Page 13 of Hale
Blackness doesn’t drown me, it poisons me.
Machines beep and I try to open my eyes.
So dark.
So warm.
Not alone.
A strong, warm hand grips mine tightly, pulling me from my dreams of bees and unhappy pills. I blink my eyes open.
Sharp green ones bore into me.
Accusing.
Angry.
Achingly beautiful.
The sickness I always keep drowned below the surface thrashes to the top. It always grabs onto me at the worst possible moments and threatens to drag me under. For one moment, I let it take me. I admire his handsome face that resembles mine. Let my eyes linger on his thick lashes. Let them slide down to his strong nose. Let them fall to his full lips.
His lips move as he hisses out furious words, but I don’t listen to them. The bees buzzing in my head are still too loud. All I can do is focus on the beauty in front of me. A beauty I’ve secretly adored since I was a child.
Sick. Sick. Sick.
No matter how many sessions with Dr. Livingston I’ve had, I never tell him what infects my innermost desires. Even I know some things are better left unsaid. It doesn’t stop him from prying and snooping, picking apart my brain as though it’s a bowl of candy and he’s searching for the only green M&M in the bowl.
Sick, Rylie. You’re sick.
My eyes droop but not before I push away thoughts of green M&Ms and green eyes and carefully guarded secrets.
“Rylie.”
His voice, though, speaks a language only my sickness understands. It reaches out to him. Begs to be held. Spreads and spreads and spreads.
“You stupid, stupid kid.”
The sickness retreats as fire chases it away. I pop my eyes open and glare at him. My brother. My nemesis. The one I’ll never be like. I try to move my lips, but nothing comes out.
“Get some rest and when you’re better, we’re going to talk.” He rises from the chair beside the bed in the sterile room. My eyes track him as he walks over to Amy. They hug. I wonder how he feels knowing he’s going to be a dad.
Tears leak from my face, but nobody sees.
Nobody ever sees the pain that bleeds from my body day by day.
They go about their lives thinking only about themselves.
Closing my eyes, I seek out the darkness. The bees. The pain. I just want to think about something else.
When a warm thumb rakes across my cheek, I snap my eyes open. Hudson stares down at me. Pain, much like the pain I feel a slave to inside, flickers in his eyes. My big, strong older brother is suffering.
“We’re going to talk about this. We’re going to talk about a lot of things,” he murmurs.
I watch him leave with his perfect pregnant girlfriend latched onto his arm. More tears leak out long after they’re gone.
What will we talk about, Huds?
Will you tell me the secret cure for the sickness in my heart and the blackness in my head?
