I’d given everything to medicine. I’d missed out on birthdays, family events, trips. I’d sacrificed my social life, sleep, and sense of balance. Pushed myself past the brink of exhaustion while dealing with situations that no human or werewolf should.
But never had I been this frustrated.
Back in the locker room, I faced my reflection in the mirror.
Grayish circles drooped over my cheeks, and my hair needed a good day of brushing. I yawned, not covering my mouth. The condensation from my breath fogged the mirror and became my canvas. My index finger traced a squeakyI. Then anA. Finally, anN.
IAN.
My eyes stung.
If I can’t save him, I’ll save the rest. But today, I didn’t.
Sixteen hours assisting an awake craniotomy for medulloblastoma, only for us to lose. All for nothing. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the last hours settled in, everything hurt. My legs shook, feet burned.
Life was just a cruel gift where we got to meet and love people, only to lose them a blink later. One way or another.
We were all terminal patients in the end, all future flatlines.
I scooped cold water into my cupped hands and splashed it against my face.
A knock on the window.
I glanced at it. A branch tapping the glass. The treetops thrashed against the howling wind, their branches clawing at the sky like they were screaming, too.
Good. Let the world rage with me.
No.
A surge of life electrocuted me. The EKG might have gone silent tonight, but mine hadn’t.
I am still here. Alive. Now.
With a new wave of determination, I changed. Laced my ergonomic shoes. Shuffled to the door.
I cracked it open and peered out. Empty.
The fluorescent lights hummed above as I hurried along the pristine corridor of the fourth floor, past the anonymity of closed doors and the low thud of the heart monitors behind them.
Until I sensed a certain heartbeat…behind a janitorial door.
I recognized that beat even before I caught the scent.
“Terry?”
My voice joined the creaking hinges as I pushed it open.
She was sitting on the floor, hunched over a half-finished puzzle balanced on an overturned bucket. Next to her, a tiny cot was leaned against the shelf of cleaning products. Atop it sat a pillow no bigger than my hand.
“Sorry!” she squeaked.
Her eyes didn’t meet mine, staying fixed on her fingers. Her long, thin hair was falling like a curtain across half her face, left loose for the first time.
I rubbed my eyes. “Why sorry? Is that…a galaxy?”
She nodded. The purple swirl of the puzzle looked almost alive under the single pale bulb hanging low.That purple reminds me of Archie’s eye color.
“I do puzzles to relax. Which I know sounds silly. I’m a twenty-two-year-old sitting in a broom closet at 2:00 a.m.—”
