“-to visit Kattar tomorrow afternoon. We can go together and have a late lunch as a group after my meeting…”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go talk to him alone.”

I take a cab to the hospital, slipping the box of chocolates into my purse’s gaping mouth and sliding the faux leather back over my shoulder with panicked numbness. I fret the sleeve of my trenchcoat with my left hand and shiver despite the unseasonably warm January weather.

It’s nearly two p.m. 

I promised Mrs. Moon I’d go as early as the hospital would allow so she wouldn’t have to wait. I’ve been awake since midnight, waiting for the orbit of the earth, for arbitrary changes in the position of that big star in the sky to give me the freedom to go see if the love of my life is…

I breathe, though I’d rather not.

The sun blazes over the pavement like it’s trying to evaporate asphalt. I’ve heard that everything can switch states of matter - going from solid to liquid, liquid to vapor.

Right now, I feel like I barely exist in the tangible realm. I’m aware of the buildings blitzing by - hearing the rumble of the taxi over the speed bumps, but I don’t feel a thing - can barely see -

I pay the cab driver with trembling hands.

Stepping out into the parking lot, I shield my eyes and squint toward the window of Kattar’s hospital room. The curtains are drawn. This late in the day?

I try to stave off the anxiety, rationalizing to myself that it’s entirely reasonable to sleep after so many surgeries whether they went well or…not.

The receptionist doesn’t even wait for my question when I enter the lobby. Her smile is tight but professional.

“You’re on the list ma’am,” she says shortly.

“Thanks,” I reply like a woman in a bad dream.

The elevator moves too slowly. I drive the other passengers up a wall, with my nervous fidgeting, and checking the number in the little panel, but it’s better than screaming.

It takes everything in me to move collectedly, to wait for the people in front of me to turn off in their respective directions, and not go hurrying down the hallway like I’m possessed.

I’m about to put in the password when I think better of it and pull out my phone to send a quick text. My fingers defy me - slurring the words into unintelligible gobbledygook half a dozen times before I’m finally able to control my shaking enough to say something cognitive.

His reply comes through quickly, and the fact that he can reply is a relief in and of itself - still, I brace myself as I open the door.

The room looks like the inside of a cave when I enter, completely stained with shadow - the air stagnant. The figure on the bed almost looks like it’s wearing a shroud, the long hair hiding his eyes and draping over his shoulders in a heavy black mass.

“Do you mind if I turn the light on…?” I ask slowly.

“Just open the curtains,” he sighs, “It’s almost noon isn’t it?”

I bite my lip. 

“Around there.”

He squints against the rush of light, with a vampirish flinch.

“Gosh,” he winces, “It’s brighter than I expected.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Still drowsy from the anesthesia,” he nods, coloring slightly as I take off my jacket. He looks down quickly at his hands.

He doesn’t move from how he’s seated.

I don’t want to ask - but I wish he would hurry up and tell me.

“I brought you something,” I say softly, taking a seat next to his bed. He looks up from under his hair as I slip the box of chocolates out of my bag, and scoffs a little, with a knowing nod when he sees what it is - flush up to his ears.

“You were right about the goober nougat. It was just a glorified peanut butter cup.”

I don’t speak, fidgeting silently with the ribbon, feeling like I’m trapped underwater.

“It’s no worse,” he says finally, and I breathe again.

“You…”

“They don’t think it’ll get any worse if I’m careful, and don’t suffer another serious injury.”

I want to say something - something encouraging - cheerful - show some sign of relief - but I can’t find my voice -

And then the tears start, like little rivers of spring rain -

“W-why…?” He stammers, in confusion.

“I’m just relieved,” I whisper, “I was so scared…”

He runs his hands over the blankets with an uncomfortable laugh, “You’re acting like I’m your son come home from war. I just resisted being killed by my own stupid emot…”

I look up quickly, but he’s still looking at the blankets. His face is as red as fire.

Now. Do it now…

“Viejo,” I say slowly, despite the voice in my head telling me to stop - telling me it’s better not to know - “How long has it been?”

He looks up hesitantly, flushed and pale at the same time, meeting my gaze with an unsteady, sheepish smile.

“Fifteen years.”

He speaks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, looking back down at the blankets lighting fast.

I cringe. 

I hadn’t even imagined it was that long.

“You fell for that ratty little kid in hand-me-downs while your mother had you dressed like a junior model…?”

He doesn’t budge, staring at the blankets like his life depends on it.

The surprise and bafflement subsides into confusion and concern, as I watch the torrent of torment in his expression, his pale face changing colors from white to blood red.

“Why didn’t you say something…?”

He tries to laugh, but the sound is fragile-

“Maybe I had pretty boy syndrome and wanted to hear you say it first, cuz you were the only one who never did.”

I clutch the box until it dents - can’t help but fire back, “What if I had ugly girl syndrome, and I needed to hear you say it because nobody ever did?”

That same knowing nod - almost like a chastised child, apologetic and penitent.

“I’m sorry-” he starts to say - but I cut him off, feeling the anger and hurt spill out like sentencefuls of vomit-

“You spent your entire life being fawned over by everyone because you were so beautiful - so charismatic. I just wanted a little bit of assurance, a little bit of proof that somebody - anybody wanted me - that I was more than just the charity and leftovers everybody threw at me. Were you ever going to tell me?”

The pain in his expression is agonizing.

“I guess I thought I had time,” he whispers meekly, “I guess I thought that if you liked anyone at all, it would be me….” his hands tremble, clutching the blankets until his knuckles turn white, his voice drops to an almost inaudible breath, “and I was scared.” 

He smooths the covers nervously, his sentences running together as he avoids my gaze, “Scared that my mother was rubbing off on you. That you would come to the conclusion that you were too talented for ‘that sort of nonsense’ - that you didn't have time to waste on a guy.”

I lower my head.

Kattar shakes his head at the blankets, trying desperately to explain - to defend himself - as he falls to pieces, “Don’t get me wrong, Lise, I love my mom. But she’s always been all about how much guys are a waste of time. “They drain you dry.” “They hold you back” “They get in your way.” I didn’t want to hear you say you didn’t need me. I thought I’d prove myself useful - worth your time, and then someday, maybe I’d have the daring…to...”

“You? Lacking daring?” the words slip out before I can stop them, “Mr. extreme sports, bicycle motor-cross, professional stunt driver-”

He looks at me miserably, his lashes lowering until his eyes are nothing but a line of shadow.

“There’s a big difference between the guts it takes to do extreme sports and the ones it takes to tell your best friend that you want…want to…” he looks back at the blankets, “And how did you expect me to say anything now? Now that I’m good for nothing - being washed and tended to by caregivers like an infant! Living off my mom’s money! I’m supposed to pitch myself like that?! Well then ‘Hi! I’m useless! Do you want me?!’” 

His eyes are locked on me now, burning with years of frustration and anger tied ‘round with a silent plea. Is that what I looked like when Mrs. Moon asked him to tell me I was beautiful?

I meet all of the rancor and pain in the eyes with my own and don’t flinch.

“Yes.” 

Mamma, I think I broke it…

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face if we live a thousand years.

The fury seems to fall off in layers, like armor he’s been wearing for ages until he’s staring at me trembling, his eyes wide, face pale as anything.

How long has it burned?

-Has he sat shrieking in this cage - screaming on the inside-

“Kat…” I start to say. He just shakes his head in response, like he doesn’t want to let himself believe it.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” I say slowly, feeling the impact of those words in his frame as if it were my body cringing at their gravity, “I don’t need anyone to support me - to help me get around - I haven’t for a long time. I have you and your mother both to thank for that. But that’s not what I’m looking for.” The tears start afresh - all agony and fire and ice streaming out in the words, “I’m not thinking about how useful someone can be to me - whether they’re earning their keep or capable of pulling their own weight. This isn't a business venture! I just want somebody to love me! Actually love me! Not just leaving me to struggle alone because they don’t care what a hard time I’m having…” Etan’s face passes over my memory like a shadow. When I look back at Kattar his eyes are begging me to keep going.

“I know you would fight a dragon for me if you could,” I smile through the tears, “That’s enough. I want you. If tomorrow it costs us all we have, I want you. If we can’t afford to live and I have to get a ‘real job,’ I want you. Today, tomorrow, next week, three weeks from now three months, thirty years - when my hair is turning gray and your pretty mane is thinning into a Dracula widow’s peak at the edges,”  his eyes smile, even as the tears rise to the surface, “Can we just love each other, please?”

He just nods, unable to make himself speak as the tears drop onto his sheets in slippery diamonds.

“So now,” I smile, wiping my face on my sleeve with a half laugh, “let’s try these chocolates.” 

He smiles a little and reaches for the box, but I whisk it away with one hand and hold it out of his reach. He furrows his eyebrows, a little amused and confused at the same time.

I pick one glorified peanut butter cup from the box and set it between my teeth, leaning forward, watching as his face turns from blotchy red to brilliantly scarlet.

“You get half,” I tease.