Page 82 of Dirty Little Secrets
“No,” I reply far too fast. “I’m not?—”
“It’s a bit invasive,” he says in a soft tone. “You’re allowed to be scared.”
“I just…” I let out a breath. “I don’t like thingsinside of me.”
He reigns in a dirty thought. “It’s unnerving, I know.” Without hesitation, he reaches down and clasps my hand. “You’ll be fine, Emery. Let’s go.”
My gaze snaps down to his firm grip. “I don’t need a babysitter, Quinton.”
“No,” he hums, leading me to the procedure room. “But you could use a friend, can’t you? Plus, you’ll be all loopy afterward. Better safe than sorry, right?”
All I can think about as I enter the exam room is Damon. How angry he’d be that Quin is with me right now. How furious he’d look knowing Quin’s fingers are locked with mine. How discouraged he’d feel knowing I didn’t give him access to this depressing part of my life.
A fountain of guilt cascades onto me as I lay down on the table, exposed, weak, and terrifyingly vulnerable. I want this room to swallow me whole. Make me disappear. I can’t stand it.
“Relax, darling,” Quinton whispers as the technician hands me a sedative. “I’m right here.”
It shouldn’t be comforting. His words shouldn’t lull me. But they do. Or it’s the effects of the drugs. Must be the drugs.
Quinton stays close by my side, his steady breathing and the warmth of his hand in mine soothing me through the anxiety and discomfort.
The transoesophageal echocardiogram is disgustingly invasive, and I can feel the probe moving inside my esophagus as images of my heart are captured. I try to focus on my breathing and not let the fear take over, but it's hard.
What if they find something wrong? What if I fucked it all up? What if I’m dying all over again? What if this heart doesn’t like its new home? It’s not a very hospitable environment. I would understand if it wanted to leave.
Quinton seems to sense my worry and squeezes my hand gently. "You're doing great, darling," he whispers. "Just a few more minutes."
But it’s not a few more minutes. It’s the rest of my life. Wondering. Worrying. Waiting for something to go wrong. This heart has an expiration date. Survival rates aren’t disputable. They're facts.
Five years: 64 percent. Ten years: 53 percent. Fifteen years: 40 percent. Twenty years? A measly 26 percent.
I usually love numbers. But these ones? These ones break my fucking heart.
“Alright, we’re done here,” Dr. Newman says as Quin helps me sit up and hands me a little cup of water. I take a few small sips. “Dr. Yang will follow up with you in a week or so.”
“How…” My voice comes out hoarse and groggy. “How does it look?”
Dr. Newman remains neutral. “Dr. Yang will?—”
“Thanks,” I wave him off. So useless. I glance up at Quin, deflated and disoriented. “Let’s go. I want to leave.”
“Let’s just wait a minute,” he suggests, clamping both his hands around mine, stopping the trembles of anxiety. “Let’s just sit, okay? There’s no rush to leave.”
And so we sit there in silence. Another test. Another set of complex equations. Am I failing? Or will I pass?
Is there a difference?
THE DEEP DIVE
DAMON
The temperamental Decembersun beats down on my face, water lapping against the shore as I stare out into the Hudson River. This is where it all ended. This is where I lost a part of myself that I thought I’d never get back. A chill courses down my spine as I glance at the exact location where the chopper went down. Where their last breaths were taken. It should scare me, frighten me beyond belief, but it’s calm. Almost serene in its stillness.
My gaze snaps to a seagull flying overhead. It glides with magnificent ease before diving down toward the water, its wings tucked tightly against its body.
I can see its determination as it focuses on target—a small fish swimming just below the surface. In a swift motion, the seagull scoops the fish out of the water.The fish helplessly flaps its fins as the seagull flies away, triumphant.
I used to know how that feels—victory. To see something and take it. With no second thought, with no regard, with no guilt. The fish struggles against the talons until it doesn’t. That’s what happens when you take an animal out of its natural environment. It dies. It becomes a victim of fate.
