notion is excruciating. A hollow ache.

All my life, I thought the worst feeling was to be hated, judged, despised—resented just for existing. But now I know I’d take all of that over this.

The worst thing in the world is to be forgotten.

I curl into myself and face the wall, waiting for Isaac’s reply. He’s silent, and the ache only grows. “You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur, unsure if he can even hear me. “I don’t think your answer would make me feel any better.” There’s a low hum purring in my ears. Ocean waves. “No one is looking for me. I shouldn’t expect you to care, either.”

“Mm,” he drones. “Sounds like you’re giving up.”

“Why shouldn’t I? The world thinks I’m dead. I don’t matter anymore.”

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