Page 11 of How You See Me
My gaze drifts to the window, thinking of Ava, the promise Major’s forcing me to break, and the unknowns in the darkness beyond. How long have I been out?
He glances at the monitor, now beeping at an unhealthy speed.
“The IV will help the dehydration issue, but you need to find a way to keep your blood pressure under control.” He presses a button on the monitor to stop the incessant noise. “A healthy diet and rest would help some. I’ll get you started with dinner.”
He orders food and says the doctor will want it eaten before he’ll consider release. I gear up to argue that I’m fine, but after my body betrayed me, my mind went with it, and nothing populates.
I didn’t collapse because I’m weak. It happened because I’m alone in this. I’m stuck watching my family struggle through a screen—phone calls and video chats and texts I’m too scared to open.
“The doctor will be in shortly. If you want to get out of here, don’t do anything stupid like ripping out your IV again.”
“I didn’t know where I was.”
“Exactly.”
So I had a momentary lapse of clarity and hadn’t eaten in a while. I’m not a danger to myself or others. I’m frustrated. Not being able to get to my sister when sheneeds me, my absentee father poking in nose in where it doesn’t belong, and my overworked mother is what’s breaking me.
“Glad to see you upright,” the medical officer says as he enters, calm and precise in his white coat and military composure. He scans the machines. “You’re stable, but not going anywhere tonight. Let’s get that out of the way up front.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I don’t. But I do. “I’ve been distracted.”
“Too distracted to take care of yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What's causing that?” He rolls a stool closer and sits beside the bed, glancing at the stupid heart monitor picking up pace and giving me away. “I’m here to help, son. I will not stand for an environment where our officers or anyone on base are worked so hard they pass out on the lawn.”
“It’s not the job. I could do that in my sleep.”
“Home, then?”
My fingers fidget with the seam of my T-shirt, now stained with dirt smudges down the front. “My little sister has acutelymphocyticleukemia.”
“How old is she?”
“Nine.”
He nods. “And you want to be with her.”
“More than anything, but she wants me to go on a road trip we planned. Alone.”
“Why?”
I exhale. “For hope, I think. A distraction. I don’t know.”
“So go.”
“I can’t. My leave was denied. Twice.”
He frowns. “Are you on a mission? Preparing for deployment?”
“No. Just regular base operations.”
He crosses a leg and taps a pen against his chin, the clipboard balancing on his lap. “Do you not have any days saved?”
