Because I stupidly thought for a second that my life wouldn’t forever be ruled by my epilepsy. That I might be able to live a completely normal life like all the other girls in my year. Instead, I got too cocky, and life proved me wrong. Just like it does every time I think my epilepsy’s getting better. I realised then, sitting in the dark in my living room on the night of my junior prom, dress beside me because my parents decided it would be better for my health to stay at home, watching videos of the night on my friends’ social media knowing I’d never be making the same memories as them, that my epilepsy would always be with me.
And at sixteen years old that felt like the end of the world, but now I can’t help but think, if a whole year of being careful still wasn’t enough to stop a seizure, is it really worth holding myself back so much? Is it reallyworth not going through the rite of passage of getting a tattoo I’ll probably regret in a few years’ time when something far less threatening could trigger another seizure probably just as easily?
My dad runs his fingers across his thick moustache with a ‘hmm’, tanned face creasing even more. ‘Maybe we should call Dr Wells and ask. Better to wait for his thoughts before we decide.’
Because apparently my life is a group decision. My jaw hangs open, but I don’t get a chance to reply.
‘Pain and stress can be triggers, sweetheart. You know that well enough from your cramps – I’m certain they were the reason you had your last one since they’d gotten so much worse,’ my mom reminds me, the memory of waking up on the ground surrounded by my parents’ friends and colleagues after a fit at a summer barbecue two years ago sadly not hazy enough yet. Mom doesn’t give me an opportunity to respond before she adds on with finality, ‘I’ll speak to some of the doctors at work too, check what they think before we move forward with anything. We can’t be certain how you’ll react since you’ve never had one before. It could be more painful than you think.’
My shoulders curve over, defeat starting to wash over me. ‘It’s fine. I’ve looked into it and—’
Deep, rumbling laughter echoes outside the front door seconds before it opens again, and my older brother, Wyatt, walks in with Duke in tow. I’m instantly aware of the fact that I’m currently dressed in an old, oversized T-shirt with some pyjama shorts that are fraying at the hem of one of the legs, while my long hair is wrapped upinto the messiest of messy buns on top of my head. At least now I’m at college he only really sees me at the bar when I’m relatively put together, as opposed to looking like a gangly gremlin that’s just crawled out of bed. Which feels even more prominent when Duke looks the way he does right now.
He’s clearly been helping Wyatt out at Sunset Ranch like he sometimes does before opening the bar for lunch, as he’s sporting dusty Wranglers that hug his thick thighs in all the right places, and a black T-shirt, showing off all the tattoos covering his dark skin. Plus, it’s one of the rare occasions when he wears a cowboy hat, and man, does it look good on him – the way the dark felt brings out the deep brown of his eyes.
Not that I really care what he looks like, but … well, he’s an attractive man. Anyone would notice that.
Sure, Cherry. You’re convincing no one.
‘Everything alright?’ Wyatt asks, eyes darting between my parents and me as he heads into the kitchen and fetches a couple of glasses from a cupboard. Duke follows quietly behind him, offering me a tight-lipped smile before opening the fridge and grabbing the carton of juice, as if he’s just another Hensley brother. Which he might as well be given how often he’s around.
I shuffle behind one of the kitchen chairs to try to hide my slobby attire and rub the back of my neck as I smile quickly back. The urge to rip my hair out of its messy bun is incredibly strong right now.
‘Cherry wants to get a tattoo,’ Dad declares, folding his arms, as if by sayingwants tomeans it’s not definitely going to happen.
‘Is that safe with your epilepsy? You know pain can be a trigger if it makes you too stressed. What’s it been now? Two years since your last seizure. I wouldn’t risk that, Cherry.’ Wyatt repeats my dad’s earlier comments as he takes the juice from Duke and pours them both a drink, making me roll my eyes. They accidentally land on Duke whose brows are drawn in as he watches me. I quickly blink away.
First the lap dancing, then the bucket list, and now he’s about to witness me probably be forbidden from getting a tattoo like I’m some rebellious seventeen year old, all while I’m in my pyjamas. Can it really get any worse?
‘Apparently so,’ Mom responds, and it takes me a second to realise she wasn’t responding to my thoughts.
‘Hmm.’ Wyatt fishes his phone from his pocket and types something into it, the screen lighting up his face as he scrolls through. Everyone watches, waiting for his verdict, clearly more trusting in Google than me. ‘To be fair, it does say there isn’t any evidence of it causing seizures, just to be careful of the pain being an unexpected trigger.’
‘What do you think, Duke?’ My mom turns to him, as if he’s part of the family too, and should get a say in my life. I suppose, given how many years he’s been friends with Wyatt, and the amount of time he’s spent at ours growing up, he might as well be a Hensley. I can’t remember the last Thanksgiving him and his grandmother didn’t spend with us.
Duke’s brows shoot up and his eyes dart around the group, eventually landing on me.
‘Uh …’ He pauses, as I widen my own eyes in a silentplea. ‘I’m not sure I’m really the right person to ask whether someone should or shouldn’t be getting a tattoo.’ He then holds out his arms, letting the sunshine highlight every inch of his tattooed skin, the darker lines and grey shading, leaving little of his skin bare, except for a small area on his inner wrists. Wyatt snorts out a laugh beside him.
My gaze cuts from Duke to the floor, and my chest caves in. But then he suddenly clears his throat and adds, ‘Though, I’m sure Cherry knows what she’s doing. She was always the smartest one out of the Hensley kids, anyway.’
‘Hey!’ Wyatt yells, jabbing Duke in the ribs with his elbow. And while my parents drop into laughter, and Wyatt reels off all the reasons why he’s the smartest, Duke’s eyes find mine, shining the reminder that maybe someone is in my corner after all.
4
Cherry
I think I might be dying. I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to cover Montana’s shift today when I felt that first twinge in my stomach this morning, like my mom suggested.
My black tank top is practically a second skin now, soaked with sweat – the feverish wave hit me while I was carrying someone’s order. I just managed to shove their drinks onto their table before I ran to the back of the bar, hurrying into the closest room before I was sick. A bathroom probably would’ve been the best option, but instead, to my pure lack of luck, it was Duke’s office.
The only good news is that the shrill ringing in my ears is gradually calming now that I’m curled up on the floor. Which means I’m no longer going to pass out – ideal, considering that I don’t think Duke would appreciate finding me unconscious on his floor. I wait for the stabbing pain in my stomach to begin subsiding before I lift myself to a seated position, using the desk behind to prop myself up.
Somehow I need to get myself from this point to the staffroom, where my bag and painkillers are, without collapsing again. The thought makes me let out a scratchy laugh – because it’s funny that I’m considering trying to dose myself up to make it through my shift.
Just ten more seconds and I’ll get up—
‘Jesus, Cherry!’ Duke’s deep voice booms as the door swings open, forcing my eyes to shoot over to him. ‘What happened?’
