chapter thirteen

I COULDN'T BREATHE. It felt like my lungs were collapsing, my chest constricting. A thousand thoughts jumbled in my mind, trying to decipher why he was here. He made it clear we were finished. I wasn't good enough. He moved on. I was just beginning to accept it, just beginning to understand. I had no idea what I felt anymore.

Harry stood almost instinctively, protectively even. He didn't do anything else, and neither did Justin. I realized he was holding a hand behind his back, and when he revealed what he was holding, I wanted to cry. He had a bouquet of roses. My mind raced back to the night of our prom, of all our homecomings and graduation. Roses every time.

"I know you don't want to see me," he started off, very carefully. "I'm not here because I'm getting back together with you. I'm here because I do still care about you."

I brought my hands up to my face, not sure I could keep looking at him with this pain welling inside me.

"How'd you know I was here?" I managed to croak out, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Lacy works here. She's a nurse and she saw you come in."

"Lacy?"

"My girlfriend." I could see him straighten out the cracks of my fingers. "I, uh. I got these for you. Roses are still your favorite, right?"

I ran my hands through my hair, then let them fall to my lap when I was sure I wasn't going to cry. "Yeah," I whispered. "They are."

Justin smiled, setting them on the table beside the bed. Harry was watching him impossibly close, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. I wanted to reach for his hand. To feel the warmth of it in mine once more. However, I couldn't bring myself to. Even in front of the man who cheated blatantly, it didn't feel right to express affection towards someone with him as a witness.

"Can we, uh, have a few minutes?" Justin raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Alone."

"Not a chance, mate."

They both turned to me and I felt the tension rising. My head began to throb and I rubbed my temples. Uneasy being in the hospital itself and slightly annoyed with my returning migraines, I muttered that it was okay.

"A few minutes," I clarified. "That's all."

Justin nodded and Harry gave me a lingering look, as if to absolutely confirm it was all right. When he was satisfied I meant it, he reluctantly stepped out of the room. Justin took the seat Harry previously occupied, keeping a fair distance between us. I couldn't look at him, and I was positive he wasn't looking at me.

"I'm sorry," he offered, only sounding partially genuine. "For the way I broke up with you. I shouldn't have done that."

And then I was angry. I wished I would have grabbed Harry's hand, told him to stay, to keep Justin away. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to relive everything we'd lost. I was mad and hurt and just wanted to go back to sleep with Harry's company, and only Harry's company. Justin's presence had had a negative impact on me for a while now, but he might as well have been holding me at gunpoint. I wasn't going to cower away, though, not anymore.

"Yeah, well, you can't change that now, can you?"

He sighed. "Are you doing okay?"

"Funny how you didn't care until I was hospitalized," I grumbled, shocked with this newfound bluntness. I had never been so honest with Justin, so abrupt. It felt good to not have to worry about him hitting me due to something I said. It felt great to speak my mind.

"Delilah..." He shook his head. "Don't be like that."

I laughed humorlessly, but bit my lip while he continued.

"I still care about you. I just don't love you anymore. Not like I used to, anyways. But I still care," he said, sounding desperate to make me believe him.

I dared to look over at him. "No more tricks, Justin. Please."

"Tricks?"

"I'm tired of you saying one thing and then contradicting yourself. Just don't lie. Be honest or leave. I'm really not in the mood."

His jaw tightened. If I would have said anything like that when I was with him, he would've given me more than one nasty bruise to hide. But he couldn't do anything here. And if he did, I was certain Harry was standing right outside the door. For once in a long while, I felt safe from him. I almost laughed at how relieving it was.

We were sitting in a tense silence; me looking out the window and Justin staring down at the floor. There wasn't anything to say. At least not on my behalf. He wasn't apologizing, and didn't appear like he intended to. One simple "I'm sorry" sufficed for him, even though it was obvious he hadn't truly meant it.

"I thought I did us a favor, you know." He leaned closer to me. "I could date the girl I liked and you could swoon over your trainer."

"Grow up," I hissed. "You know the only person I cared about was you."

"I am grown up, Delilah. It's you who can't seem to comprehend that there's no such thing as 'true love'. Sure, I loved you a lot. But that was years ago. I haven't loved you since graduation, but you just can't seem to get it through your skull that I'm no prince."

"If that's really how you felt, why'd you let it go on for so long?" It was surprising how numb I felt. I pictured myself crying by now. "If you were so miserable putting up with me."

He huffed in irritation, throwing his hands up. "I felt bad for you. Is that what you want to hear? You gained weight and I knew no one would want to be with you. I didn't want you to be alone, because I know you hate it. But now you've got him out there--" He pointed at the door "--so I didn't see a problem in leaving."

Now I could feel myself fighting tears.

"So you put me through hell and back for eight years, just because you felt bad for me?" I scoffed, trying to see his logic and couldn't. "How do you know I wouldn't have found anyone? I found Harry."

Justin snorted. "You found someone equally as pitiful. But stop trying to make me sound so despicable. I loved you the first four years of our relationship, Delilah. I would've done anything for you, which is why it was so hard to let you go."

I busted into hysterics--partially crying, partially laughing. "Hard to let me go? You weren't the one putting makeup on to hide bruises every time you went out in public. You weren't the one crying yourself to sleep every night because you knew you'd never be good enough. You weren't the one trying so hard to be someone else just so someone would love you. No, Justin. It was me that couldn't let go. You tossed me away like a dirty napkin."

I had caught him off guard, that much was obvious. He was fumbling for words, but finally he gave up and stood. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, making me shrink away. Then he placed his lips by my ear. "I hope you get the help you need," he whispered, then he left, leaving me to look at roses that resurfaced memories too painful to remember.

***

It was late, maybe my fifth or sixth night in the hospital. I wasn't exactly keeping track. But I heard the doctor's hushed voice outside my door. I couldn't make out who was speaking with him, yet hearing my name instantly intrigued me. They were talking about me and I was right here. Didn't I deserve to know what they were conversing about?

Precisely why I didn't trust doctors. They lied. Time and time again, they lied. They were just like everyone else; anyone who ever made their jokes revolve around me. How did liars get such a job? They were supposed to save people, not hurt them more. Why weren't they telling me anything? I hated being treated like I was some pathetic damsel that couldn't handle the truth. I wasn't going to be fragile anymore. I refused to be.

Grabbing the rolling monitor where my IV was connected, I used it for support to stand. I tiptoed quietly over to the door, pressing my ear against it. The conversation had fallen silent, but I could hear feet shuffling. Finally, a sigh. Then, the doctor's voice.

"I hate to, but she's not stable enough to decide for herself. I'm going to ask her mother tomorrow...."

A nurse's much gentler but equally deceiving voice, "It'll be what's best for her."

"She can't keep going like this."

"I completely agree."

They walked away, leaving me distraught. What was best for me? What were they going to ask my mother about? I was fine. Couldn't they see that? I wasn't eating because I wasn't hungry. Besides, hospital food was no way to quench hunger. Not that I'm hungry. I'm fine.

I stumbled back over to the bed, laying back down. I wished Harry were here right now, so he could've heard what they were talking about. He'd say something to them, surely. But I had told him to go home, just like I did my family every night. They were all far more exhausted than I. They didn't deserve to be worn down like that, not on my account.

I closed my eyes, replayed Justin's meeting. Had I been too mean to him? The words spilled out of my mouth before I even thought twice about them. I know he'd done some cruel things to me, but was it right for me to be cruel back? People always say you should never sink as low as your enemies. Had I sunk? It'd started to feel that way. Sinking, sinking, sinking, each day a little more than before.

I tried to sleep, but I couldn't stop my wondering about the doctor's words. They frightened me, and I was already frightened enough stuffed in this place. What could they possibly try to do that I wasn't "stable" enough to decide? And who's to say I'm not stable? I'm fine. How many more times did I need to say it?

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.

No one seemed to believe me, except maybe Harry. He was even doubtful, though.

I let out a sigh and pictured something else. Something relaxing, something dreamy. A cabin out in the snow with a large fireplace. Books stacked to the ceiling, all for me to read, and a fluffy blanket draped over my shoulders. A cup of hot chocolate sat on the table at my side, and I heard a laugh from behind me. A beautiful laugh, one that instantly brought a smile to my face and peace to my mind.

Somewhere in the bliss of that laugh, I fell asleep.

***

My mother brushed my hair off my forehead, humming a song she used to sing to me every night when I was a child. I kept my eyes closed so she'd keep singing. Eventually, though, I let her know I was awake with a smile tracing my lips.

She grabbed my hand and held it, looking at me with her bright eyes. "How'd you sleep?"

I nodded over at the monitor. "It wouldn't shut up."

"Did you get at least a little shut-eye?"

"A little."

She smiled, but there was that lingering worry in her gaze. I knew she was scared for me. She didn't listen when I told her I was fine. "Delilah," she said quietly, "will you please eat something so we can take you home?"

I sighed. "I can't eat if I'm not hungry."

"Honey, you must be. It's okay to be hungry."

I clenched my jaw. "I'm not hungry."

Her eyes filled with tears, and her grip tightened on my hand. "Delilah, do you know what they're asking me to do? If you don't eat, they're going to put a tube down your nose and I don't want to see you like that. All you have to do is eat something. Even two bites of jello would be enough for them to let you go."

So that's what the doctor had been talking about last night.

I looked at my mother, perplexed. "You wouldn't let them do that to me, would you?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and let a tear escape her eye. Her voice was shaky when she managed to speak. "I just... I'm very worried about you, Delilah. Very worried."

"You don't need to be," I reminded her. "I keep telling you--all of you--that I'm fine."

She pressed her lips together to stifle sobs, attempted to nod, then settled with squeezing my hand harder. When she calmed down a bit, she wiped her eyes and told me she was going to let Nat come in to visit. She kissed my forehead, longer than usual. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, as if to keep herself from crumbling, and exited the room.

I knew it was my fault she was breaking herself over this. But I couldn't do anything if she didn't believe me. I felt horrible for making her cry, making her weak. She could've made it easier and just trusted me, but it didn't seem like she was on my side. She was being a mother, and a mother would always take a professional opinion over their child's. I couldn't blame her for caring.

Nat brought cards, and we ended up playing a bunch of random games. He attempted to show me a magic trick one of his friends showed him, but he failed tremendously and kept telling me not to look so he could cheat his way out. It was nice being so childish with him, like we were still just kids with nothing serious to worry about except a magic trick going wrong. I missed those days. I missed them a lot.

"I'm going to admit it," said Nat halfway through his third try at the trick. "I only practiced this twice."

"I would've never guessed."

"I'll also admit..." He glanced up at me and smirked a little. "I approve of Harry so far. At least more than I ever approved of that other kid."

I blushed. "The fact that you actually said Harry's name surprises me."

"Eh, like I said. I approve."

I shrugged. "We're not dating, Nat."

"Please. A blind person could see that it won't be long until you are."

"Can we stop talking about romance and stuff?" My face was on fire. "Just keep focusing on that magic trick of yours."

He grinned. "All right, pick a card."

I grabbed one, making sure he couldn't see it.

He raised his eyebrows, acting as if he were leaning over to look at the monitor to the side. I gave him a look, folding the cards to my chest. He huffed in annoyance, but carried on the trick nonetheless. He made me put my card in a random spot in the deck. (He was supposed to be looking away, but he gave up on that the first time he failed.) He shuffled the cards, spread them out of the bed, and closed his eyes, his hand hovering over them.

"Based on my calculations..." He snatched up a card at random. "Is this your card?"

"Try again, Magic Man."

"Is this your card?"

"Nope."

"What about this one?"

"Nein."

He threw his head back. "Dammit. Screw Jonathan, and his stupid card tricks."

I laughed. "Aw, you're so sensitive." I pinched his cheek, and he slapped my hand away, pointing his finger at me threateningly. I chuckled just as the door opened.

The doctor stood there with a nurse beside him, a strange tube in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. He had a look on his face, like he was remorseful of what he was about to do, but there was more determination than pity in his eyes.

"Delilah," he said, "I'm afraid you have a choice to make."