Page 19 of Love What's Left
I want to cut my way out of my skin. Or pull out all my upper teeth and see if the headache and the memories fall out with them.It’s the drugs they gave me. It’s the trauma. I’ll be back to normal soon.But I’m lying to myself. I don’t dare remember. It’s a trap.
The nurse’s encouraging expression doesn’t falter as I pull myself into a seated position and push my hair away from my face.
“You’re doing great. The physical therapist is impressed. You’d feel even better if you took your meds. And”—she levels me with a stern look—“you need to eat more.”
I won’t. I realized when I started believing their lies that they must be putting something in the food. None of it is safe. Like when I was a kid and ate rotten food out of desperation and almost died.
When the man is distracted or steps into the hallway to take a call, I steal small bits from his plate. I drink water from the bathroom faucet, but I haven’t touched what they give me for two days.
My thoughts are less . . . sticky every day. But the sick, heavy weight in my chest and head, and the hollow ache in my stomach are even worse.
The man thinks if I believe I’m safe, then I’ll talk. Joke’s on him. I don’t know the question, let alone the answer.
I touch the bridge of my nose. Sooner or later, he’ll snap when he realizes he’s been wasting his time with me.I don’t know anything.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door, and he sets his coffee down and strides, loose-limbed and strong, across the room to open it. When the man returns, he has a tray in his hand and pulls a small wheeled table over to my bed.
The nursesmiles, then leaves me alone with him again. My stomach pinches when he lifts a shiny silver lid to reveal fluffy scrambled eggs.
“Not hungry,” I croak.Lie.I’m starving. If I get the chance, I’ll find the kitchen and steal from there before I escape.
“If you don’t start eating and drinking, you’ll end up with a feeding tube.” Horrible words delivered in a gentle voice.
I glare at him, trying hard to look angry instead of terrified.
“Let’s try applesauce.” His voice is beautiful. If he sang, he’d make angels cry.
When he brings the spoon to my mouth, I clamp my lips shut, and he closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, there’s something so tortured in his expression, I feel it physically, like a punch to the heart.
I nudge the bowl toward him. “You.”
He looks down at the applesauce, then back up again. “I’ll eat later. This is yours.”
I jerk my chin. “You eat.”
He shakes his head, then his brow furrows. “If I eat, will you eat?” he asks slowly.
I nod toward the bowl once more, knowing he’ll prove me right. He’ll never do it.
He lifts the spoonful of applesauce to his own mouth, swallows, then opens to show me his tongue.
Safe. The applesauce is clean.
I pounce on the bowl like a cat with a mouse, ripping the spoon away from him and shoveling the applesauce in as fast as I can, wasting precious drops when my trembling hands spill on my oversized black T-shirt. The tangy, sweet puree floods my taste buds first, then my entire system.
One bite after another, the cool spoon enters my mouth. When there’s nothing left to scoop up, I lick the bowl clean, uncaring if he thinks I’m acting likean animal. Then I push a triangle of toast toward him, watching to see what he does.
Without a hint of hesitation, he lifts it to his mouth, his straight white teeth biting off a healthy-sized corner of the buttered wheat bread. Again, I wait for him to prove he swallowed it.
When he sticks his tongue out for my inspection, I snatch the toast away from him, arm shaking, then bring it to my mouth, tearing into it like a starving dog.
“She eats,” he says, eyes smiling as he raises his hand in a quiet impersonation of Dr. Frankenstein’s “It’s alive.”
Those eyes . . . I recognize them. It’s more of a feeling than anything else, but I’ve seen his eyes crease at the corners like that somewhere other than the photo.
He pulls a pink tumbler with a clear, reusable straw closer. “Chocolate-flavored meal replacement shake. It’s got calories and protein. Yum.”
He sucks up a mouthful, then swallows before looking at the ceiling in exaggerated consideration. “I’ve had worse.”
