“It was fun.”
One eyebrow lifts and he stares at me, waiting. I clear my throat but don’t add anything. His fingers start tapping on the doughnut with annoyance, dropping flakes of sugar onto his pajama bottoms, and I roll my eyes at him.
I open my bag to take out the sketches, placing them on the table in front of him.
“Oh, wow.”
“I know.”
“I can practically see him be the cruel villain in a fantasy story,” he muses. “But turns out, he’s not really a villain. He was framed by the presumedhero who stole the love of his life and killed his beloved wyvern to bring its head to the king and get a reward. But the mysterious… Grumpy man, can’t give up his need for vengeance, and kills the false hero’s family, and even if he doesn’t mean to, the woman he loved.”
I roll my eyes. Jack loves his happy endings, but can’t help with the dramas and tragedies. He takes the sketch I made from mind, and looks at the title I gave it. “Flirty Late Guy, missing his ferry on purpose on a rainy Wednesday”.
“He runs, meaning to leave the continent, to catch a boat. But when he arrives at the docks, something tugs in his chest. A warning. He turns around, and heads for a tavern where he plans to get wasted for a bit, until the uncomfortable feeling eases. After a few ales, he goes for the money he keeps in a pouch at his waist but finds it gone, and sees the culprit running away. He goes for the chase, sobering up, and when he finally catches him… Her, he realizes. He knows her. She’s the false hero’s sister. But he can feel it deep inside. They were meant to cross paths. And…”
“Jack.”
He lifts his shining eyes with a jolt of surprise.
“Yes?”
“Do you need to write it all down and start categorizing and listing your new ideas?”
He nods vigorously. “I do.”
“Do you mind if I go to sleep for a couple of hours? I’m not working this afternoon nor tomorrow to take you to your appointment in Seattle. We’ll catch up this afternoon if you want?”
“The physical therapist comes at 2, and the nurse shortly after,” he says absent-mindedly. “And the pizza is in the fridge.”
“I’ll open the door for them and I’ll get you from your office if you’re still working.”
He nods again and grabs two doughnuts, stuffs one whole in his mouth and turns to wheel away.
I watch him go with a tight smile. He already made hundreds of plans like this one. Some of them turned into books, good enough to be published and become best-sellers, but most of them just sit in a desk drawer, waiting. He loves writing about romances, fantasy, sometimes sci-fi. But always a happyending. “Real life already sucks, if I make people cry, I want it to be happy tears”. Sometimes I wonder if he enjoys the process of dreaming the story rather than writing it.
After gulping down the one remaining doughnut, clearing the dishwasher, and finishing my coffee, I take a long shower to clean the night away.
Casual sex was what I needed. Not really something I am used to doing—definitely a first—but it feels good to let go for once. My muscles are a little sore and I feel tired. Good tired.
It still feels weird to know that I had sex with a man—whose name I don’t even know—and won’t ever see him again. It probably won’t become a habit, but I can understand why some people have one night stands. It’s oddly freeing.
“Alright, what about him?” Jack whispers with a smile.
I narrow my eyes to study the old man sitting in the cold and sterile waiting room next to the door. I glance at Jack with a little frown. He knows I don’t like to play the game here, where most people are sick.
He only gives me puppy eyes and I indulge him with a sigh. Maybe I can give them a better life in my storytelling game…
“He’s got a pale band on his ring finger, but no ring,” I whisper back. “Maybe he has a torrid affair with the medical secretary at the front desk. Maybe he’s here waiting for her shift to be over, and that would be why he has a little bag with him.”
“An overnight bag. Clever, yes.”
He chuckles and warmth spreads in my chest. Despite his illness, my brother almost never complains and always smiles. Deep down, I know he must be in a lot of pain all the time. He wouldn’t have so much morphine and medical care at home if he wasn’t. But, for my sake or his own, he never says anything.
Maybe someday it’ll be all too much. Maybe he’ll just snap and tell me that he was never truly fine, and he was just trying to spare me. Me, his little sister. We never cared that we were not really blood related. We were both adopted as babies, and we grew up together. He’s the only family I have now. I’d sacrifice my unknown biological parents and our asshole adoptive ones if it could save his life, his beautiful soul. But it never mattered to him that he was the one who was sick, weaker. I’m his baby sister. And he would never accept to do anything that could be a burden to me. Even showing me how much pain he endures.
“What about the sparse bald spots on his head?” He asks with a little tilt of his head.
It doesn’t look like he is just balding because of age. I wouldn’t even call it bald spots, since there is barely any hair left on his head. As we are in a Neurologist waiting room, the first thing that comes to mind is probably chemo for a brain tumor. But that’s not what the game is about.
