Page 21 of Cryptic Curse
I lead Belinda to the end of the hallway where the couches and vending machines are.The floor-to-ceiling windows look out on the city of Austin.Cars driving and honking, people walking on the sidewalks.A Starbucks sits on the corner.
I could go for some coffee, but there isn’t any in the vending machine.I decide on a Diet Coke.“What would you like?”
“Just water,” she says.“Maybe some chips.”
I slide my credit card through the machines and get our food and drink, nodding to her.“Come on, honey.Let’s sit.”
We sit together on the couch, and Belinda opens her bag of chips.We don’t talk, and the only sound in the area is her crunching.
I take a sip of my Diet Coke.
And I remember that terrible time in the hospital.
* * *
The doctor adjuststhe sterile drape and looks up at me with a calm expression.“Okay, sweetheart,” he says gently.“I’m going to talk you through everything as we go.If anything feels uncomfortable or if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word.You’re in control here.”
I stare at the ceiling.“Am I?”
He pauses, his gaze meeting mine for a second longer than necessary.“You aresupposedto be,” he says, his voice softer now.
I nod, though the movement feels mechanical.My hands are cold, fingers curled into fists under the thin blanket.I try not to shiver.
“You doing all right?”he asks as he wheels his stool closer.“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m just…” I swallow hard.“Trying not to think.”
“Do you want me to distract you?”He pauses a moment.“We can talk about something else if that helps.”
“No,” I murmur.“I don’t want to pretend it’s not happening.”
He nods once and turns his attention to the instruments.The machine clicks, and my whole body tenses.
“You’re going to feel some pressure now,” he says.“Breathe with me.In…and out.”
I follow his rhythm, forcing the air in and out of my lungs like it’s the only thing I can still control.
After a moment, I whisper, “She would’ve had my eyes.I think.”
He stills for a brief second but doesn’t interrupt or look away.
“My dad said I’d thank him one day,” I continue, my voice barely audible.“That I’d be grateful he made this decision for me.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”I stare so hard at the ceiling that my vision begins to blur.
The machine hums in the background.Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.I can’t afford to fall apart—not here.
“I hope she knows I didn’t want this,” I say, my voice cracking.
The doctor’s hands never stop moving, but his voice is steady.“She knows.”
I close my eyes.And for a moment, I pretend I believe him.
7
HAWK
