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I think there’s something horribly wrong with me.
There is something wrong with me, I know that, but this is a different kind of wrong, and I don’t know what to do. There’s no easy cure for this kind of illness—I can’t just take a shot of insulin or drink a juicebox. I don’t think crackers would ease the nausea, and I don’t think Advil would subdue the headache. Maybe I’m dying again. Maybe I’m destined to die over and over until the end of time. Maybe what being a vampire really means is falling victim to a vicious cycle of rising from your grave over and over. Forever.
For once, I’m praying that there’s something wrong with my glucose. I grab my meter from my purse and prick my finger, squeezing out a small red droplet of blood before bringing it close to the strip, the plastic tip drinking it right up. I place my hand over the screen; I can’t look. A few seconds pass, and there’s a little beep. I take a deep breath.
- Shit. I’m fine.
But I’m not fine. I can’t be. My palms are sweaty and my head is spinning and I think I might vomit everywhere. It’s like all the symptoms of hypoglycemia and hyperglycemia are hitting me at the same time. Maybe having a normal glucose level isn’t for me after all. Maybe I should go see Fish and he’ll tell me I’m the first diabetic who’s healthier when her glucose is above 200.
I blink slowly. What was I doing?
Oh, right.
I was helping Mark pack his car. So he can drive far, far away and never come back. I’m helping him abandon me.
“You alright, Skeeter?” he asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I must’ve started to stare off into space or something else freakish.
I shoot him a glare, hoping my eyeliner is sharp enough to make me look even scarier than usual. “Of course not. It’s a million degrees, and you’re making me carry all this heavy shit.”
He looks concerned for a moment, so I stick out my tongue, and he smiles.
“You’re right. I should’ve rejected that scholarship offer, knowing how hot it would be the day before move-in. Silly me.”
I roll my eyes. I think I hate him more now than I ever have.
Mark was never smarter than me. I was supposed to have the better grades that got me into a great school hundreds of miles from here while he was stuck in this awful city. But he was too fast at a track meet and it got all these recruiters buzzing and suddenly there were offers showing up in the mail one after the next. He said he didn’t really want to leave, but a full ride to some D1 program was too good to pass up. And now I’m stuck here and he’s leaving me.
“What if you break your leg? Will they take your scholarship away?”
“Jeez, Lucy, you’ve already resorted to threats?”
“No.” I grab another bag from the living room and start walking out to his car. It’s this old red sedan and I hate it. He bought it from his uncle for $500 bucks but it’s probably worth like $50. I hate that I had to ride to school in it for two years.
I hate that I won’t see it again for months.
“I’ll come back,” he says, ruffling my hair. I dyed it red last night. I thought it might scare him into staying. It didn’t.
“No. You’ll forget all about me as soon as you settle in. There’s probably plenty of weird girls there to amuse you,” I huffed, placing my hands on my hips. He just grins.
“I’ll call every night if that’ll make you feel better.”
“It won’t.”
He looks sad again. I feel his sadness in my gut. I’m nauseous again.
Am I really going to miss him so much that it’s making me sick?
“Okay,” I say, “yeah, call me every night. If you ever miss a night, I’ll block your number.”
It’s just Mark. I don’t really care that he’s going away. I’m just jealous that he’s leaving instead of me. And that’s why I feel so awful. That’s why I’m dying. Again.
“Hey, Lucy,” he starts, closing the trunk. The sun is just starting to set as we finish packing his car. “You got any plans tonight?”
I stare at him. “Why? I’m not helping you with any more chores.”
He laughs. It’s a sweet laugh, kind of boyish but still gentle. I feel a weird mix of warmth and stickiness in my brain. “I just, I don’t know, was hoping to spend a little more time with you. Before I go.”
“Oh.” I want to say more, but I can’t. Sometimes I feel like that around him, like there’s so much I could say, but then I get all nervous and my mouth feels funny and I’m quiet.
“...so?”
“I’m not busy,” I say. He grins again, his brown pudding eyes glowing in the fleeting orange light of the sunset. I gulp.
“Let’s walk to the gas station and buy some snacks and watch television all night.”
“Not too many snacks,” I remind him. He nods.
We’re mostly quiet as we walk. He asks if I’m excited about my classes starting next week. I ask him if he thinks his roommate will be a total freak. Our arms brush against one another.
In the gas station, he picks up a bag of string cheese, a pack of sunflower seeds, and two diet sodas. My face gets hot; I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed. I wish he’d buy a ton of candy and chips and things he wanted instead of the low-carb, diabetic friendly foods on the counter. He’s always too considerate. I feel weird again.
It’s dark when we step outside.
“Aren’t your parents going to be mad that I’m stealing away their final moments with their son?”
“Who cares,” he says, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I have to spend all day with them in the car tomorrow. They’ll be fine.”
I nod. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
The key rattles when he opens the door.
“Mom! I’m going to the basement to watch TV with Lucy!” he yells upstairs.
“Alright, just keep the noise down,” his mother shouts back.
We head down to his basement. His house is almost the same size as mine, but we don’t have a basement. His is nice—soft carpet and a big computer and a couch and a television and a small bar. I like it here.
“What’s your pick?” he says, flopping onto the couch.
This is our routine. We each say what we want to watch and then play rock-paper-scissors to decide whose choice wins.
“Carrie. The original.”
“Ugh, didn’t we already watch that one like, I don’t know, a month ago?”
“No, we watched it last Fall. And I want to see it again.”
“Fine. I pick Can’t Hardly Wait.”
“What even is that?” I scoff.
“It’s a comedy. We’ve got it on DVD, I think.”
I roll my eyes and curl my hand into a fist. He does the same, and we count off three times.
“Paper,” he smirks, staring at his flat hand and my fist.
“Best of three?”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Skeeter.”
It’s not a bad movie. I think I remember seeing the previews for it a few years ago, but I can’t be too sure. I would never choose to watch a comedy movie of my own free will.
Mark is clearly enjoying the movie, though. He keeps giggling and smiling in between sips of soda and bites of cheese. His face is glowing in the flickering light of the television, his sharp jaw moving up and down when he chews. He takes another sip of his drink, and I watch his throat move as he swallows.
He looks over at me. I’ve been staring. I’m not even sure how much of the movie I missed.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. The backs of my eyes feel hot and prickly. Then my cheeks feel wet.
I wish I were dying.
“Hey, Luce, what’s wrong?” he asks, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. His eyebrows are drawn in tight with worry and his eyes are big and brown even in the dark of the basement.
I must look so stupid. I don’t cry very often. If I did, I would never wear so much dark makeup. I picture what I might look like right now—scalp stained pink from the hair dye, eyes red and puffy, streaks of black makeup on my skin. I want to run away, but his hand is on my arm and it feels so heavy I don’t think I could get up if I tried.
“I– Don’t–,” I try to speak in between sniffles. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
He smiles. I don’t get how he could be smiling when I’m sitting here making a fool of myself. But he moves his arm around to my back and pulls me closer so my head is resting on his chest.
“I’m not leaving you,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand against my back. “I promise. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Lucy.”
This just makes me cry harder. “Liar. You are leaving.”
He sighs, and I feel his whole chest rise and fall. “Okay. You’re right. I’m leaving.”
I lift my head and look into his eyes. There’s something in his expression that I can’t quite read. “You suck.”
“You could come with me,” he says.
I blink and sniffle again. “What?”
“Yeah. Come with me. To college.”
“I can’t, Mark. I’m already registered for classes here.”
“Okay, so, what about next semester? Or next Fall, even?”
Now my brows furrow. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head and moves his arm so I can sit up properly. “Lucy, you’re smart. You’re talented. I bet you could win so many scholarships for your work. Besides, my school’s got the best creative writing program in its state.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know that?”
He looks away, cheeks flushing slightly. “I looked into it.”
I purse my lips to prevent myself from smiling. He’s such a dork, and I should really hate him for it.
He looks back up. “So? What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I trail off. I wanted to leave. Get as far away from this city as I could. I don’t even know why I decided to stay and only apply to universities here. My parents wanted me to stay home, especially after everything that happened two years ago, but I probably could’ve convinced them to let me leave if I had tried just a little harder. But I never did.
Mark was still staring at me, waiting.
“Okay,” I said. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
He grins again, wider than he had all week.
I’m not sure if I meant it. I was more scared of leaving than I wanted to admit. Managing a chronic illness is hard enough when you know where you are; the thought of taking care of my diabetes in a new city with new doctors and new everything was terrifying. I almost died in a city I knew like the back of my hand—what would happen in a place that was totally unfamiliar?
I still feel all weird inside. That happened a lot when Mark got too close, and right now he was just inches from my face with a big, stupid smile and his warm hands on my shoulders and it all just made me feel terrible. It’s like I could float away any minute. My head feels light and dizzy and my heart is pounding. I wish it would all just stop.
I finally decide I can’t take it anymore and break the silence. “Won’t it be weird though? Having me around all the time? You’ll have all sorts of new friends and lots of classes and practices and you’ll probably want to go to all kinds of parties and you’ll meet all kinds of girls and–”
He cuts me off with a laugh. “Lucy.”
I lean back. “What?”
He just shakes his head. “Never mind.”
He lets go of my shoulders and turns back to the television.
“Wait,” I say, stopping him. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I get up and walk to the half-bath, shutting the door behind me. I turn on the light and look in the mirror. I look awful. I’m still not used to my new hair, and now with my smudged, streaky makeup and puffy eyes, I just look like an absolute mess. I should go home. I wash my face in the sink, planning how to tell Mark that I won’t stay to finish the movie.
My stomach lurches.
Mark is leaving tomorrow, and I’m fussing over how I look. Stupid, stupid girl.
I feel naked without the makeup, but at least the cold water helped my eyes look a bit more normal.
After drying my hands, I step back out into the basement. Mark looks up at me and smiles. I think I might pass out. I should’ve checked my blood sugar.
I offer him a small smile back, but avert my eyes. It’s just Mark, but for some reason I feel all embarrassed. He’s seen me without makeup before. He’s seen me cry before. Hell, he’s seen me dead before. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I don’t. I don’t.
I sit next to him on the couch. He turns the movie back on.
Who will he watch movies with when he’s at college? Who’s he going to buy snacks for at the gas station? I know it’s dumb, but I picture him with a girl, walking down the street, her bag slung over his shoulders. She’s got short hair, dyed dark, and she’s wearing this black little dress and clunky combat boots. Her makeup is deep blacks and purples, but she looks good, looks alive. She’s like a prettier, living version of me. She probably watches all the comedy movies Mark likes and goes to all his games. She can eat anything she wants, and he never has to buy diet soda again. I bet she’s nice to him, too.
In my head, I can see them going back to his dorm. I’m picturing him leaning down to kiss her. I feel sick again.
A thought flickers in my head. At least she’ll never take his first kiss. He gave that to me. I’ll always have that, and no other girl can. No matter how pretty, or smart, or gothy non-goth, or alive, or anything. She can never take that from me.
This doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. It doesn’t matter that I was his first kiss. We were just dumb kids. It didn’t mean anything.
My eyes feel wet again.
I stare up at the ceiling. I won’t cry. Not now. I can cry all day tomorrow if I really have to, but not right now. I blink a few times and the tears go away. After a deep breath, I look back at the television.
I watch for a few minutes. It’s boring, and I wish I had just picked scissors earlier.
I turn back to Mark. He’s staring at me. I can feel my cheeks getting hot, but I don’t look away. Neither does he. The movie keeps playing, but I don’t hear it anymore. All I can see is Mark, here, with me, his warm brown eyes looking at mine. I want this moment to last forever.
Then I kiss him.
I don’t know why I do it. For a moment, I’m not scared or sad at all. I don’t feel stupid or ugly or different or undead. All that exists in this world is Mark and I.
I’ve never really kissed anyone. I don’t know what I’m doing at all; I’m not even aware of it. By the time I realize what I’ve done, my hand is on his cheek and my lips are pressed against his. I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me. Neither of us is moving.
I pull back fast. “I’m sorry, I, shit,” I scramble for words as I try to stand.
He reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist, and my legs give out and I fall back onto the couch. “Lucy, wait.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out again, trying to pull against his grip. I want to go home now.
“Lucy.”
I look at him. I’m shaking. I’m terrified. I don’t know why I did that. I really wish I were dying.
“My blood sugar is low,” I lie. “I’m delusional. That’s all.”
He frowns. It’s such a deeply hurt look, like a wounded puppy. Guilt floods into my chest, and I look away.
Still holding my wrist tight, he lifts his other hand to my chin and turns my head back to him. I meet his eyes, and he leans forward.
“May I?” he whispers. I nod.
He lets go of my wrist and slowly closes the gap between us, pressing his lips against mine. This time I’m aware of what’s happening. I can feel how warm his lips are, how smooth his palm feels on my face. He lets his other hand creep up my back to my head, weaving his fingers into my hair. Seconds, minutes, hours pass by like that. I can’t tell which of us is waiting, or for what.
I part my lips slowly. I’ve read about kissing before, I’ve seen it in movies. I know what you’re supposed to do, I just don’t know how to do it.
Mark’s never had a girlfriend before, and he doesn’t ever talk about girls, but I’ve heard rumors around school that he made out with Tracy Bitch-ell a couple times. Her real name is Tracy Mitchell, but Bitch-ell suits her better. She was a cheerleader, and way too smiley for my taste, especially since she was so mean. I never asked if the rumors were true, but from the way Mark started moving his mouth against mine, they must have been.
His tongue enters my mouth without warning. It’s a weird feeling, but I like it. It’s all just wet and warm and different. I let him move around while I try to figure out what I should be doing. His hand moves against my head, his fingers curling around my hair. It feels nice.
I finally decide to move my hands, reaching out for his waist. He jumps a bit when I place my palms against him, and finally pulls back.
“Lucy,” he breathes, his chest heaving. I stare at him with wide eyes.
Neither of us speaks for a moment. I don’t want to break whatever spell has come over us with my strange words. After a few seconds, he smiles.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, rubbing a thumb across my cheek.
I laugh. I can’t help it. I look ridiculous, not beautiful, I know it.
“I’m serious,” he says, his smile melting into a stern expression. “Luce, you’re the most beautiful girl on this planet.”
I feel embarrassed again. If my cheeks weren’t already flushed from the kissing, I would’ve turned bright pink in that moment.
I want to say something stupid again. I want to scoff and tell him he’s crazy or make an awful joke.
“You too,” I say instead. It doesn’t quite make sense, and this time we both laugh.
“Thanks,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine. He takes a moment to think. “I like kissing you.”
I’m still embarrassed, so I don’t respond. He traces little circles on my knee with his fingertips.
“Why’d you do it?” he finally asks.
“Do what?”
“Kiss me.”
“Oh.” I think about it, but I don’t know why.
I think about Mark. I think about us as kids, when we would catch bugs and play in the woods and pretend to be married. I think about every time he came to my house to check on me when I got sick because calling wasn’t enough. I think about his face in the hospital when I died, and how he stayed to keep me company when my parents were sleeping. I think about all the gifts he gave me on my birthdays and on Christmases, how he always knew what I wanted more than I did. I think about his sweatshirts I kept in my closet and never gave back. I think about him waving to me from the track at his meets. I think about all the diabetic-friendly snacks he bought me. I think about every time he drove me to school, and every time I forced him to listen to punk music or thrash metal or shoegaze. I think about senior prom, when he asked me seven different ways until I finally said yes. I think about him carrying my freezing, lifeless body into his living room. I think about him kissing me in the woods. I think about every time we stood too close and our arms brushed against each other.
Mark is leaving tomorrow for a university hours from here, and he wants me to come with him. I think about us studying together in coffee shops and watching movies in his dorm and kissing and kissing and kissing.
Why did I kiss him?
“Because I love you.”
The words feel all weird and gross in my mouth. I’m not a very sappy or romantic person. It’s weird and embarrassing to admit something like that. I hope he doesn’t think I’m weird.
Mark grins again. He’s always grinning. I kind of hate it. I really like it.
He kisses my cheek and I turn bright red again.
“I’m so in love with you, Lucinda Szabo.”
I scrunch my nose. Mark is sappy and embarrassing and weird. He doesn't even look grossed out by his own words. I hate it. I love it. I love him.
“And you’re leaving.”
“But you’ll come with me?” His voice lifts at the end, uncertain.
I forcibly roll my eyes. “I guess.”
He laughs. I smile. I like that he gets my jokes.
I lean forward and put my head on his chest again, and he wraps his arms around me. “It sucks I won’t see you until Thanksgiving.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll come home and visit before then. And you could always take a train down to visit me.”
“Or hitchhike,” I offer.
“Sure.”
I stay in his arms for a while. I think we’re both scared that if he lets go, this will all disappear. I don’t think we’re going to finish the movie.
There are so many things that I want to say, and so many things that I should say, but instead I end up falling asleep. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I know I did because when I wake up it's dark. We’re still on the couch, and Mark is sleeping peacefully. I need to go home or call my parents, but he’s so warm and I feel so wonderful and I never want to leave.
Slowly, I get up and find my phone. I flip open the screen and send my mom a text.
Staying the night at Mark’s
It’s only 11:30, so hopefully they haven’t freaked out quite yet. The phone pings and I read the message.
Okay Sweetie. Be safe. I love you.
I roll my eyes. She never dropped the stupid nicknames, but she’s less antsy and helicopter-y these days, so I take what I can get.
I turn my phone off and move back to the couch. Mark stirs but doesn’t wake up. I stare at his face in the darkness. He doesn’t look real. Right now, it doesn’t feel like he’ll be gone in the morning.
I let myself smile as I fall back asleep against his body.
Goodnight.