throat of whatever was blocking my speech. “What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
The tingling is still in my head, traveling around my eyelids and down my cheeks, threatening to turn everything white once more. My tongue feels thick, and when I talk, my words sound heavy. I try to sit all the way up, but I can't. My body is heavy too.
"I think you just had a seizure," he says, sounding as surprised as I am.
I blink a few times.
“Does that happen a lot?” Jonah asks. It's hard to ignore the fact that he hasn't looked away from me this entire time.
I try to speak again but my throat is too dry. Jonah grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and I try to take it from him, but again, my fingers just won't latch on. My wrists hurt, my elbows ache. I feel like I ran a marathon and passed out from dehydration.
“It's okay,” he repeats.
I watch as he moves closer and I part my lips as he tips the glass for me to drink. I gulp it down and wait for him to move away. He doesn’t.
“It's never happened before,” I say.
We're quiet for a long time. My legs stop feeling so heavy and I shift them under the covers. Something wet is underneath me, around me.
Crap.
Jonah must see it on my face...or worse, he can smell it. He looks at me knowingly, waiting for me to say something.
I pissed the bed and we've been sitting here for at least ten minutes.
Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall. I don't know what I was expecting. Of course things would get worse. Of course they would get worse in the most embarrassing and mortifying of ways.
“I—I'm so sorry,” I say. At least, that's what I mean to say. Only a few sounds actually come out as I cover my face with my hands.
Jonah is quick to take them away. “It's alright,” he says when I'm looking at him.
He smiles a little, friendly. How can he be so nice to me when I'm basically using him? Using him so I don't have to make my parents go through stuff like this. Using him because I want someone to know, someone to care without treating me like I'm a walking death sentence.
He holds onto my hand on top of the blanket and brushes some hair from my sweaty face. “Really,” he says.
I shake my head. None of this is okay. Not my situation or our situation or why I'm doing this. I should be in a hospital with my mom and dad. I should be on chemo and meds. They should have a chance to adjust to the idea of losing me before I'm gone.
“Can you stand up?” he asks.
I try moving my legs, but once I have them bent, they immediately straighten again, like the hinge of a door swung open.
I shake my head but say, “I can do it, just give me a minute.”
Jonah waits. I can't stand. Without saying anything else, he uncovers me. I’m too afraid to look at what I've done so I stare at him; he also doesn't look, only watching me. “Put your arms around my neck,” he says. “I'll carry you.”
When I hesitate, he straightens his posture slightly. “Remember what we talked about?” he asks. “You have to let me take care of you, okay?”
He smiles, but he doesn't wait for an answer. I wrap my arms around his neck and he slips his arms under my legs.
My breath catches and my cheeks flare up, no doubt turning bright red. Before I can apologize again, Jonah is lifting me up, and I carefully tuck my head under his chin, testing out how it feels. If this were a different situation, I would maybe like this, enjoy whatever contact I could get from him. But under the circumstances, this is just plain awful.
“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jonah says as he sits me down on the closed toilet seat.
I snort and it sends a painful vibration through my sinuses. I wince before looking back at him. “Right,” I say.
Jonah turns on the water in the tub and plugs the drain. “You do realize the first night you were here you vomited and passed out, right?” I imagine he would say something like this with harshness in his tone, but he smiles. He’s
The tingling is still in my head, traveling around my eyelids and down my cheeks, threatening to turn everything white once more. My tongue feels thick, and when I talk, my words sound heavy. I try to sit all the way up, but I can't. My body is heavy too.
"I think you just had a seizure," he says, sounding as surprised as I am.
I blink a few times.
“Does that happen a lot?” Jonah asks. It's hard to ignore the fact that he hasn't looked away from me this entire time.
I try to speak again but my throat is too dry. Jonah grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and I try to take it from him, but again, my fingers just won't latch on. My wrists hurt, my elbows ache. I feel like I ran a marathon and passed out from dehydration.
“It's okay,” he repeats.
I watch as he moves closer and I part my lips as he tips the glass for me to drink. I gulp it down and wait for him to move away. He doesn’t.
“It's never happened before,” I say.
We're quiet for a long time. My legs stop feeling so heavy and I shift them under the covers. Something wet is underneath me, around me.
Crap.
Jonah must see it on my face...or worse, he can smell it. He looks at me knowingly, waiting for me to say something.
I pissed the bed and we've been sitting here for at least ten minutes.
Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall. I don't know what I was expecting. Of course things would get worse. Of course they would get worse in the most embarrassing and mortifying of ways.
“I—I'm so sorry,” I say. At least, that's what I mean to say. Only a few sounds actually come out as I cover my face with my hands.
Jonah is quick to take them away. “It's alright,” he says when I'm looking at him.
He smiles a little, friendly. How can he be so nice to me when I'm basically using him? Using him so I don't have to make my parents go through stuff like this. Using him because I want someone to know, someone to care without treating me like I'm a walking death sentence.
He holds onto my hand on top of the blanket and brushes some hair from my sweaty face. “Really,” he says.
I shake my head. None of this is okay. Not my situation or our situation or why I'm doing this. I should be in a hospital with my mom and dad. I should be on chemo and meds. They should have a chance to adjust to the idea of losing me before I'm gone.
“Can you stand up?” he asks.
I try moving my legs, but once I have them bent, they immediately straighten again, like the hinge of a door swung open.
I shake my head but say, “I can do it, just give me a minute.”
Jonah waits. I can't stand. Without saying anything else, he uncovers me. I’m too afraid to look at what I've done so I stare at him; he also doesn't look, only watching me. “Put your arms around my neck,” he says. “I'll carry you.”
When I hesitate, he straightens his posture slightly. “Remember what we talked about?” he asks. “You have to let me take care of you, okay?”
He smiles, but he doesn't wait for an answer. I wrap my arms around his neck and he slips his arms under my legs.
My breath catches and my cheeks flare up, no doubt turning bright red. Before I can apologize again, Jonah is lifting me up, and I carefully tuck my head under his chin, testing out how it feels. If this were a different situation, I would maybe like this, enjoy whatever contact I could get from him. But under the circumstances, this is just plain awful.
“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jonah says as he sits me down on the closed toilet seat.
I snort and it sends a painful vibration through my sinuses. I wince before looking back at him. “Right,” I say.
Jonah turns on the water in the tub and plugs the drain. “You do realize the first night you were here you vomited and passed out, right?” I imagine he would say something like this with harshness in his tone, but he smiles. He’s
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