I just dangled there, motionless. Clueless. My face suddenly feels hot.
“I heard you lost like a third of your blood. A few more minutes and you could have bled out.” I don’t know who says it; I can’t see past the water pooling into the corners of my eyes. I clench them shut to draw back any tears that might have the chance to spill.
“The femoral artery is not one you want to mess with.” Dad strides into the room, his mouth pursed on a red and white striped straw as he takes another swig of his Shirley Temple. His newly bald head shines under the overhead light. “And Maggie’s was cut pretty deep. I’m so grateful for the paramedics that were already at the light when the accident occurred.”
At the light? I shake my head. Does that mean they were there before it all happened? That they saw the accident take place?
“Okay, I hate to be rude,” Mikey begins, “but I’m feeling a little slighted over here. So what? Maggie almost bled out. I had a freaking tumor in my head, people!”
“Fine,” I shrug my shoulders and smile widely. “You win.”
“Damn right, I win.” Mikey high fives Eric over the top of Layla and he lifts his head with a swift, cocky nod.
And I hope he does win. Because right now, winning for Mikey means so much more than it ever could for me.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Maggie?”
I turn over in my bed. A thick blanket of darkness swallows up my entire bedroom and my vision, like an opaque veil covering my eyes. I fumble for a clock on the nightstand, but nearly every possession I own is back in my dorm room in Davis. I rub the sleep from my eyes with the back of my hand and blink away the haze.
“Maggie?” This time there is a knock that follows the hushed whisper. “Mags, can I come in?”
I push up in my bed. It’s gotten easier to do that this past week. Collin has really been working me hard, and while his name has become more of a curse word for me than anything else, I’m so glad to have him in my corner, cheering me on. Forcing me to do things that I didn’t realize I had the strength to do.
“Yeah, Mikey.” My words crack with fatigue. “What is it?”
Mikey pushes the door open slightly and it squeals on its hinges. Dad said he was going to oil that, but now that I only use this room when I’m visiting, I think the task been placed on the backburner. Dad’s a man with a lot on his plate right now. Squeaky doors should not take priority.
“I need to take advantage of your ability to handle ‘all things gross’ right about now.” He’s carrying the yellow Tupperware that we typically use as our popcorn bowl on family movie night. But I’m pretty certain there’s not popcorn inside it this time. None of that familiar, buttery smell that makes my mouth water. “You prepared for this one?”
“Not sure,” I say, rubbing my eyes once more. He slides onto the bed next to me and the pungent odor assaults my senses before I can even see what’s in the bowl. “Is that what I think it is?”
He pushes the bucket under my face.
“Damn, Mikey! Did you eat straight ketchup for dinner?” The bowl is filled halfway with vomit, but it’s not the color I would expect to see. Not that I spend my time staring at puke often, but this doesn’t look normal.
Mikey’s eyes are bloodshot and his face holds a ghostly white pallor. That I can see clearly, even in the pitch black of my room. “I’ve been throwing up for the past three hours. This is the most recent.”
“Thank you for sharing,” I groan, covering my mouth and nose with my palm, grateful for the perfume I’d splashed on my wrists this morning because it masks the bitter smell.
“Does that look like blood to you?”
I groan again and venture another look into the bowl. “Yeah. It kinda does.”
“This round sucks, Maggie.”
Mikey’s doctor started him on chemo a week ago, noting that though it’s not always routine procedure for brain tumors, he felt confident this was the right treatment plan for Mikey’s specific type of cancer. They would start with chemotherapy first, and then follow up with radiation if they saw it fit. Mikey wasn’t too thrilled with the list of side effects presented, especially when his doctor noted that nausea and