Out of Nowhere (25 page)

The drunk/high guys got off the bus with me. They headed in the direction of the bars while I made my way to Lucas’s condo. Inside, the building was quiet and extremely cold. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I pressed the intercom button. Lucas’s mother answered, sounding delighted to hear my voice. She buzzed me in and I headed up to the third floor.

“Riley!” Lucas’s mother beamed at me when she opened the door to my knock. “Good to see you. How are you? All ready for school?”

I liked Lucas’s mom and usually enjoyed talking to her, but right now I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for chitchat. “I’m fine. Is, uh, Lucas home?”

“In his room,” she said, closing the door behind me. “Go on back.”

I thanked her and started toward the bedrooms, passing the kitchen on the way, where Lucas’s father was opening a box of crackers at the counter. He smiled when he saw me, but I kept going until I reached Lucas’s bedroom door. I knocked gently.

“Yeah?” came his muffled reply, and I opened the door to find him stretched out on his bed, laptop perched on his stomach. If it were any other night I would have lectured him about radiation, but right now, stringing together even one coherent sentence seemed impossible.

“Riley?” Lucas was looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern or confusion or both. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

And just like that, the protective wall I’d constructed so carefully began to crumble. My body was once again my body, conscious and susceptible to every thought and pain and truth. I’d come here because I’d always found it comforting, the familiarity of Lucas’s house. His bedroom was a lot like him—neat, utilitarian. There was a sense of order here that usually calmed me. But nothing felt comfortable tonight.

“Riley,” Lucas repeated when I didn’t speak or move from where I was standing in his doorway. He closed his laptop and set it aside, his eyes never leaving my face. “Just tell me.”

Finally, I stepped a little further into his room, shut the door behind me, and sat down on the bed. “I think Cole just broke up with me,” I said, and then I let myself cry.

“Oh shit,” Lucas mumbled. He knew me well enough to wait patiently until I was all cried out before trying to console me. After a few minutes, he attempted a brief pat on my back. “What happened?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and lay down beside him. I wasn’t sure where to start, so I ended up telling him everything. Shawn the Realtor, my fight with Mom, moving, California, my fight with Cole, and even the most embarrassing part—that I’d offered Cole sex and he’d turned me down. By the time I’d gotten to the part about him leaving and saying we worked better as friends, I was crying again.

“You both said stuff you didn’t mean,” Lucas said, handing me a mound of Kleenex he’d retrieved from the bathroom. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

I folded one of the tissues and blew my nose. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you will.” There was a tinge of impatience in his voice. To him, straight, boy-girl relationships looked so straightforward. Resolvable issues like this barely registered on his radar. “Listen,” he said, resting his head beside mine on the pillow. “You’ll get past this…all of this. You have to stop assuming that when people leave, they’re gone forever. Cole will be back, I promise you. Know how I’m so sure?”

I stuffed the soggy Kleenex into my shorts pocket and looked at him. Lucas. My friend. My rock. And I wondered if it was truly possible to be sure of anything.

“Because he loves you,” he said simply, like he’d known this from the start. “And you love him. Even though you’re both too scared to admit it.”

As usual, he was right. Despite my resolve not to get too close to Cole, and despite our many differences and improbable future, I’d somehow ended up in love with him. Then, stupidly, I’d tried to get even closer, only to have it backfire in my face. He probably felt relieved to be free of me, this quivering mess of a girl who clung to him so tightly. He’d leave for California without knowing how I really felt about him. Maybe I’d never get to tell him. Maybe I’d never get to say good-bye.

“Lucas, I have to go.” I was suffocating in here, on this neatly-made bed with everything familiar around me. “I just…I really don’t feel well.”

“I’ll ask my dad to drive you home,” Lucas said, sitting up.

“No.” Quickly, I pushed myself off the bed and stood up. The room tilted a little, or maybe it was me. “I need some fresh air, that’s all. I’ll take the bus.”

“Riley, I think—”

He kept talking, but I was already through the bedroom door. My legs felt rubbery but I forced myself to keep moving, past the living room where Lucas’s parents were watching TV, oblivious. His father waved at me as I walked by, and his mom called “good night” in her soft, cheerful voice. I didn’t acknowledge them. I pushed forward, down the elevator and across the lobby and down the steps to the street, where the steel band around my chest became almost unbearable.

Suddenly, I felt terrified. The street noise was too loud, the cars and people too close, the mix of smells too sharp. With each breath, my heart thumped painfully against my rib cage. Dark spots danced before my eyes. I needed oxygen, but my airways seemed too small to take enough in.

Lightheaded, I sat on the steps in front of the building and dug out my phone. With shaking fingers, I searched for cab companies and pressed “call” on the first one I saw. Then I waited, my arms wrapped around my legs like I was trying to keep my body from falling to pieces on the sidewalk. My thoughts were so muddled, I didn’t notice the man until he was standing two feet in front of me.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he said, leering at me through hooded eyes. “Are you lost?”

I could smell him from where I sat. Alcohol, sweat, and something else…something rank and unidentifiable. His dark hair was matted with grease and dirt and he wore several layers of clothing despite the warm weather. “Leave me alone,” I said weakly. A fresh wave of panic ripped through me, this one sharper and more focused. A fight-or-flight response.

“I won’t hurt you, pretty girl,” the man said, his speech slurring. Then he leaned down, his hand reaching out as if to seize me, and I jumped to my feet. His reflexes were obviously dulled by whatever substance he’d ingested, so evading him was easy. As I stood there near the street, poised to run, a dark-colored taxi appeared in front of me. I darted toward it, my urgency causing me to stumble on the curb. Once in the backseat, I shivered in the air-conditioning and dimly noted the round, bald head in front of me. Outside, the creepy guy moved on, tottering along the sidewalk toward the waterfront. My heart and breathing slowed, just a little.

“Where to?” the owner of the bald head asked in a winded voice, like he’d sprinted here instead of drove.

I told him, and he pointed the taxi toward the center of the city. I peered out the window, barely registering the landscape as it flew by. I felt disconnected, like my body was no longer mine and I couldn’t protect it from the darkness that was just waiting to swallow it whole. The way things were going today, I wasn’t too sure I should fight it.

It was close to midnight when I walked through the emergency room doors, squinting against the bright, industrial-strength lights. Thankfully, most of the well-worn seats were unoccupied and my number was called quickly.

“What brings you here tonight?” asked the weary triage nurse.

The steel band constricted even further, and I closed my eyes against the bolt of pain. Then, in a matter-of-fact way, I explained the situation. “I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”

* * *

I was only vaguely aware that the doctor standing in front of me was the same one who’d treated me during my allergic reaction back in the spring. She didn’t remember me, of course, but she had the same brisk, no-nonsense demeanor as the last time we’d met like this.

“Hello, Riley, I’m Dr. Keuning,” she said, her voice penetrating the clouds in my head. “I’m going to examine you now, okay? Can you stretch out a little for me?”

I nodded and reclined back on the bed, my head sinking into the crinkly pillow. As Dr. Keuning poked and prodded me, I watched the people walking by through the gap between the privacy curtains and tried to focus on breathing. The pain in my chest hadn’t eased up, not even when the triage nurse—after checking my blood pressure, pulse, respiratory rate, and oxygen saturation—had pronounced me “completely normal”. I wasn’t completely normal, obviously. I wasn’t on drugs either, which was a possibility the nurses and doctor were no doubt considering, seeing as they had me pee in a cup first thing. A couple of extra Advil didn’t really count.

Dr. Keuning straightened up and smiled at me. With her blond ponytail and cute face, she looked like she’d walked right out of an episode of
Grey’s Anatomy
. This thought almost distracted me from hearing her utter the magic words: EKG.
Yes
. They were taking these chest pains seriously. There really was something wrong with me. Maybe I wasn’t crazy.

A while later, when the EKG came back normal, I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. If my heart was fine, if everything about me was fine, then why did I feel so wrong? Why couldn’t I just fix myself?

Dr. Keuning looked at me, her stern expression slipping into sympathy, just for a second. “Riley, there is nothing in these tests to indicate—”

“Keep looking,” I said, my tone a little edgier than I’d intended. I swallowed and lowered my gaze to the nubby white blanket covering me. “Please.”

She perched herself on the edge of the bed and placed her hand over mine. Her touch was warm and comforting. “We’re going to call your parents, Riley, and then give you a small dose of lorazapam. It’ll help calm you down.”

“I only have one parent, and I don’t want to be sedated.” Just then I remembered my mother and Jeff, home from the movies by now and undoubtedly trying to get a hold of me. My cell had died in the taxi. “I just want this pain in my chest to stop. If you want to give me something to make me feel better, Percocet would probably be a better choice.”

She seemed a little taken aback that I actually knew my way around prescription drugs. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She stood up. “Now, will I call the phone number listed in your chart or is there another contact number I should use?”

I didn’t want her to call my mother, but as a minor, I knew I wasn’t getting any kind of serious drugs until the doctor had her consent. “The number in my chart,” I said.

She patted my ankle and left to make the call. I kicked off the blanket and shut my eyes, thinking about Cole. The more I thought about him, the more my heart squeezed in my chest. To get my mind off it, I started paying attention to the sounds outside my curtain. I could hear soft-soled shoes moving across the floor, beeping machines, and many different voices. Beside me, a woman periodically moaned in pain. I wondered if she felt like she was dying too.

“Where’s my daughter? Riley?” The curtain surrounding me flung open and my mother, her face as white as the bed sheet, rushed toward me, followed by Dr. Keuning and an equally pale Jeff.

“Riley, what’s the matter? What happened?” Mom demanded, and once again I was thrust back in time to the night my father died, when my mother charged toward me as I sat on the living room couch and said words just like these, in that same frantic voice. I felt a stab of remorse for worrying her.

“I’m—” I started, but that was as far as I got before I started to cry. Mom climbed onto the bed with me and gathered me into her arms, like I was a small child or just a girl with a broken heart. She murmured comforting words to me until my sobs tapered into sniffles. I could hear Dr. Keuning’s calm, efficient voice explaining the situation to Jeff as they stood at the foot of the bed, and his deep voice asking questions. Like he was my parent or something. Like he belonged here at all.

“Can Jeff wait outside?” I said to no one in particular. All three of them looked toward me, as if surprised that I still had a voice. Jeff’s face resumed some of its color and he glanced at me once before smiling tightly at my mom. He raised his hand for a moment, like he was thinking about touching me in some way, but then thought better of it and slipped through the curtain. I exhaled.

Dr. Keuning, unruffled, continued the conversation with my mom. Again, lorazapam was mentioned, and Mom explained that I was seeing a therapist, trying cognitive behavioral therapy (“which I
thought
was helping,” she added), and that I was trying to deal with my anxiety without the aid of medication. Dr. Keuning came back that medication had its place, and because I appeared to be suffering from a severe panic attack, a short-acting anti-anxiety drug was the best course of action in this case. Mom finally agreed, which meant I was getting a dose of Ativan whether I liked it or not.

I’d done a bit of research on sedatives but I’d never taken one before, so I was unprepared for the potency of it. One minute I could hardly sit still and the next I was dozing off against my pillow, chest pain and breathing difficulties effectively cured. I was like Cole, fazed by nothing.

The rest of the night was a disjointed blur. The last thing I remembered was walking through the hospital parking lot, the damp night air on my cheeks and a hard, muscular arm around my waist, keeping me upright.

Chapter Twenty

I didn’t leave the house at all the next day. In fact, I rarely left my room except to pee. Mom had taken the day off to babysit me, and Jeff and Tristan were gone for the day, doing some kind of father/son bonding activity. The house was quiet without them. I spent most of the day sleeping, feeling hungover and lethargic from the drugs.

When I woke up the first time at ten in the morning, my head fuzzy with sleep, I’d texted an apology to Cole. By noon, I still hadn’t heard back from him. Not surprising. I threw my phone on my bedside table and escaped into to sleep for a couple more hours.

The doorbell rang in the late afternoon while I was half-comatose in front of the TV, still unshowered and in my pajamas. Mom was in her bedroom, talking on the phone with one of her employees at work. I dragged myself off the couch and shuffled to the door, smoothing my tangled hair with one hand.