Abruptly, I snapped my eyes open and jammed the key into the ignition. My Ford Focus coughed and sputtered, a mechanical protest against the Cleveland cold, before finally rattling to life. The vibration of the steering wheel felt harsh and real against my palms, a jarring contrast to the ghostly, velvet heat still simmering in my veins.
What the hell was I going to tell Elisa?
The question chased me all the way back to campus, looping through my mind as I navigated the slushed streets. I couldn't tell her about the black limo, the bank building , or the man who had looked at my blood as if it were a vintage wine. I couldn't even explain the ninety nine percent chance of death without her calling the police or a psych ward.
At the door of our campus apartment, I paused. I leaned against the doorframe, my legs feeling like lead, and used the heels of my hands to rub some color into my gaunt, pale cheeks. I was dredging up the very last reserves of my strength, trying to assemble a mask of "fine" before I walked inside. Elisa was already worried sick; she'd spent the last year watching me vanish piece by piece. She didn't deserve to be burdened with the terrifying, erotic, and impossible details of my afternoon.
I unlocked the door and pushed it open in one fluid, practiced movement, trying to hide the way my hand shook.
"I'm back!" I called out, my voice sounding thin and artificial as I headed down the short, narrow hall to the common living area.
Elisa looked up instantly from her laptop, her eyes wide with relief. "Hey, Amanda's here," she said to the grid of faces on her screen, her voice tight. "Gotta go."
"Hi, Amanda!" the faces chorused, waving with that brand of forced, pitying cheer I'd grown to loathe. "Bye, Amanda!" Hannah and Sarah hung up, their digital boxes turning black.
Elisa opened her mouth, no doubt to scold me for the cryptic, terrifying texts and for going radio silent, but as she caught a full look at my face, she seemed to change her mind. Her expression shifted, settling into a brittle, fragile smile that didn't reach her eyes.
I never was very good at fooling her. She could see the shadows under my eyes and the way my sweater hung off my frame like a shroud.
"I grabbed some extra dinner for you at the dining hall," she said, her voice soft as she patted a foam takeout box on the coffee table. "Eat. Chelsea and Christine are already gone."
For our senior year, the four of us had ditched the cramped, chaotic dorms for this on campus pre furnished apartment. It was a utilitarian space, four tiny bedrooms, two cramped bathrooms, and a shared kitchen where the smell of burnt toast and cheap coffee always lingered. It was supposed to be the launchpad for our adult lives. Now, it just felt like a waiting room.
I felt a sharp stab of guilt. Chelsea and Christine were probably already three rounds deep into a Friday night binge, but Elisa had put her entire life on hold to sit in the quiet and wait for the girl who was dying.
"You don't have to stay in because of me," I said, leaning against the back of the sofa. "It's Friday. Sarah and Hannah will probably have a dozen people packed into their place by now. Go have a drink."
"Maybe we'll go later." She shrugged, tossing her blonde hair over one shoulder in a way that was supposed to look casual but failed. "So... what did the doctor say? Your texts didn't tell me anything except some random phone number."
I flopped onto the couch, the cushions sighing under my weight. I kicked my feet up on the coffee table and buried my chin in the collar of my jacket, still seeking a warmth that the apartment's radiator couldn't provide. "It didn't work."
"What?" Elisa's smile froze, then slowly dissolved.
"The Alemtuzumab. It didn't work," I said. Saying the words aloud in our living room made them feel heavy and final, a permanent stain on the air. "The cancer... it's getting worse. The white cell count is climbing."
"Oh, Amanda," Elisa whispered, her face crumpling. She reached out, but her hand stopped halfway, as if she were afraid I might shatter if she touched me. "What is she going to try now? There has to be a Plan B. A new trial?"
I shook my head, staring at a stain on the carpet.
"Amanda?"
Dammit. I blinked hard, my vision blurring. I hadn't cried during the entire surreal trip from Mr. Jason's office to College Park. I hadn't cried in the limo or the Focus. I wasn't about to start now. "She told me to call a... a hospice program."
"Hospice?" Elisa's voice rose an octave, sharp and panicked. "But you're not…"
"Right," I said, cutting her off before she could say the word end. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to admit that the medical world had officially given up on me. "But she gave me another number. To a... a private clinic. For an experimental procedure."
I hesitated, the copperplate card feeling like a brand in my pocket. I wasn't sure how to describe the man in the shadows or the bank building. "...a clinic that operates a bit differently."