sits on the edge of my bed, while I eye my desk drawer, wishing my secrets weren’t inches away from her. “So, what’s been happening?”
“Happening? With what?” I’m quick to reply as I press my back to the wall, needing something to lean on.
“You know, life in general. How’s Dr. Archibald?” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.
Calming down, I take a breather. “I had an interesting run-in with him today.”
“What happened?” she asks, sitting forward, intrigued.
Unable to evade her questioning, I decide to be honest because maybe the saying rings true: the truth might set me free.
“He read over my file.” I leave out the part why. “He says new drugs are available that may help me.” I nervously pick at the nail polish on my thumb, averting my gaze. When she doesn’t comment, I clarify. “Help…cure me.”
Silence.
I risk looking up, afraid of what I’ll see.
Zoe sits frozen, her mouth agape. There is no guessing what she’s thinking, but it’s not that simple. This was a bad idea, and I really wish I’d kept quiet. “You have to try them,” she whispers, breaking the silence.
“Zoe…”
She shakes her head resolutely. “No, this is a no-brainer. Why are you still here?” She jumps off the bed as though it’s on fire and charges over to where I stand, still pressed to the wall. “Where is your suitcase?” When I remain mute, she dashes over to my wardrobe, hunting for my luggage.
“I’m not leaving.”
She stops searching, spinning so quickly I cringe. “What do you mean you’re not leaving? You have to. This is a simple decision to make.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve tried this before. It doesn’t work.”
“But Dr. Archibald says these new drugs will help cure you,” she presses.
I shake my head, pushing back from the wall. “Maybe, not definite.”
My answer doesn’t placate her, however. “Maybe is better than no. Maybe means there is a chance. I wish my sister had a maybe.”
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling ungrateful. “I lost someone, and that someone was my best friend who died while on the trial drugs. I can’t go through that again. I’ve accepted my fate and made peace with it.”
Zoe meets me halfway, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m so sorry about your best friend, I truly am, but that’s bullshit. You’ve been given an opportunity…why won’t you take it?”
I blink. “Because…” I’m scared, I silently reply. “Because…” But I come up short.
“Because you’re afraid of living?” Zoe offers with a bite, attempting to piece together a puzzle with pieces that don’t fit.
“No, because I’m afraid of living with hope!” I confess, hating how weak I sound. “I can’t live another day with false hope. Georgia was the most optimistic person I knew, but regardless, she still died. Life is cruel, and I don’t expect it to make an exception for me.”
I hate that I’m shaking. This topic is one that will always end this way—in tears. My lower lip trembles, and I succumb to my fears.
Zoe wraps her arms around me, hugging me as I weep. “I’m sorry. I just…I want you to live.”
Her affirmation is so much like what Georgia would say. “Thank you, Zoe.”
We stand hugging for minutes, both needing the comfort as I’m sure this conversation has brought up memories of her sister.
Her insistence has me wondering if maybe I should reconsider. Everyone seems so intent on saving me, while I just want to forget.
It’s late out, but I can’t sleep, so I decide to take a walk.
With no real destination in mind, I roam the hallway, taking the long way to venture outside. It’s a god’s honest unintentional mistake, but when I come to Roman’s office, I curse my infernal subconscious.
I should keep walking, but I don’t.
Adrenaline surges through my body, causing my heart to race. After ensuring I’m alone, I tiptoe toward the ajar doorway. Counting to three, I spur myself on because it’s too late to back out now. I inhale two short breaths, then push open the door.
This is Roman’s most treasured space. A place where he can be himself behind closed doors. I wonder just who that person is. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, yet I can’t help but think that buried beneath that hard exterior lies a wounded soul. I remember his tattoo. Whoever she is, I believe she’s the reason he bears his scars so close to his heart.
Besides the desk, a bookcase, and a bunch of filing cabinets, nothing in the office shows