Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I somehow get vertical enough to arrange my legs over the side of the bed. There’s no way I’m going to heap mortification on top of mortification, so I tug my own shirt off and then tackle my plaid pajama pants. I get one leg out and then the other until I’m just in my boxers. I’m still not going to win any smells fresh as a darned daisy prizes over here, but getting the foul, sweaty clothes off does help. The air from the room feels good against my sweaty skin.
First, Carissa preps the bed. She plumps a bunch of the pillows and stacks them up against the wooden headboard. Then she peels the opposite side of the covers back before standing up and looking around, probably for somewhere to hang the horrible IV bag from.
I can do this.
I’m not in a hospital.
Carissa will never do anything to me that I don’t give her permission to do. She won’t hurt me. If I freak out, she’ll stop. If I tell her to get the fucking thing out of my arm, she’ll get the fucking thing out of my arm. This is the one part of my childhood that’s stuck with me. The one fear I’ve never been able to wash away. My grandma would always tell me that I needed to feel those things too, and that I needed to let them go after. Feel the fear. Exhale. Taste the bitterness. Exhale. Grieve. Exhale. She’d say that was life. Not just the good but the bad, accepting and moving beyond it so it doesn’t have the power to break me.
I know I need to talk to someone. I need to deal with this because it’s not healthy. It’s not even safe. Now that the tour’s ending, maybe I’ll have time.
No, not maybe.
I need to make time.
I close my eyes and tell myself none of this is like my childhood. Nothing was even done to me as a kid. I just witnessed it all second-hand. The fear of that man, a doctor, turned into something else. It grew and grew for me, until it nearly suffocated me. Is it really even fear anymore? It’s more like straight panic just thinking about entering a clinic or hospital or a doctor coming near me.
No hospital. No clinic. No doctor. Just the bus. Just hydration. Just a wonderful, caring, and selfless woman who wants nothing but the best for every single person she ever meets. I tell her no, she’ll respect that. If I want to get on stage, I don’t have to suck it up. I can just give it a try. Just a minute, then another, and another.
“Hey.” Carissa pats the spot she just made on the bed. “Do you think you can make it over here? I can help you.”
I move before I can change my mind, dragging myself to the little nest she’s made for me. I lean my back against the pillows, my legs straight out in front of me. She tucks me in like I’m a kid, smoothing the blankets around my waist.
“You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” I mutter.
Her eyes whip back to mine. “It’s going to sting for a minute and maybe ache for most of the time it’s in, but that’s the worst-case scenario. I promise it’s going to help you feel at least a little bit better.”
“Are you guaranteeing I make it to the show tomorrow afternoon?”
She shakes her head and leaves it at that. She doesn’t press me, coddle me, or bribe me. Although I guess she technically already did that by promising me a surprise.
“If I decline, can I still have the surprise?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, but they snap with clear delight she can’t hide. There’s maybe a little bit of something darker there too. Reluctance? Doubt? “Yes. It’s for you. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you, and after what you said, I think that time is right now.”
Wow. Okay.
I’m more intrigued than I’ve been in years. She got me something she knows I don’t have already, and she’s been waiting to give it to me. My mind dips straight to a place it shouldn’t go, especially as she tucks that strand of hair back behind her ear again. I was fixated on her earlobe before, so I missed the tiny hole at the top, in the cartilage right by her face.
“Whoa. What is that?”
I want to shove myself up, but it’s a no-go. My head and stomach get on the we’re going to fuck you up good team.
“What is what?” I’m pretty obviously staring at her face. She raises a hand and smacks herself on her cheek. “Is it a spider? Oh my god!”
“It’s not! No spider. There’s nothing on your face.”
She relaxes, and both cheeks flush the prettiest pink, although one cheek is slightly darker from the spider panic slap. “What’s what?” she asks calmly.