It’s astonishing how quickly the hurt of hearing him recount what he saw vanishes with red-hot anger in the blink of an eye. “And then what? You just left?”
Josiah shakes his head quickly, like he can see exactly where my train of thought is going. “No, I didn’t leave at that point. You stayed out of it for another day or so, but when you woke up again, you were pretty combative. You told me to get out, and that you didn’t want me there. The doctors had to sedate you because you were so worked up.”
“So, that’s when you left?”
He nods. “I didn’t want to. I tried to stay, but the doctor told me it might’ve been for the best if I left. With how upset you were, they were worried about your recovery if you woke up again and I was still there.”
“Is that why the doctors and nurses acted so clueless about who brought me in?” The question is mostly just me thinking out loud, but it all makes so much more sense now.
“Maybe. You were really angry seeing me, so maybe they thought it was for the best that you didn’t know altogether.”
Huffing out a dry laugh, I say, “Not really their call to make.”
“So, was that when you found out?” he asks.
Glancing over at him, he’s already watching me. His steel-gray eyes bright, not an ounce of judgement in sight.
“Yeah,” I reply to his question, nerves lining the inside of my stomach something fierce. “I found out the day before you saw me at the bar.”
“Do you…” He cuts himself off. “Can I ask you questions?”
I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek to try to stave off some of the panic coursing through me.
“Do you know who gave it to you?”
The question makes me pause for a moment, the answer obvious. But then I remember he has no way of knowing there’s never been anybody but Lana in that way. Now, I’m pausing for an entirely different reason, not wanting to be the one to tell him this.
But he asked, and I did say he could. So, I answer him, even if the words are slick with acid sliding off my tongue. “Yeah, I do,” I murmur, and then add much softer, “It was Lana.”
Josiah swallows hard, his Adam’s apple rolling in his throat. He hides his shock well; I’ll give him that. “What? How do you know?”
“Because, Josiah, your niece is the only person I’ve ever been intimate with.” And then just because I feel like being a prick, I add, “Underneath clothes, that is.”
His jaw drops open, only marginally, as I watch the wheels turn behind his eyes. “You mean you…”
Josiah doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.
I nod once. “She’s the only one.”
“After all these years… why?”
I know he doesn’t mean the question rudely. It’s a valid question. Sex and intimacy are huge parts of human nature. We crave and need that togetherness. We need to feel wanted.
“After the suicide attempt, I went to a psychiatric hospital for a little while. It helped, but not really. It was more like a Band-aid on a gunshot wound. I got out, and they recommended regular therapy, which I didn’t follow through with. I started using drugs pretty heavily, drinking incessantly, and the feelings of needing to make the noise stop started creeping back in again. Only this time, I didn’t want to do that. I ended up checking myself back into the psych hospital for another stint of inpatient, but this time I took it seriously.”
I keep my hands clasped together in my lap to stop them from trembling, my heart racing behind my ribs. It's strange talking about this out loud after bottling it up for so many years.
“By the time I got out, I knew I wasn’t in any place mentally to even attempt dating. Then I moved to Nashville, signed with the label shortly after that, and started touring. Even if I ever felt ready to date, there was never any time on the road for me to meet anyone in a serious way. Casual dating is mostly all you can do, and I can’t do casual. Having a conversation about HIV isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac. So, I decided it wasn’t worth it.”
I can’t read the expression on Josiah’s face. It’s unnerving, my chest feeling cut open and frayed.
He blows out a breath. “Wow. I just… I guess I’m clueless when it comes to this. How did you not find out until a year after she died? Did you not show any symptoms before?”
“Oh, trust me, I was clueless too,” I mutter with a small laugh. “After I found out, it took me a hell of a lot longer than it should’ve for me to get my head on straight and do some research, so don’t feel bad for not knowing.”
A bright bolt of electricity lights up the sky, and this room, moments before thunder rumbles in the sky. The rain is still coming down in sheets, pitter-pattering against my window. The weather outside oddly fitting for the ominous conversation taking place inside.
Picking at the skin around my left thumbnail, I answer his original question. “There were signs. Quite a few of them, actually. But I found out Lana was positive right after she died. I found the paperwork from her doctor in her things as I was going through it all. I got tested immediately, but it came back negative. The doctors told me it was probably too early to test. There’s something like a two-to-twelve-week window period with these types of things. He advised me to come back and retest at a later date, but I didn’t.
