Like death was near.
DeShawn handed me off to a blonde lady sitting behind the desk.
“You know your room number?” she asked.
I waved vaguely in the direction of my hall. “210.”
“All right. Let’s go.” She stood to escort me back.
The epilepsy section of the hospital was small. I’d find Ava. I’d pester everybody to find out how she was.
I had to know she was okay.
CHAPTER 3
Ava
I sank into softness, a bed that stayed still instead of rolled. People walked in and out, murmuring, shining light onto my face. My belly shook and my eyes got wet. I wiped and wiped until the words started returning. Tears. Cry. Hospital. Nurse. Pain.
My head hurt.
A woman sat in a chair by the bed. Some people called her Mrs. Roberts. Another called her Geneva. Then someone said she was my mom.
When I tried to sit up, she pressed me back down. “Rest, Ava.” So I did.
I woke to a low, aching pressure in my belly. I shifted from side to side, but each movement made it worse. I sat up, a roar in my ears, my hands on my stomach.
Mom jumped from her chair and helped me stand up. “You probably have to use the bathroom.”
She led me to another small room, arranging the wires that trailed behind me. They attached to my head. What were they for? Mom didn’t have them. The nurses either.
“This is the bathroom,” she said. “Normally I showyou what to do, but we’re not home.” She glanced back at the bigger room.
The air was colder in the small space. I stared at things until the words came. Toilet. Toilet paper. Sink.
She closed the door. “You sit there. The water will come out.” She smiled. “Your body will know what to do.” She reached out, but when she unzipped my clothes, I saw words on my skin and panicked. I pushed her out, hot and frightened. Something in me knew those words were only for me.
“Ava!” Mom called. “The wires!”
I slid the colored lines under the door. There was space. Then I pressed my back to the wall, trying to breathe. My chest felt tight. Why had the words scared me so much?
I bent over, touching each letter until I slowly made them out.
Trust only this handwriting.
Find your notes.
Notes?
I closed my eyes. I had so little to hold onto, scenes that began with the rolling bed, the blur of the halls. Then the room. I carefully pictured each one, weighing it against this terrible jittering in my body.
I walked to the toilet and spun the roll of soft paper. It piled on the floor.
It was for soaking up water that would come out if I sat down.
The phrase “sit on the toilet” felt natural when I said it inside my head.
I could do this.
