I’m tempted to give it back to her. She looks greener than I do.
Abrams looks mildly disapproving, but he doesn’t say anything.
What can he say, anyway?
Don’t give the dying omega a cookie?
Nobody is that much of an asshole, and he’s nowhere near asshole status, really. At least he’s trying to help. I stay where I am, focusing on my snack as he pulls his chair around.
There’s a streak of black on his pristine white coat, and any appetite I might have had falls out of the bottom of my stomach. Sighing, I regretfully slip my cookie into my pocket for later. “Hit me with it.”
He’s slipped on the little half-crescent glasses that make him look like Father Christmas. If Father Christmas delivered updates on terminal illness instead of death. Lips pursed, he flicks through his paperwork again. “No change. But your scan results are concerning.”
My stomach flips, twists. “Why?”
He glances up. “Your brain wave test results show some significant spikes. It’s normal to see some peaks and troughs at this stage, but these are substantial enough that it indicates a steep decline in brain activity.”
Breathe, Kenny.“What does that look like? For me?”
He hesitates. “Seizures, potentially. Possibly some… erratic behaviors. Delirium. Hallucinations are likely. You’re likely to start experiencing some losses in memory, possibly acting out of character. Your condition… it’s a decline, but it’s only going to speed up, not slow down. There will be a large, rapid drop toward the end.”
“I see.” My voice sharpens unintentionally, and he winces.
“I apologize for the wording. It was thoughtless.”
He’s been with me since the beginning. When I woke up in a haze of fear and pain and clawing, endless panic that I haven’t been able to shake off since. With his charts, and his kind words, and his professional manner that I hold onto as if he might actually give a damn whether I make it through this or not.
It’s nice to think that somebody might give a shit.
I keep breathing. There’s nothing else I can do. “Anything else, Doc?”
“I want to see you every week from now on.” He stands, and I follow his lead, swinging my legs over the examination table. Nurse Rennan hovers at my shoulder to steady me, but I keep my spine straight as I pull myself upright.
I’m not there yet.
I bite back the flip in my stomach at the thought of telling Rick that I need to come back every seven days. “Sure.”
“And you’re certain that you have the right care arrangements in place? We can speak to the Center if not. They’ll obviously accept you earlier.”
Yeah, because they argued vehemently against letting me walk around freely at all.
Like hell. I’m not moving into that place any sooner than I absolutely have to. “I’m fine. Is that everything?”
“Rest,” he pushes. “It’s the best thing you can do.”
My lips lift slightly at the edges. “But I can rest when I’m dead, right?”
He stares at me. “Not funny.”
Not joking.
Kennedy
Standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, I stare down the distinctly Rick-less street and clutch the handle of my bike in one hand, trying to balance my overly large bag of medication and dressings in the other.
Dammit.
Tugging my backpack around, I haphazardly shove the paper bag inside, trying not to crush the medication as I fight to fit it all in.
