Life Lines

23: Rock'em Sock'em Robots

Chapter Twenty-Three

When I woke up it was extremely sunny not to mention I felt like I was about to melt. At first glance I knew I was in my living room, laying on the couch. I was pretty sure there were at least a hundred blankets on top of me, helping me bake. I tried to shove them off but I felt like crap. A little better than I had in the doctor's office before but still like I had the flu ten times over.

I spotted my father sitting in the chair Schylar suggested we get rid of. He was hunched over with his hands pressed together like he was praying.

"Hey," I whispered. "Stop that."

He looked up at me and smiled. I recognized it as the one he used to give my mother when she was sick. Not the 'every day I deal with this' sick but the 'I can barely get out of bed' sick. He was scared. That didn't stop him from getting up and sitting next to me though.

"You look terrible."

Jokes were a defense mechanism. He used them with Mom too. I didn't like it, this side of him. It was like he was inches away from giving up and that wasn't like him.

So I covered, plastering a smile across my face to placate him just a little.

"I feel terrible. How long is this supposed to last?"

"After you fell asleep, your core temperature went down a few notches and your white blood cell count went sky high. Wilson said it was because of the transfusion but...you probably won't feel better until this is all over. He said more than likely you'll spike a fever from time to time and we can control that with Tylenol and Advil." He nodded like he was agreeing to something he was saying in his head instead of out loud. "He also said not to give up hope."

"I'll be fine, Daddy." I kept a smile on my face and took his hand. "Don't worry. I'm just going to be a bump on the couch until Saturday. I'm sure no one will mind."

"I'm not worried about that."

What he was afraid of was pretty clear. Death.

"Daddy. Don't worry. This is just...it was coming. We knew that."

"Doesn't make it any better. This wasn't supposed to happen to you. Once you turned fifteen...once—once—I wasn't supposed to have to worry about this. You were supposed to be fine and safe. Now you have it and I'm worried..."

I squeezed his hand trying to give him reassurance. They were smooth and cool, the hands of a business man. I missed how they used to be calloused and rough from golfing. His skin used to radiate with warmth from being out in the sun for so long. But now the sky/sun was traded in for a ceiling and artificial lights. His skin didn't have that warmth any more.

"I don't think I'm going to die." I looked up at him. "I highly doubt it actually."

"How do you know?"

I sighed, knowing what I was about to say may not mean anything to him. "I don't feel it."

"Honey..."

"Cecil said...before he went into the death sleep...that he could feel it coming. He said he could feel it coming for days. I think if I was going to die, like him I'd feel it. But I don't. I just feel sick. I don't see this ending with my death. No higher power could be that cruel."

"I'm just...I'm not sure what to think. I want to believe you'll get through this but with everything we went through with your mother...I can't help but be pessimistic."

"Don't be pessimistic, Dad. I'm not being pessimistic therefore you can't be. Speaking of, where are the rock'em sock'em robots?"

"Your uncle had to detain them." There was a smirk on his face. "They should be here sometime soon. I already got a call from Schylar's mother. She doesn't want him missing school but she has a feeling he'll skip whether she likes it or not."