The intern snapped a few photos of Adam’s hand, then moved the lens up to his face, the light blinding to Adam’s newly uncovered eye. When he blinked and squinted long enough, he felt dizzy, his focus and depth perception off.
But he could see.
This relief lasted only until Dr. Russo grabbed a small mirror from one of his interns and thrust it into Adam’s good hand. “Thought you’d want to see how nicely this was coming along.” The man sounded proud, and it sparked hope in Adam.
The feeling was immediately replaced by horror. A strangled sob emerged from Adam’s throat. The mirror shook in his hand so violently that the nurse took it from him.
In all of his thoughts and imaginings, Adam had never pictured anything as grotesque as what had appeared in the mirror. The red-and-brown melted skin. White oozing patches scattered like geysers. His entire right eyebrow gone.
“I feel sick,” Adam said, at which point an intern raced to grab an emesis basin.
The nurse helped him through it, placing a hand on his back as he emptied the meager contents of his stomach. Adam hadn’t had much of an appetite since his accident. “It’s still healing,” the nurse said, moving her hand to the top of his good one, as if to settle the shaking.
The team began to replace the dressings on Adam’s face, and Dr. Russo, looking even more disgusted than before, snatched the camera from the intern and removed himself from the room.
For another day or two, Adam’s visitors continued, though less frequently than before. This was always the case with long hospital stays. At least people came. A few football teammates after practice, the girls who’d had huge crushes on Adam. They would cry, and Adam suspected it was because they knew he’d never look the same again.
But that day with Dr. Russo sparked a change. Adam perceived it, albeit gradually. Then one day, he realized that only his family and Hayden had been to see him for a long stretch of time. Hewasn’t sure what exactly had shifted—neither his brothers nor his parents wanted to talk much, claiming he should focus on healing. Not only were there physical injuries to overcome, but his mind needed to heal.
The psychiatrist had been in to “chat” with Adam a handful of times. This woman, Dr. Wen, hadn’t seemed nearly as concerned about Adam’s memory of the accident as Dr. Russo had been. She simply asked how he felt about his burns, how he felt about Mariana’s passing. What worries he had regarding his future, and if he felt equipped to deal with them or hopeless.
Adam wasn’t sure how to answer. Everything felt hopeless, like he was plunging into a black abyss.
And then he witnessed Bram trying to sneak his iPad out of the room. “Hey!” Adam called before his brother could slip it into the emptied bag of snacks and books their mother had packed. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Bram said, looking furious he’d been caught.
“I need that to watch movies. They’ve only got three channels on that damned thing, and they’re all about fixing up houses.” He gestured with his good hand at the mounted hospital room television.
“Okay, but…” Bram hesitated, still calm as ever but rubbing at the back of his neck. His tell.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t go on social media, okay?”
Adam pressed his lips flat. “What is it?”
It wasn’t that Adam hadn’t thought about social media since the accident; it was that he couldn’t bear to see the posts about Mariana. He’d been crying himself to sleep over her every night; he didn’t need to cry all day too.
“Just…” Bram growled under his breath. “People are idiots.”
Adam held out his hand. Whatever it was, he’d have to see it sooner or later. Thanks to Bram, that time would be now.
“It’s not going to help you get better,” Bram tried, but his gray eyes were resigned. “At least let me stay with you.”
Adam consented. “Show me.”
Bram did, bringing up the posts from their schoolmates debating whether Adam had actually killed Mariana or if the killer was her boyfriend, Bram. A normally shy sophomore was suddenly very vocal about how he’d always suspected the brothers were hiding a dark side. Adam found this especially hurtful, considering he’d saved that very kid from having his lunch stolen by Todd Ellison the previous year.
They’d turned on him. All of them. Every student, teammate—even some of histeacherswho’d been singing Adam’s praises only days before—were now calling him and his brothers the most abhorrent of names.
“I want to be alone,” he told Bram in a clipped voice.
“No. Here, give me the—” Bram reached for the iPad, but Adam threw up his left shoulder, blocking his brother’s actions. Bram let out a grunt but didn’t force the issue. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”
But Adam wasn’t listening. He continued the robotic game of scroll, click, read. “Should I be worried about this?” he eventually asked, his tone void of emotion.
“There’s nothing to any of it,” Bram said. “Supposedly, investigators are looking at Mariana’s car. But if they found anything, they would’ve brought us in.” Bram shrugged. “Dad says if the detectives come talk to you again, tell them you need your lawyer present.”
