30. Georgie
CHAPTER THIRTY
GEORGIE
You never really know just how much someone affects your life until you're sitting all alone, wishing they were there while simultaneously wishing they were as far away as possible.
The reason is, you don't want them to see you as anything other than perfect.
This is how I feel with Noah. I love him, I am in love with him; and falling was unexpected and yet so natural that it was hardly a surprise once I realized it.
But now that I know how I feel, it makes it that much harder to try and keep him at a distance.
I kept him away once and failed. I couldn't let him see this again, even if he said he wanted to be a part of everything with me.
It was too difficult, and I know that it would only result in the same ending that Brandon and I had.
Resentment and anger at something I can't control.
No matter how much I wanted to spend my life cuddled up in his embrace, no matter how much I wanted to give and take and have that intimacy and all the things we could dream of, my life would never look as normal as he pictured it.
It was easier to let him down slowly, let him walk away before it became too much.
Easier to be in pain and miserable alone than to bring everyone down with you on the way.
But the moment I got on that bus and watched Noah in the driveway of his parents home, fading away as the bus carried on its route, I knew I fucked up.
I fucked up so hard, I saw that look on his face, on Franny's face; the look of disappointment, of fear, of a broken heart from not being included or trusted in this scenario.
But all I knew was I had to get out of there, I had to leave before anyone realized the smell was coming from me.
I dreaded every second of that baby shower, and not because I hated Noah's family.
On the contrary, I loved Sienna even after just meeting her, loved her energy and her spirit and her love for her friends and family and especially her brother.
But I knew that if I didn't want to ruin her night, I had to get out of there.
I knew the smells, knew the feelings happening to my body that I tried to play off as casual, to make it inconspicuous of anything.
But the moments came in flashes, and I focused more on keeping myself upright and conscious.
Alone on the bus, I barely remembered when the bell dinged and I got off at a stop.
I was too worried, too focused on the constant replay of Noah's heart breaking as he met my eyes for that split second as the bus drove past him.
I was too focused on maintaining my composure and getting myself to the place I needed to be.
I thought maybe I imagined it, all of it, maybe this was all some fever dream, and I would soon wake up from it to find that no relationship had ever felt this right, that waking up felt wrong.
Maybe Noah was a figment of my imagination, my subconscious playing a cruel trick on me, making me love someone who wasn't real, who had no flaws, when I was nothing but flaws and scars.
Maybe it was delirium from cellulitis or sepsis setting in.
There's always that option. A far more likely option, in fact.
I started feeling it halfway through the party, and I knew.
I'd felt the pain before, but the very first time I had no idea what was happening.
It started with the tiniest pinprick of a pain I thought might be a bug bite or a bee sting.
It bloomed out of nowhere, this tiny pinch of pain started right at my navel and stayed, a constant sting.
I thought it would go away, so I paid no mind to the tiny pink splotch at the source and carried on with my day.
But quickly, I realized it wasn't going anywhere, and that pinprick turned into a sunburn, across my entire stomach and in my belly button. It was a hot, searing pain with no end.
It felt like being stabbed with a hot poker, but instead of the heat subsiding after the brand, it grew hotter, and deeper.
I started sweating, but I was freezing cold all day.
I felt nauseous at the thought of eating.
I was dizzy, delirious, and could barely stand when Franny found me on my couch and demanded I go to the hospital.
I hadn't realized it then, but the red splotch turned into a rash that looked like a world map across my skin, a red hot angry map that took months to fade away and made me fearful to ever experience it again.
So yes, I know the exact feeling I felt then is the very same feeling I am having now.
But this time? It's my leg. Starting at the area that the doctor deroofed at the sit spot of my butt, and burning it's way down, down, down my thigh until I can't stand it anymore.
The moment I stumble into that emergency room, I know I'll be admitted to the hospital.
I take a deep breath, use my shaking hands to type out the 911 text to my mom before I stumble from the bus stop, down across the street through the emergency room doors, into the waiting area.
Nurses catch my eye as I hold the wall to keep myself upright.
Colours start to dot my vision, and when the nurses ask me what's going on, it takes all my energy to explain my situation.
They don't even triage me the moment I show them the ever-growing red mark down my thigh.
They put me in a wheelchair, hushing my shrieks of pain as they get me to sit on the searing rash, calling for the first available doctor to assist. I can feel my heartbeat softly in my chest. It skips slightly, thumping hard to keep up with the panic and pain.
Doctors and nurses are whizzing around me, the lights go spotty again.
They prep an IV and speak in medical jargon I barely understand.
The world moves around me, and all I can do is wish they will take my pain seriously, give me something to make me comfortable or to make it at least bearable to breathe.
My head is throbbing, and I can't take it anymore.
I break down, no longer trying to be that strong person who puts on a brave face.
I beg them to help me, to tell my mom I love her, because this feels a lot closer to death than I'd like to be.
The doctor orders a nurse to do something as she stands beside me, trying to calm my hysteria.
But their words are like water in my ears, and I can't make out what they're saying or doing.
I feel like I am drowning on dry land and no one is going to save me.
The nurse's soothing hands are cool against my hot skin, her lips hushing me as she says, "It's okay sweetie, we've got you now."
They must put something in my IV because it takes effect almost instantly. The pain slowly lifts, not completely, but to a point where I can breathe, where my eyes slip closed, and I can rest. I remember nothing after that.
I wake to the gentle brush of a hand on my forehead, pushing my damp hair off my face.
It's cool to the touch of my still hot skin, and I let out a sigh that must let the person know I'm coming back to reality.
I have no idea what time or day it is, and it takes a few moments for my mind to remember what happened.
The baby shower, Noah's face. The pain. God—the pain.
I groan and open my eyes, the god-awful bright light blinding me. I move to cover them and in doing so, pain erupts down my leg.. The pounding in my chest slowly returns, and it brings tears to my covered eyes.
"It's okay, love. Let me turn the lights off for you." I'm still in a curtained room, likely still in the ER, but I'm covered in warm blankets, and I can feel the IV in the crease of my arm when I try to bend it. I know that warm voice, and it makes me even more upset.
"Mama," I try not to sound pathetic, but I fail miserably. Once the lights flick off above my small, curtained room, I'm able to open my eyes and look at her.
My mother has aged gracefully, her hair only greying at the roots, black tendrils that frame her face, her high cheekbones and button nose a spitting image of mine.
But she looks older somehow today. Maybe it's the way she twists her dress between her fingertips.
The way she glances out of the room nervously for doctors to come in, the way her cheeks pull in because she purses her lips, or the wrinkles of worry and stress on her forehead.
Me. I caused that. Those lines are from years of worry from me.
"You were very close this time, Georgie." Her tone isn't admonishing or angry, just stating the simple facts.
"I know. It just comes on so fast and then—"
"Noah said you were at a baby shower all afternoon and didn't look well for most of it." Again, not giving me trouble, stating the facts.
"You talked to him?"
"I had to know what to tell the doctors. He's the only one able to keep tabs lately. He wants to come and see you."
"No." I choke out, wincing at my quick movement.
"Georgia." This time, there is admonishment in her voice as she takes my hand in hers, "You can't just push him away when things go wrong. He wants to be there for you."
"I—"
How do I explain the absolute pit in my stomach telling me that Noah doesn’t deserve to have to be with someone like me? How do I tell her that even though I have accepted my life as it is and not for all that I’m missing out on, that I don’t want others to be subjected to it too?
I move to sit up more to talk to her more about it, but it ends in hissing and crying out in pain. The constant burn in my skin has stopped, but the moment I move it erupts a fire across my now damaged skin and through every nerve ending. It makes it hard to catch my breath.
Mom jumps, brushing my hair off my face again, "It's okay. Stay. I'll get the doctor to bring you something."