Antidote

Chapter 48

"She's comatose right now," The doctor says. "Eventually she'll slip away." "How long?" Tristan asks. His voice sounds strangled and pitched, like someone's shoved a baseball down his throat. "A couple of days at the most," the doctor says.

I expect my mom to break down, but she doesn't. Instead, she wraps her arms around us, drawing us close. Tears splash off of Tristan's chin, and a few roll down my cheeks. "It will be okay," my mother says, hugging us tightly. "It's going to be okay."

Neither of us answer her. How?

***

We take the stairs up to the Pediatric ICU where they've put Reese. When we reach the window and Tristan spots her, I almost faint from her pitiful state.

Reese looks so tiny and small against the large hospital bed and the all of the hoses and tubes and wiring seem to engulf her five-year-old body. Her once rosy skin is yellowed and crinkled, like an old paper. I watch her chest move up and down in time with the respirator's hisses. Her eyes are closed.

I feel Tristan's hand shaking in my own. I lead him and my mother to some chairs in the corner. Mom slumps over, puddling in her own grief. I climb into Tristan's lap, and throw my arms around his neck. I want to cry and have him hold me. I want to dash out of this hospital. It brings nothing but death, heartbreak, and a terrible antiseptic smell that clings to your clothes.

But I know that as much as I'm hurting, Tristan's hurting ten times worse. So I lean into him, sealing my lips to his in a comforting kiss. He wraps his arms around my back, pulling me in closer. A salty taste enters my mouth, but I don't know if it's his tears or my own.

***

"Are you going to go visit her?" I ask Tristan later on that night. Mom's fallen asleep in her chair; Tristan and I are staring into the murky twilight of the hospital during closing time. He sighs, gets up from his chair, and extends a hand towards me. "Yeah. Come with me?" I nod and take the offered hand. 

We enter the ICU room, find Reese's cubicle, and walk inside. Tristan moves forward to sit on the bed. I sit opposite him and take one of her hands. It's pale and cold. Tristan fingers the hair from her eyes, and there's so much love in the gesture that my eyes fill up again and my heart breaks for him.

Tristan leans down to whisper something in her ear, and just as he does so, her hand jerks, startling us both. I look up at Tristan, and see something of hope in his eyes. A heavy, despairing feeling fills my chest as I explain to him about automatic muscle reactions, and how every patient in a coma gets them. His eyes dim and dull, and for a minute I wish I hadn't told him.

Tristan picks up Reese's hand again, and I have to turn away to hide the water spilling from my eyes. Glory be, she was such a sweet child. So determined. So unfazed, so accepting of her disability. So full of life.

A burning, searing rage rips through me, prickling my skin with red-hot goosebumps. I clench my fists, wanting to strike someone or something. It is simply not fair that a five-year-old child with her whole life ahead of her should be struck with such a deadly disease. One look at Tristan's face tells me he's thinking the exact same thing.

I bend down so my lips are almost brushing Reese's ear. "I love you," I whisper in a choked voice. "I love you so much. We all do. Rest in peace, my friend, my sister."

Tristan and I look at her heart monitor, which is rising and falling in peaks. We both stare at it, and I get the feeling that we're both waiting for the peaks to fall short and disappear altogether. The steadying beep is the only thing that keeps me from breaking down.

When a nurse comes to tell us that our time in ICU is long since up, I take Tristan's hand again, pulling him up and supporting him as best I can. We walk out of Reese's cubicle and return to the waiting area.

Once we're both there, I release Tristan's hand, knowing he wants to do the same thing as me.

He balls up his fist, and crashes his knuckles into the wall. When he pulls back, they're bleeding, but I don't stop him from punching it again. I know he just needs to get it all out. Again and again, he throws his fists against the stone wall. I know he's hurting.

Beside him, I ball my fist up and hit the wall, too. A tremor of pain cascades down my fist towards my wrist, but I don't care. I hit it again. Beside me, Tristan takes his fist to the wall in one final fury.

I back away from the wall to reach out to him. I expect him to take my hand, but instead he crumples into my arms.

***

It's almost midnight before it occurs to me that Lisa and Hannah will want to be here. Softly slipping out of Tristan's hold, I roll over off of the seats. I pick up my cell phone and begin to dial Lisa's number.

It takes nearly five rings for Lisa to pick up. "Hello?" Her voice sounds scratchy and disoriented. "Sorry I woke you up," I say. "It's okay," she says. "But you better have a damn good reason." "Reese is...dying," I say, almost choking on the bitter word.

"What?" Lisa asks, disbelief edging in her tone. "Some cancer cells must've escaped the operation, because now they're present in her lungs and have spread to her liver and bones." A whoosh of air escapes my mouth, a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

There's silence on the line for a few seconds, then Lisa asks, "How long does she have?" "The doctor said a couple days at most," I answer. "How's Tristan doing?" she asks. "He's...well, he's Tristan." "How bad?" I wince at the interrogating question, one I'm sure she knows the answer to.

"Well, we both beat up a wall earlier tonight." A muffled groan comes from the other end of the line, but ignore it. "But the wall was nothing compared to how much he's beating himself up." "Has he talked about it to you?" Lisa asks, and I shake my head, forgetting she can't see me. "No, but he doesn't have to. I can tell it in his eyes."

"Is Hannah over there with you?" I ask. "Yeah," Lisa replies. "I'll get her." There's a muffled shout and a slight pattering of footsteps as Hannah comes to the phone. Lisa puts it on speaker and I explain the situation over again.

"We'll be right there," Hannah says. "We were going to go..." She stops and a ball of fear settles in my stomach, like a giant ice cube.

"You were going to go where?" I ask, packing my tone full of suspicion. No answer. "Lisa?" Still no answer. "Guys!" "Okay, okay," Lisa says. "We were going to go to Pride."

The knot of fear twists tighter and a sigh escapes my lips. "I won't lecture you now. Just get down here." "We're on our way," Hannah promises.

I hang up the phone and wait.

***

Ten minutes later, Lisa and Hannah rush into the ICU waiting room. The first thing they both do is wrap me in a hug. I fold into their arms, letting my breath out.

"It's going to be okay," Hannah says, stroking my hair. "Yes," Lisa echoes. "We're family. We'll help you get through this. Together." I nod, letting the tears spill down my cheeks freely now. As comforting as her words are, that giant ice cube in my stomach is still getting bigger, harder and colder. Hannah wraps her arms around me once more. "We've got you, Alex."

"We've got you."