The curtains are thrown open wide and sunshine pours in through the glass, warming my face.
It’s hard to describe the past two weeks. Physically, I feel like shit. But they’ve still been two of the happiest weeks of my life. Logan is doting but I call him out when he gets overbearing. I’m seeing a side of him I only had glimpses of before. He’s kind and nurturing. A gentle giant. And he respects me enough not to cut me out of my own treatment process.
Like this morning, for example. He comes in carrying a stack of lab results, his brow furrowed.
“Are those from the experiments that ran overnight?” I reach for the papers.
Logan comes and sits beside me on the bed, not giving up the papers but holding them so that we can both look on.
“Your numbers are holding but we aren’t getting the improvement that were looking for.” His voice is gruff and I know he’s trying to hide his frustration from me.
“We knew this might take some time.” I interweave my fingers with his. “Cancer immunotherapy is still such a new field.”
He frowns down at the papers. “Not that new. It’s past time somebody figured this out.”
I look at him fondly. “And that somebody is going to be you?”
He finally tears his eyes away from the numbers and he meets my gaze. “It’s going to be us.” Then he frowns when he sees my breakfast plate. “You didn’t finish your eggs. You know you need your protein.”
I stick my tongue out but reach for the second half of a boiled egg. “I miss greasy bacon,” I moan.
“Eat all your grapefruit slices and blueberries, too. The antioxidants are good for you.”
“Yes, mother.” I pop a few blueberries into my mouth, just in time, too, because the next second I’m squealing as Logan jumps on top of me, knocking me backwards onto the bed. The papers go flying but Logan’s focus is only on me.
“You’ve got a mouth on you this morning. Is somebody feeling frisky? Want to play?”
He reaches around and gives me a swift, sharp smack on the ass and I yelp, then giggle. I squirm for a second to try to get away from him but I don’t have much energy and I don’t really want to get away from him anyway so I tap out with my palm and call, “Uncle, uncle! I give in.”
But Logan doesn’t roll off of me immediately. Instead he clutches me tighter and buries his nose in the crook of my neck and inhales.
“I love the way you smell,” he says in a low rumble.
I giggle and try to push him away, to no avail. “You’re weird.”
“You’re wonderful.”
Full body happy sigh. Then I remember I’m sick and the shifting back and forth flood of emotions makes me feel a little tipsy. Blinding happiness. Followed by gut-clenching anxiety at the thought of losing it all and sadness at my day-to-day limitations. But then Logan touches me and all that fades away, and the joy is all I can see and feel.
Sometimes I think I’d pay any price, even Battleman’s, if it means I get this time with him. And that makes me glad that life doesn’t work like that. That there are no cosmic bargains to be made, no matter how many hours our puny little human brains waste coming up with scenario after scenario we’d prefer to our own.
“Okay, okay.” I try to slide out from under Logan, putting my hands on his chest to show him I mean business. “I really do want to get some work done today.”
His eyes are dark and hungry but like always, he accommodates my wishes and rolls off. Though not without one last lingering look and a growled promise of, “We’ll pick this up later.”
He starts to pick up the scattered papers but I wave a hand.
“What if we’re too mired down in our thinking? Let’s go back to basics. We’re trying to create a living drug, right?”
Logan nods, sitting at the edge of the bed again while I scoot up into a sitting position. He helps arrange pillows behind my head so that I’m comfortable.
“Okay, so let’s think it through. What are we trying to accomplish, at the core?”
“We need to create a modified T cell that’s able to recognize the target,” Logan says. “To recognize the diseased cells.”
“Yes. And second, our drug needs to modify that cell in such a way that it replicates the superhero cell into a clone army.”
Logan nods and starts ticking them off on his fingers. “Recognize, replicate. Third, it and its clones need to actually work, so it can kill the sick cells and not just be duds once they’re actually injected in the body.”
“And fourth and finally,” I breathe out, “these magical cells we’ve treated to become super cells have to live for the lifetime of the person, so that it’s a forever cure.”
Logan waves a hand. “No big deal. We got this.”
I laugh out loud, but there’s a heavy dose of despair in it. “You know we’ve always had trouble with steps three and four. Belladonna’s anti-aging cream work so well because we mastered the first two, targeting aged and diseased tissue and cloning regenerative cells.”
“But we’ve yet to figure out a solution for delivering the super cells into the bloodstream in a way that allows them to live for the life of the patient, curing a disease like Battleman’s long-term. I know, I know.”
“I’m just trying to establish the basics. I can’t help but think we need some new perspective. We need to think outside the box.”
“Okaaaaaay,” Logan says slowly. “Like what?”
I look towards the window in the sun and the bright sky. “I don’t know yet. But I’m going to read and research and think until I figure it out.”
Because one thing I have already figured out, with Logan’s help?
There are two choices when faced with a life disaster like this: give into anger and despair or take the express train to acceptance and start fighting the hell back.
This is my life, dammit, and I will fight for every inch of ground I can get—and believe I deserve it.
Seven
Daphne
“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Logan asks.
He’s hovering again, a hulking shape in a custom-made tuxedo. The gold cufflinks, paisley bow tie and emerald green cummerbund at his waist does nothing to civilize him. He looks seconds away from brandishing a sword and rushing out to single-handedly defend the castle from raiders.
In a sense, the castle has been raided. By makeup artists and hairstylists, courtesy of Armand. He owns Metamorphoses, the top spa in New Olympus.
“I’m ready.” I answer as soon as the eye makeup expert finishes my mascara. It’s been a month and a half since I first relapsed and tonight is the opening event for The Healing Garden. The finishing touches have just been put on it and I can’t wait to see. Adjacent to New Olympus General, and designed so hospital staff, patients, and guests can have a place to enjoy the fresh air and beauty of nature.
I feel giddy at the thought of finally getting out of the castle, even if it’s still in a wheelchair.
I didn’t know there were artists who specialized in just the eye area, but apparently there are. An hour with her and my thinning eyebrows are painted in. That was after she applied some sort of fast-acting growth serum to my lashes.