Chapter 26 Lucy #2
"You didn't survive just to back down now," I told myself firmly. "Whatever happens, you're going to live. Really live."
For the first time in my life, that wasn't just a distant hope—it was a tangible possibility. Even with fear coursing through me, I felt something else too: the intoxicating rush of possibility.
The clock ticked steadily toward ten.
Nine-fifteen.
Nine-twenty.
Nine-thirty.
Sitting on the floor, I leaned against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching Seattle thrum with life below.
My mind had detached from my body, floating somewhere between the glass and the distant horizon.
It was a familiar sensation—this disconnection—though the reasons for it had changed.
In Moab, I'd dissociated to escape the endless monotony of isolation. Here, I did it to process the overwhelming rush of new experiences that threatened to drown me.
My thoughts drifted to last week—to the day that had finally gotten through my stupid head that my life was forever altered.
Two nurses appeared at my door, their faces open and friendly in a way I was still getting used to after years of seeing mostly eyes above surgical masks or features through hazmat visors. Janet and Leanne, both specialists in Omega transitional care.
"We have a surprise for you, Lucy," Janet, standing a head taller than Leanne, said. Her eyes were sparkling. "Dr. Swann has approved a short outing."
I didn’t understand at first. "Outing?" The word felt foreign on my tongue.
"A trip outside the Institute," explained Leanne, her compact frame nearly vibrating with excitement. "Just a couple of hours. We have all the necessary precautions ready."
They showed me the emergency kit they'd carry—medication that would stabilize my immune system if it began to falter, an inhaler-like device that would deliver an immediate dose of synthetic Omega hormones if my levels dropped, and a direct line to Doctor Swann in case of any complications.
"Are you sure it's safe?" I asked, hope and terror battling within me.
Janet grinned. "Your recent test results were amazing, Lucy. You don’t need to keep living in a bubble."
Her words made me think of my abandoned blog, of my jokes about being a bubble girl, and of how I used to think my life would never truly begin.
The nurses led me out of my suite. My heart hammered so violently as we entered one of the elevators and began descending that I was certain the nurses could hear it.
My palms kept sweating, and I wiped them repeatedly against the simple jeans they’d given me to wear.
The sweater was hunter green—Leanne said it made my eyes pop—the jacket was fawn brown, and the shoes were incredibly comfortable white sneakers.
It wasn’t a glamorous outfit, not something a hip, healthy woman in her twenties would pick, but to me it was the most wonderful clothing in the world because I was wearing it to go outside.
They guided me to a side exit. It wasn’t the front door, but it felt so much better than entering through the underground garage. I was stepping from a ground floor level out into cold, fresh air.
Well… the city’s version of fresh air.
The moment the Institute's glass doors slid open, it was sensory overload to the point my head ached.
Traffic noises, conversations, the scent of exhaust and food and perfume and a thousand other things that made up the cocktail of Seattle.
When I breathed, I could taste the city on my tongue.
Not sterile hospital, but something intoxicatingly alive.
"Take it slow," Janet murmured, noticing my rapid breathing.
I was fine though, just marveling at the way my warm breath fogged into the chilly air, so I was inhaling and exhaling quickly to watch.
We walked half a block to a waiting car that took us to the Seattle Art Museum. They'd chosen it carefully—not too crowded on weekday mornings, controlled environment, plenty of places to sit if I became overwhelmed.
There was so much to look at, so much to digest. At one point, I stood in front of a massive canvas splashed with colors so vibrant they seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat.
Art was so different when viewed in real life instead of through a screen.
I could see the texture of the paint, the deliberate brushstrokes, the places where the artist had used a heavier or lighter hand.
It felt like the paintings were as desperate to be seen, as I was desperate to see them.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a stranger commented, stopping beside me.
I froze, startled by the casual interaction. What if this stranger was sick? What if I caught something? What if… I didn’t have to worry about that as much anymore?
“Are you okay, sweetie?” The gray-haired woman with kind eyes studied me. She was acting like I was normal. Like I belonged there.
"Yes, I’m fine," I managed to reply. "Just overwhelmed seeing it in person."
She smiled. "First time at the museum?"
"First time at any museum."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t press for more information.
She simply nodded and moved on, leaving me with the thunderous realization that I really was becoming just Lucy.
Not sick Lucy. Not time-consuming Lucy. Not Lucy with parents who couldn’t take it anymore.
Lucy who could go to a museum and talk to a stranger.
Dampness filled my eyes.
I choked on a sob.
"Lucy, what’s wrong?” Janet moved around me, her trained eyes looking for signs I was in distress.
“I’m just,” I swallowed, fighting back the threatening tears, “happy.”
An arm wrapped around my shoulder. I glanced over, finding Leanne. She smiled, checks ruddy and eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “You should be happy, Lucy. Happy for the rest of your life. You deserve it.”
My gaze moved back to the painting.
To the riotous colors splashed across the canvas.
Happy for the rest of my life? Was that even possible?