Alive

Chapter 36

Elle

(Tuesday, May 21)

I'm allowed to use the bathroom twice a day.

After the door opens and the wheels of Lucas's cart squeak across the carpet as he brings me food. I don't eat it. I can't. Hugging my knees as the shower head pours water down is about the only thing I can do. It's not like my shower at home. There isn't as much pressure. But it stays hot longer. So that's something.

Then it's back down the hall, into the room. The door closes, the handle locks, and I crawl into bed. When I close my eyes at night, I can almost see him. Oliver, lying beside me. If I concentrate hard enough, I can feel his hand on my waist. I can hear his voice, singing that song to me. Pure Imagination. In that way only he can. If I try hard enough, I can imagine it's him in the room with me right now. Him. Not Kirk.

But it's Kirk. Sitting at his desk quietly, hunched over a sheet of paper drawing who knows what. The same way he has the past few nights. Slipped in without a word, sat at that desk, and set to work. Hour after hour, until he gets up. Leaves without warning.

I turn over, inch by inch, hoping he won't hear. It's better when he thinks I'm asleep. Then I crack an eye open, watch him work. It's almost morning, I think. He's bound to leave any time, now. His hair's all stringy since the gel is wearing off and he's been running his hand through it. And his suit coat is hung over his chair, his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

I don't know why I watch him. Maybe I think I'll piece it together. Like if I watch the way he moves his hand, some particularity will stick out to me, and everything will click. Make sense. But instead there's just tingling at the back of my neck, and I lie here wondering what he's working on. What he's writing. Where he got that silver fountain pen.

"You're awake."

My eyes snap up from his hand, meeting his. Oh. I wasn't paying attention. Kirk wears something like a smile. At least, his features soften when he looks at me. I wonder why. What I ever did for him. What he's remembering when he sees my face.

"It's late," he says, setting down his pen. Then he presses his palms against the desk, pushing himself to his feet. He grabs his jacket with one hand, stretching the other over his head. "You should be asleep."

I should be home.

I should be with Oliver.

I just stare at him.

"New sheets," I mutter, watching him button his jacket. He pauses, looking up.

"What?"

"I need new sheets," I say.

"New sheets." He finishes securing the last button. Then he walks to the bed, trails a finger along the exposed white fabric. "Did Lucas not bring them to you yesterday?"

"He did," I say. There's a gold band on his left ring finger. I didn't notice that before.

"They were not to your liking?" He kneels down, then sits, leaning back against the bedside table as he gazes up at me.

"They're dirty," I say.

"Dirty..." He draws his knees up, folds his hands together over them, picks at the side of his thumb. "I see."

Then he's quiet. Just picking at that nail, over and over. I stare at his ring.

"How's Oliver?" I ask. The words barely escape. Like I can't help but say them. Even though it's pointless.

"Oliver," he says. His hands stop moving. Then he sighs. Looks up at me again. "He's doing well."

Which makes me dig my elbow into the mattress, push myself up.