heart squeezing as I know why I’m so afraid. I know who I would write about. She was the only person who listened, really listened, not because she was waiting for her turn to speak, but because she cared about what I had to say.
With that thought in mind, I take the pen and I…let go.
I miss you, G…so much. Every day, I think it’s going to get easier, but it doesn’t. It gets harder. The thought of doing this alone is scarier than living. I wish I’d gone with you because I have nothing left to live for.
Each night, I wonder if this is the night I won’t wake up, if it is finally my time. I hate that a small part of me is disappointed when I bear witness to a new sunrise. I know you’d give anything to have just one more day, and here I am, wishing it was my last. I feel ungrateful. I am.
If I could give you my life to save yours, I would…in a heartbeat.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that more often. I love you, Georgia. Pleasse…com bak.
The last three words appear fuzzy, and my head begins to spin. Something isn’t right.
“Lola?” Tamara’s sluggish voice sounds as though she’s a million miles away.
A splitting pain stabs at my temple, leaving me winded as I clutch my stomach.
No, not again.
Shooting upright, I quickly excuse myself to find the nearest bathroom. Prior to my losing grip on reality, every color of the rainbow flashes before my eyes, and then…everything is replaced with black.
“She’s getting her color back.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Shall I check her blood pressure again?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it from here.”
Hushed voices that aren’t really hushed at all float in and out like a radio station trying to tune into its frequency. I have no idea where I am. What’s the last thing I remember? I try to recall, but it hurts—it always does.
Running a clammy hand down my face, I scrub over my eyes.
“Ms. Van Allen, can you hear me?”
The deep voice is as smooth as summer cherries. Regardless, I groan, eyes still sealed shut. “It’s Lola. Ms. Van Allen is my mother, and I’d rather there was only one of her.”
“Oh, c’mon, she can’t be that bad.”
“She makes Satan look like Mother Theresa.”
I’m not trying to be funny, so when I hear a husky chuckle, I crack open an eye. The world is beyond blurry. “My glasses?” I blindly reach out for them and am thankful when they’re placed in my palm.
Slipping them onto my face, I slowly take in my unfamiliar surroundings. The only thing I recognize is the man sitting by my bedside. “Dr. Archibald?” It’s a statement, intersected with a question.
Shooting upright, I ignore the pain in my head as I gather my bearings. The sterile white walls, beeping machines, and antiseptic smell all point to one place.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
My snarled hair feels like straw as I try to tame it. I give up, as it’ll take a miracle to tame that beast. “I feel like I’ve got the world’s worst hangover…without the booze.”
Again, I’m not attempting to be entertaining, so I’m surprised when I see Dr. Archibald’s perfect lips lift at the corner. His delicious exotic fragrance of fresh citrus and woodsy notes of sandalwood overpowers the sterility and has me wanting to take a bigger whiff. But I don’t.
“You passed out,” he explains, leaning forward in the plastic chair.
“It won’t happen again.” This is exactly what I was fearful of.
These blackouts are caused by my condition, and although I have them under control on most days, they sneak up on me at times. Like today. I realize I forgot to take my pills this morning. Rookie move on my part.
There is silence for a pregnant moment, those blue eyes hidden beneath clear lenses speaking a language I don’t understand. He reaches for the stethoscope around his neck and stands. “I’m just going to check your vitals.”
Nodding, I sit taller and lean forward.
He clears his throat before placing the metal disc against my back. “Take a deep breath in,” he instructs. I do as he asks. “Good. And out.” I exhale, his closeness sending a shiver throughout my entire body.
He moves over to the other side and asks me to do the same thing. This time, he leans in closer, our bodies a hairsbreadth away from touching. “Good.” His eyes meet