Within These Walls (2 page)

“It sounds beautiful,” I said.

She began to jot down numbers while checking me over. Her brows suddenly furrowed together, causing me to become alarmed.

“What is it?” I asked.

“What? Oh, nothing. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Your pulse ox reading is just a little low.” She bent forward with a stethoscope and listened to my lungs for a moment. “Let me just update Dr. Marcus, and he’ll be in to chat with you in a bit.”

I nodded absently as she scooted out quickly, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Looking down at my pointer finger which was attached to the machine that monitored my oxygen levels, I sighed. The reading wasn’t terribly low—at least, not enough to trigger an alarm thankfully. I let out a small groan and slumped my head forward in defeat. I knew what this meant—something wasn’t right, and Grace hadn’t wanted to say anything because it was now above her pay grade.

So, now, I had to just sit here and wait
—alone.

Sitting around in a hospital, day in and day out, was tedious. There was only so much TV I could watch, so many books I could read, before my head felt like it might explode. Sometimes, the craving for human interaction could become so intense that I’d feel physically ill.

My mother had been here every day, and her company meant the world to me, but the desire and need to interact

with someone my own age was overwhelming. I just wanted someone who hadn’t helped me go to the bathroom or didn’t watch my every move with anxiety, afraid my next breath might land me back in the hospital.

The book my mother had been reading—something academic, a text book no doubt—was lying on the cushion of the worn blue chair in the corner, forgotten along with her jacket and a notebook. She must have stayed late and left after I’d fallen asleep. She usually didn’t stay past seven, but she had been desperately trying to finish her syllabus for the next semester so that she’d have it done before I returned home. She would always be so paranoid whenever I was discharged from a hospital stay. She feared I would have some sort of rebound and end up back where I started—laying back in that room waiting for my next escape. Therefore, in her mind, my need for supervision doubled, tripled even. She’d end up almost killing herself, trying to get everything done in preparation for my return.

My mother, Molly Buchanan, was a religious studies professor at the local community college. She was probably one of the most eclectic women on the planet. When I was young, I’d once asked her about why she taught religion, but we didn’t go to church. She’d smiled sweetly and told me that she loved learning about religions so much that she couldn’t pick just one, so she never had. It had made sense to me when I was a naïve child, but now, it just made me laugh. I’d decided years ago after being one of her students that my mom was just overly curious about the behavior of humans and there was no better way to learn the hows and whys of people than through their religions.

I spent what was hopefully going to be my last morning in the hospital eating less than stellar eggs and toast from a tray while I haphazardly flipped through the fourteen channels on TV. After catching up on the news and watching a rerun of
Boy Meets World
, I decided it was time to pack.

Careful of the hep-lock buried in the crook of my arm, I slowly got up and made my way to the en-suite bathroom.

I brushed my teeth and attempted to throw my long blonde hair into a ponytail. I then gathered all my toiletries and placed them in the bag my mom had brought. After returning to the room, I threw the small bag into the suitcase by the bed. Several other items also went in, and after a few minutes, I was ready to go.

I could hear my bed calling out for me, whispering my name. Uninterrupted sleep was something that was seriously taken for granted by those who were lucky enough to enjoy it. Right now, I was exhausted—probably more exhausted than I should be, but I ignored that because I was going home.

After everything in my room had been tidied up, I settled back down to wait out the day. Whenever a nurse told you that the doctor would be with you in a bit, she really meant that the doctor would be in sometime today, so you shouldn’t hold your breath. Seeing as it had been less than an hour since Grace disappeared from my sight, I was quite surprised when Dr. Marcus suddenly appeared at my door. Clad in blue scrubs, he ran his large hands through his salt-and-pepper locks.

Having adjusted back to teaching day classes, my mom had finished teaching her one summer course for the day, and she was now sitting in her usual spot in the corner. She was deeply immersed in her book from earlier, scribbling down notes, but she instantly perked up when my longtime handsome doctor came in.

He took a few steps, hesitated slightly, and then walked the remaining distance to the bed. He seemed uneasy, and his eyes were roaming around the room as if they were desperately trying to lock on to anything but me. Finally, he met my gaze, and immediately, I knew he had bad news.

“Hey, Lailah,” he said.

“Hi, Dr. Marcus.”

“Listen, kid—” he started.

I interrupted him, “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Right. I keep forgetting. Twenty-two. Crazy.”

Dr. Marcus had been caring for me since I was a child. I’d gone to other hospitals for more complicated procedures, and other doctors and specialists had seen me over the years, but I’d always been under the care of Dr. Marcus. Besides my mother, he was the closest thing I had to family.

“I’ve looked at your levels, and it’s not happening today, Lailah.”

“Why?” I whispered.

He arched his brow, giving me a pointed stare.

“My breathing,” I answered my own question.

He nodded. “Yes, your breathing isn’t good—I can tell you that standing across the room and your heart is beating irregularly. I’m sorry. I know you wanted to hit the road today, but until we get you in better shape, I can’t let that happen.”

I turned to my mother, who was staring at me with a sad, concerned expression. Our eyes met, and she gave me a hesitant smile. She wouldn’t fight him. I knew that from experience. She followed all doctor instructions to the letter. When it came to my health, she wasn’t willing to take even an iota of a chance.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to Dr. Marcus, as I tried to fight back the tears. “I guess it’s time for bad food and daytime TV for me once again.”

“I’ll make sure they send up extra dessert,” he said with a wink.

His focus then went to my mother and I watched her rise from her chair to join him across the room. Huddled together, I could hear very little of what they were saying, but from what I managed to catch, I was going to be stuck within these walls for quite a bit longer.

Freedom had suddenly vanished before my eyes.

Back to jail I go.

TODAY WAS MY birthday.

I was twenty-four—wait, maybe twenty-five?

Shit, I should probably know that.

It had been three years since the accident. A celebratory vacation had brought me to California, but it had turned into nothing but shattered dreams and sorrow. Since then, I hadn’t cared much about birthdays or any celebrations in general.

It had been three years since I lost her.

I guessed that meant I was turning twenty-five today.

Happy birthday, Jude.

Four years ago, on the day I’d turned twenty-one, I’d spent my birthday bar-hopping and clubbing with my fraternity brothers, throwing around cash like I had a never-ending supply—and at the time, I had.

“Go have fun,” my dad had said.

And we had done just that. I couldn’t remember half of what had gone down that night. All I could recall was spending the next morning with my head hunched over a toilet while Megan had nursed me back to health.

Tonight, however, I had a hot birthday date with a few bedpans, a bevy of charts, and if I was lucky, a fifteen-minute break with the vending machine.
Maybe I could really go all out and get a Milky Way tonight.

For two years now, I’d worked at Memorial Hospital in Santa Monica as a CNA—basically, a glorified orderly who was required to pass tests and earn certificates. While I’d started from the bottom as a janitor, a sympathetic HR woman, Margaret, had taken pity on me after seeing me roaming the hospital halls for weeks. Realizing I’d never leave otherwise, she’d offered me a janitor position, and I’d said yes on the spot. When I’d listed my newly earned Princeton business degree under education, she’d raised her eyebrows a bit, but she never asked any questions. When I’d firmly requested not to have my last name listed on my ID badge for personal reasons, she’d just arched her brow a bit further, handed me my newly made ID, and sent me on my way.

I’d barely left the hospital since.

I had a small apartment across town where I would sleep between shifts and make mediocre meals, but this place was where I lived the majority of my waking hours. I usually worked overtime and took extra shifts when people needed days off just so I could stay within the walls of this hospital.

This was the only type of home I had anymore.

I hadn’t really lived a day of my life since arriving here three years ago with blood dripping down my face as I’d screamed out Megan’s name over and over, trying to will her back into consciousness. It hadn’t worked in the ER, and it hadn’t worked in the horrible days that followed either. I’d been walking these empty halls without her ever since, following her ghost around corners and down halls while I tried in vain to just exist.

I couldn’t live when everything I’d lived for was dead.

Stopping by the vending machine, I pulled out the loose change in my pocket until I found the exact amount for my birthday-dinner treat. Dropping the coins in the slot, I pressed the correct combination of buttons and waited for the candy bar to push forward before plummeting to the bottom. It dropped with a hard thunk, and I quickly bent down to retrieve it.

Less than three minutes later, I’d demolished the candy bar, and the wrapper was long gone in a trash can. I made my way back to the nurses’ station from the vending machine to check back in. I’d just rounded the corner when I came face-to-face with Margaret.

“Hey, Jude. You’re just the person I was looking for. Would you mind following me? I wanted to talk with you for a minute,” she said.

I gave a curt nod and followed behind her, watching her dark brown bob in all directions, as she briskly walked down the long hall. In a sea of scrubs, she was the oddball dressed in a cheap blue wool suit. It looked itchy, and judging from the red scratch marks along her collar, I was guessing she would agree.

Cheap wool could make people break out into a rash faster than taking a hike through a forest of poison ivy. When I was around nine, our nanny, Lottie, had been instructed to take me shopping for a new wool blazer for Christmas Eve. It was something my mom had always loved doing, but I remembered that year as being particularly stressful, so she’d sent Lottie instead. Halfway through Mass, my father had pulled me out of the service because I couldn’t stop scratching. It turned out that Lottie had bought the blazer from a cheap knockoff store, and she’d pocketed the rest of my parents’ cash. Needless to say, that was the last Christmas she’d spent with us. It had been quite the adventure for the ten year old boy I had once been. When I retold the story to my friends, there were cops and robbers involved.

As Margaret and I made our way farther down the hall, she continued to fuss with her collar, but I refrained from making any comments. I’d left behind the life of expensive tailored suits and board meetings.

Jude, the nurses’ assistant, wouldn’t know shit about any of that. He was quiet, he didn’t have friends, and he never answered any questions about his past. It had taken awhile, but my coworkers had learned to respect these boundaries. After the first year of turning down every after-hours hangout opportunity, flirty date request, and party invite, they’d quickly figured out that I was a loner with a fortress of thick, impenetrable walls built around me.

I wasn’t about to go screw it up by making some snide comment to my HR representative about digging her fingers into her neck. If I were to do that, I might as well give her advice on her 401(k) and offer to look at her stock portfolio.

Margaret unlocked the door to her office and flicked on the fluorescent lights above us.

“Have a seat, won’t you?” she asked, gesturing to the seats in front of her desk.

I settled into one of the cushioned wingback chairs and leaned forward, bracing myself for whatever might lie ahead.

She shuffled some papers around her desk and clicked on her keyboard before finally turning her gaze to me. “You’re probably wondering what you are doing here.”

I nodded.

“Well, you see, there’s been some adjustments and—”

My pulse quickened, and I cut her off, “What do you mean, adjustments? Am I being laid off?”

I couldn’t lose this job. This was the last place I had seen her, where I’d held her hand. If I weren’t here, I wouldn’t be able to feel her with me, and I didn’t know how to function without her.