Chapter Twenty-Four Julian #3
“Oh, she’s responsible, alright,” the second attendant says under her breath. “God bless.”
I peer up into his eyes, incredibly grateful to see their placid blue right now. “How’s Mr. Gutierrez?”
“He’s in stable but rocky condition. Come on, I’ll take you to him.
” Julian takes the duffel I’ve packed for Mr. Gutierrez and my bag, slings them over his shoulder, and leads me by the hand through the doors.
The calming neutrals transition to pure white, the light symphonic music replaced by beeping machines and intercom announcements, secured doors and keypad locks.
This is the true face of the hospital, and it fills me with dread.
I swallow. “So, what’s an akinetic crisis?”
“I didn’t know, either, until I started reading more on the disease.
Essentially, akinesia is the absence of movement, and it’s often a sign of dopaminergic withdrawal.
Sometimes an akinetic crisis is triggered by medication resistance, but luckily in Mr. Gutierrez’s case, it was a GI infection that caused it. ”
“How’s that lucky?”
“Because we can treat the bacterial infection he has with antibiotics, which in turn will help his body accept his medications again. Medication resistance is much harder to remedy. Diarrhea leads to poor medication absorption, so when he told me he’d been suffering from a stomach virus all week, I suspected that might’ve triggered the crisis.
” He leads me down a hall lined with patient rooms and busy, serious-faced nurses.
“Without his medication, his body began the process of shutting down. The risk of choking is very high, and eventually, the akinetic immobility would’ve affected his ability to breathe. ”
I press a hand to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
Julian stops outside of a patient room, the name on the door identifying Franco Gutierrez inside. He runs both hands down my arms. “He’s going to be okay because we caught it in time, though he may be here for the next few days recovering. He’ll be really glad to see you, Nomi.”
Julian knocks lightly on the door, then sticks his head in. “Mr. Gutierrez? Quit napping—someone wants to see you.”
“Julian! Don’t wake him up!”
He turns to me, grinning. “Just kidding, he’s awake. Go on in. I’m going to chat with his doctor.”
I enter the small room. Mr. Gutierrez is hooked up to an army of machines, his burnished skin sallow against the hospital gown he’s wearing. Beneath the cannula fitted to his nose, he still manages to smile. “My friend. Thank you for coming.”
“Always, Mr. G.” I rush to his side and take his hands. “Though you should’ve called me sooner. Your house—” I pause, not wanting to criticize, but not knowing how to put it, either.
“Looks like it belongs to a madman, I know.” Mr. Gutierrez grimaces. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I get so… I don’t know. Proud isn’t the right word.” He thinks for a moment. “Angry, maybe. Resentful. I hate needing so much help. I get so angry at my body for standing in the way of my life.”
My eyebrows soften, and I squeeze his hands, careful not to upset the IV taped there. “I understand.”
Mr. Gutierrez smiles sadly. “I know you do. You’ve been sick lately, too. Yes?”
I blow out a long breath, then nod. When Mr. Gutierrez was a new client, he struggled to trust that cannabis could offer relief until I shared my story with him. It’s easier talking about my health with someone who faces their own body’s betrayal every day. “How can you tell?”
“You’ve lost weight, and your eyes look sad.”
“I am sad.”
Mr. Gutierrez swallows. “I am, too.”
We sit there, witnessing each other’s feelings of helplessness, and saying nothing.
Because sometimes, witnessing without platitudes is what you need most. I get why the people who love me want to solve my chronic illness; I wish wanting to solve it was all it took.
But part of coming to terms with it is accepting that sometimes, you’re not okay, and it may be a long time before that changes.
It looks like you’ve lost hope, which makes others feel so uncomfortable.
But when hope’s based on denial, that hope can haunt you, sour your days, push you toward a never-ending hunt for the cure so you can finally go back to normal.
That kind of hope prevents acceptance, which has been far more healing for me than hoping to exhaustion ever was.
“Does Julian know?”
I shake my head.
“Nomi,” he says simply.
“He won’t understand.” My eyes find Julian outside the glass window, where he stands, chin in hand, listening thoughtfully to the on-call neurologist. “He’ll panic. He’ll make me into his patient and try to fix me.”
“People never grow if we don’t challenge them to try.”
“But what if he doesn’t respect the choices I’ve made?”
“What if he does? He’s come a long way, Nomi.”
“I want to be Nomi, just Nomi, with him. Not Nomi who can’t eat. Or Nomi crying in the bathroom. Or Nomi who shits fire.”
Mr. Gutierrez smiles. “But all of those Nomis deserve to be loved. Even Nomi who shits fire.”
“No, she doesn’t.” I drop his hands suddenly, standing up. His brows draw together, and I sigh. “I’m sorry. This hospital is getting to me. I’ve… had a hard time here before.”
“I understand, dear,” Mr. Gutierrez says, though his voice is pained.
I hate that I did that, but I hate being here even more.
Part of me is terrified that I belong here, too.
Not as the doctor I once wanted to be, or a visiting friend, but as a patient.
A sick person who’s getting sicker. If not now, soon.
Someday. When I can no longer pretend I have my health under control, which feels imminent since I’ve barely eaten for weeks now.
And when that happens, when I finally break down and submit to the testing and specialists, what then? What will they find?
I’m not ready for my name to be on the door.
I glance back, but Julian’s no longer in view. “I’m going to see what the neurologist had to say. Be right back.”
With effort, Mr. G gives me a thumbs-up. I find Julian at the end of the hall, chatting with a short woman in a doctor’s coat talking with big, exaggerated gestures, who claps him on the back, then leaves.
“Who was that?”
“Dr. Riveras, the hospital director.”
My eyebrows rise. “The one who put you on probation?”
“The very same.”
“She doesn’t seem like she hates you at all.”
“Right?” Julian shakes his head in wonder. “It’s not even a full moon.”
I struggle to smile.
“Listen, visiting hours are over. We should say goodbye for the night.”
We start to go back in, but a quick glance through the window shows Mr. G out cold, snoring. I pause there, my hand on the glass, watching. He looks so frail in that bed, surrounded by machines.
“He’s going to be okay, Nomi. They’re taking great care of him, I promise.
” Julian takes my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles.
“I’d like to take care of you tonight, if you’re up for it.
” He smiles tentatively. “Take you back to my place, grab some dinner, maybe? You could stay the night since it’s already so late. ”
“Oh, I ate before I came.” The lie comes easily, though all I’ve had is a handful of chubby pretzel sticks.
But I’m feeling okay, for now, the carbs having done me some good.
And despite the strange brand of melancholy being in Julian’s world provokes, I want to see more.
I’m not ready to leave it quite yet, or him.
I’ve missed him.
“But I’d love to see your place. For a bit.”
“Yeah?” His face lights up, and he squeezes my hand.
“Yeah.”
The smile he gives me stays put as we head out, leaving a trail of surprised doctors, nurses, and staff in his wake.
It’s weird, seeing him in this environment that knows him so well.
Or the old Julian, anyway. It slips onto him like a well-tailored blazer, dressing up the man I know in a professional persona I don’t.
He’s more important here, grudgingly respected even if openly disliked, like a crown of prestige appeared on his head the second he walked in.
Even in his disgrace, he’s more important here than I’ve ever been anywhere.
We walk in the bronze glow of Rittenhouse Square’s quaint streetlamps, down the park’s main path to his building.
His condo has more square feet than mine and Eve’s apartments put together.
From the outside, the building’s architecture is vaguely European, with balconettes and intricate scrollwork flanking the large windows, but inside, it’s all sleek and modern lofts.
Exposed brick and matte-black framing the glass.
Julian’s bed is a massive feather-duvet affair in soft neutral tones that lies across from a wall of windows.
He sees me looking and steps behind me, gathering me into his arms. “It’s beautiful in winter, when they light up the square.
They hang these colored balls of light from the trees, and it paints my entire studio in rainbow.
” He kisses the top of my head. “It’s probably the only thing I like about this place. ”
“What?” I turn in his arms. “It’s beautiful here.”
“No. It’s empty here. But it’s beautiful now, with you in it.”
My hands drape across his neck, finding the warm stripe of skin between his button-down and slightly over-grown curls. How I’ve missed touching him this week, being touched by him. He looks as relieved as I feel to be standing here, in his arms. He holds me closer.
“Thank you.” The softness in my voice reflects the softness in his gaze.
“For what?”
“For listening. For getting Mr. Gutierrez the help he needs. For saving the day.” I smile ruefully as his fingers tighten against my hips.
“Thank you for showing me how.” He runs his hand down my cheek, my eyes fluttering closed as the feel of his skin against mine alights across my body.
“I know you’ve needed space, what with the hearing and everything going on, and I’ve tried to give it to you, even though it’s been killing me not to hold you like this, but… can I kiss you now, Nomi?”
“Yes.” Before the word fully sighs out, his lips press against my temple, trailing down my cheek, the tender line of my jaw.
“Oh, thank God,” he murmurs into my skin. With one hand enmeshed in my hair and the other gripped around my hip, he lavishes my neck with the gentle, sultry slide of his mouth.
“Is this what you want?” I manage, more to the ceiling than to him. “Philly Gen? This loft? This life?” This life that I don’t fit into.
“I always thought so,” he says after a long pause, then places a kiss gently on my forehead. “I don’t know anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I search his face.
“I want you, Nomi.” He searches mine right back, his eyes the cold, wintry blue of a deceptively hot flame.
“Everything about you. All of you. I want your smiles and your sighs and your arguments. I want your body lying beneath mine, across my lap, in my arms, holding me down, hugging me from behind. I want to be inside of you as much as you’re already inside of me.
” His hand caresses my jaw softly, then holds it firm.
“I want your first words in the morning and your last look of the evening. I want my name on your lips, and yours in my mouth. I want you, Nomi. So much,” he whispers as he stares into my eyes.
“It doesn’t leave room for anything else. ”
A small, soft breath trembles out of me, and he lifts me, cradling me easily to his chest, and walks me to his bed.