Well, I guess every addict says that, now, don’t they? I know I have. And newsflash… she didn’t cut any of it out. But I’m the naïve and pathetic one who stayed. I couldn’t even say why. Probably because I’d grown to need her. Not in a financial way, like some people end up. But really, truly, deep down in my soul, I felt like I needed her to survive. Like I wouldn’t make it through this bullshit world if I didn’t have her holding me up.
My family was trash. We weren’t even on speaking terms at that point. And forget about any friends. Finding kids our age willing to go against their family values was next to impossible. Lana was truly all I had. Maybe I should’ve cut my losses when this first started. I ended up alone in the end anyway.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a true trip down memory lane if I didn’t rehash the worst memory of them all. The night that wholly changed the way I looked at her and at our relationship. The night I knew things could never, and would never, be the same. They couldn’t. You can’t come back from a blow like that. It was the night after her funeral, and I was still trying to hold on to what we had. Still trying to believe the old Lana was in there, even when she died.
“Son, you can’t be here.”
My gaze darts toward the direction of the gruff voice, an elderly man coming into view. He’s barely more than a silhouette, the sky having darkening since I arrived.How long have I been here?
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I sit up straighter. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s after-hours, kid. You can’t be here. I’m sorry.”
Standing up, I swipe the dirt off my ass before walking toward the exit. I make it a few steps before I get dizzy and stumble into a random headstone. A hand wraps around my shoulder, steadying me. Looking over my shoulder, my gaze connects with the man, concern filling his eyes.
“You okay there?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply, pulling out of his grip. “Lost my balance is all.”
He says something, but it doesn’t register because I’m out of the gates and sliding into the driver’s seat before I can focus on anything else. My head is spinning and throbbing, but that doesn’t make any sense. I barely had any alcohol here. Definitely not enough to throw off my balance.
* * *
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bradley.”A tall, middle-aged man wearing a white coat and navy-blue slacks shuts the door behind him as he examines the folder in his hands. Glancing up at me, he says, “My name is Dr. Thomas. What brings you in today?”
This is the shit I hate about doctors’ offices. In order to get the appointment, you have to explain yourself to the receptionist. Then, on arrival, they make you fill out these in-depth forms about what exactly is wrong, only for the nurse to go over it all with you as she checks you in. But then when the doctor comes in, they act clueless as if they don’t have the answer to the goddamn question in their hands.
“I haven’t been feeling well. I can’t seem to kick whatever it is.”
He offers a smile that’s clearly only meant for pleasantries. “Right. It looks like we have some nausea, body aches, headaches, fevers, and dizziness. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Any other symptoms you’ve been experiencing?”
“My throat is off and on sore.”
“How long have these been going on?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Several months, probably. Not everything at once, but here and there for a few months.”
“Have you noticed any swollen lymph nodes?” He’s studying me with one brow quirked.
“I have no idea, Doc.”
“Any type of rash ever? Or sores?”
“No rash. I’ve had a couple canker sores, but they’ve gone away.”
He scans the folder in his hands, flipping over to the second page. “It says here you’re not sexually active. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“And when was the last time you were sexually active?” The way he’s asking all of this without lifting his eyes off the folder makes my insides twist.
“A year, sir.”
He finally sets the folder down on the counter before stepping up to me. “I’m going to examine you, is that okay?”
