She swallows the urge to tell him to stop being so childish. ‘I’m trying to remind you I want you to be a part of this. But to do that, you must lose this obsession with death. You need help, Damon. Proper, expert care.’
‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’
‘Even you must know that something isn’t right.’
He taps at the semicolon tattoo on his wrist with his forefinger. He is becoming more agitated. ‘You want to lock me up. Out of sight, out of mind.’
‘No,’ she sighs. ‘I love you, Damon, but you must admit, if you continue like this, it isn’t going to end well. Let me find you help.’
His eyes narrow. ‘No, you’re the one who needs help,’ he says, his tone taking on a sharper edge. ‘Because without me, your dream of a family isn’t going to happen. The clinic counsellor told me I can withdraw my consent at any time, with no explanation required. And no, before you say it, I would very much rathernotdo that. But if you do this one thing more for me, help me die again, then I’ll do that one thing for you.’
Melissa’s hands fall limply to her sides, and she’s unable to draw a proper breath, much less respond. Damon swallows hard,suggesting he knows he has crossed a line, but that it’s too late to retract his threat.
‘There are four billion men in the world,’ she says at last. The words sound tinny in her ears. ‘You’re not the only one with sperm.’
‘But I’m the one who can get you over the finishing line quickly. Without me, you’ll have to find someone else, which will take time and be an additional expense you can’t afford. Do you really want to tell Ade I’ve changed my mind? And explain why, and what you and I have been doing? How do you think she’ll react?’
Melissa shakes her head in disgust. She has never seen this side to him before, and God knows, she has tested him more than most.
‘You’ve changed,’ she says.
He takes his phone from his jacket pocket and offers it to her. ‘You can call Ade right now if you like and find out?’
Melissa slaps it from his hand and sends it flying across the room. She doesn’t know this man. She wants to yell at him to get the hell out of her house. But he’s right, damn him: Adrienne would be devastated if they were forced to return to square one, and how much would it cost to find an anonymous donor and undergo more tests? It could set them back months, and it’s money they don’t have. But that isn’t the worst of it. Melissa shudders to think of Adrienne’s reaction to the truth about what they’ve been up to.
Damon appears to interpret her silence as acceptance of his demands. He picks up his device from the floor and turns to leave.
‘Seven p.m., Thursday, at the flat,’ he says without looking at her. ‘See you then.’
He leaves without saying goodbye, and she sinks into the sofa before picking up a cushion and hurling it across the room.
Chapter 39
Damon
I survey the bathroom one more time to ensure everything is in place. It’s the same set-up as before, the same two people involved. We might be together in a confined space, but we are miles apart. Melissa and I are separated by tension and have barely spoken since she turned up at the flat earlier carrying the same two vials of liquid, tube and drill-shaped device as before. Last time, I didn’t ask what they are for but this time, I do.
‘Intraosseous drill,’ she explains, her voice devoid of emotion. ‘It’s used to administer fluids and meds when intravenous methods don’t work. It’s faster than an IV. So if I can’t resuscitate you, I’ll drill in the head of your humerus or the tibia and inject you with adrenaline.’
She revs the device and I flinch. She’s either testing my nerve or that it works. Probably both.
‘Will it hurt?’
‘You won’t know. You’ll be dead.’
Melissa refuses to look me in the eye. She hates me for the threat I made earlier this week. And I know it was unforgiveable. But I would never have followed through with it. I don’t know whyI don’t admit this to her now. Perhaps I’m afraid that, if I do, she’ll walk out. Instead, my words hang over us like the darkest of clouds. I overcompensate by making small talk and reminding her of that scene inPulp Fictionwhen Vincent Vega jabs Mia Wallace in the heart with a shot of adrenaline. Melissa isn’t having any of my chat and tells me I watch too many films. I doubt we’ll be rekindling our Friday movie nights anytime soon.
Compared to her, I feel a little underprepared, as all I have with me are a bath towel to stop the floor from getting too wet and some plastic ankle and wrist restraints to prevent me from thrashing around and hurting her.
‘Your next appointment at the fertility clinic is tomorrow at five p.m.,’ she says. ‘Don’t be late.’
I make a mental note to set an alarm on my phone and tablet. Then I suddenly launch into a coughing fit and spit what I hack up into a tissue. As before, there’s blood in my phlegm. I don’t mention it to Melissa.
Besides the animosity, there’s another difference between now and the last time we did this. Melissa hasn’t once asked if I’ve changed my mind. Neither by text nor in person. It reminds me of the last days of our marriage, before she told me it was over, when I wondered if she’d stopped caring. Or is she now in full paramedic mode, and I am simply another of her patients?
With everything prepared and no sign of further conversation, I take a deep breath and clear my throat.
‘Right then, are we ready?’ I ask.
