“Mr. Blaylock?”
I take a deep breath, my brain has gone quiet, inert from overexposure. All of this talk about a new knee and new skin is like planning to put a fresh coat of paint on a house that’s falling apart on the inside. “You’re…kind of overwhelming me here. I need to think about it.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need. Would you like to bring Dr. Bash back into the room?”
“No.”
“Heard that,” Anders shouts, his voice muffled through the crack in the door.
I scrunch my face, frustrated by my interfering…friend.Thisis why I never told anyone what happened. All of a sudden, every-fucking-body wants all the details and has an opinion and wants you to get the best help available.
“Come on in, Anders.”You asshole.
He saunters in, arms akimbo, looking like Woody fromToy Story, way too proud of himself and excited for…well, who the hell knows what excites Anders Bash. Aside from murder, that is.
Rubbing his hands together, he approaches me with a disarmingly broad grin. “So? Whaddya think? Dr. T’s pretty cool, huh? I can’t wait to get this on the books.”
I put my hands up, leaning away from all of…that. “Dude, back up. And take it down about five notches.”
After giving me a little space, Anders ventures forth, uncertainty marking his brows. “Look…I know it’s difficult to accept something like this when you know other people don’t yet have access to it.”
Yeah, great. Let me just pilethaton top of everything else.To be honest, I’m not even thinking about that. My mind, a broken wheel of fortune stuck on shitty memories, lands on Jake. Specifically, the first time I saw him after the op from hell. They want to tack on some new skin, and all I can think about are those hooded, haunted eyes and his gaunt frame.
“There’s a little of that, but this is coming from a different direction.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head, the details running through my mind again and again.
I sent Jake on a mission I knew to be dangerous. I knew we didn’t have all of the data, I knew I was putting him in danger, and I did it anyway. Felt like we needed the data, felt like he was the only one who could get it for us. When I saw how badly it fucked him up, I knew I’d never forgive myself. I was supposed to protect him…and I didn’t.
These conversations, and their potential results, feel like a kind of inflection point between the physical damage from before and the mental damage I’ve been carrying with me since.
For a long time now, it’s felt like the pain of dealing with my fucked-up knee seemed like the appropriate punishment, a bit of karma I gave to myself. Just like with my feelings for Odd, it’s an injury that ensures I’m never not hurting.
Gotta love therapy. And how none of that insight has saved me from an ounce of agony.
Anders leans forward, getting in my face. “Hey, pay attention to me,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “I don’t know what this whole regret-face is all about, but it won’t be made better by your pain.”
“Get the fuck off me, man.” I bat away his hand, refocusing on his concerned eyes, which annoy the hell out of me.
Sitting up straight, he pins me with a rare serious expression. “Listen.You deserve this surgery.You deserve to be whole and pain-free, or as pain-free as we can get you. And you’ll be able to do far more with a new knee than with the crumbling mess you’ve got now. Nobody benefits from you being in pain and unable to walk properly.”
Anders’ words resonate somewhere in my chest like maybe he sees that I’ve been trying to take my pain and make that the equivalent of penance. I take a deep breath, blinking back the sharp tears that prick my eyes.
I take another breath and finally lift my gaze to his before immediately dropping my eyes back to my lap.
“Hey,” he says, taking one helluva chance by once again putting his hand on my arm. “I hope I don’t have to say this, but I would never share your details with anyone. I’ve never shared any of your medical information with Odd, and I won’t start now. But you should.” I draw back again, shaking my head. “Come on, we’re gonna be at my parents’ tomorrow night. My dad’s gonna uncork his newest blend. Hang with us. Talk to Odd.”
“I’m gonna stop you right there. Not going to happen.”
Gesturing at my groin in the least subtle move ever, Anders starts, “Odd would never—”
I cut him off with a gesture. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t finish that fucking sentence. I’m not going to put him through that.”
“DB…”
I grab my cane, bringing the tip of it up to Anders’ Adam's apple. “Shut.Up.”
