Within These Walls Page 3

After my tray had been taken away, I’d realized that I’d handed my spoon over with the rest of my dinnerware, so I’d no longer had anything to use for the pudding. I’d sat there, staring at my pudding for a while, as I’d tried to decide if I really wanted to bother the poor nursing staff with bringing me a spoon, or if I should wait until later. Then, I’d remembered the events of the day and the fact that I was supposed to be snug in my own bed. So, I’d peeled the top off and just decided to go for it.

  No one had been around anyway, and I hadn’t been trying to impress anyone.

  So, yep, I’d eaten it with my fingers—after washing my hands first, of course.

  My little trip down memory lane proved one thing—well, two actually. I wasn’t losing my mind, and this was indeed new chocolate deliciousness perched in front of me.

  But from whom?

  Dr. Marcus had brought the first one, so I guessed it would be logical to assume he’d brought the second one. A small smile danced across my face. He always did like to spoil me. I made a mental note to thank him when he came in to check on me later.

  I got up and readied myself for the day—showering, brushing my teeth, and pulling a brush through my wet hair. Then, I might have possibly eaten that pudding before breakfast.

  “Hey, did you, by chance, sneak into my room last night—you know, after I fell asleep—to drop off another pudding cup on my tray for me to wake up to?” I asked Dr. Marcus.

  He looked up from the computer screen, his mouth slightly ajar, as he stared at me with a bewildered expression on his face. I really wished I had a camera to capture it.

  “Did I what?”

  “Sneak into my room? To bring me chocolate pudding?” I repeated, not even trying to hide the grin quickly spreading across my face.

  “No, I definitely did not do that. I might be a little unconventional, but sneaking into my patients’ rooms late at night is one thing I haven’t attempted yet,” he answered with a wink.

  He finished my checkup and gave me a bit of good news.

  “No oxygen tonight Lailah. Let’s see how things go. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” he announced, with a warm, encouraging smile.

  My heartbeat was still irregular, and I wasn’t feeling all that great. Those were two signs that I wouldn’t be busting out of this place anytime soon. All the cozy grins in the world couldn’t distract me from that cold hard truth.

  The next two days passed by without much change. The only shift in my mundane hospital existence was the arrival of the new nursing assistant. I’d only seen him a handful of times, but each time he passed by my door, I would find myself leaning forward just to catch the last tiny glimpse of him walking by. He was like a Greek god covered in tattoos—and scrubs.

  Or at least that’s what the nurses were describing him as.

  Having spent the majority of my life in a hospital bed, I knew that I was a little innocent when it came to the male species, but I understood hot when it smacked me in the face—or walked by my door and the little I’d seen was definitely droolworthy.

  He wasn’t just hot. He was different.

  Different and hot were a deadly combination for all females, even me, and that made him interesting.

  He’d come into my room a few times, checked my vitals even, but he had barely spoken a word. He would only mumble a hello or something as he typed on the keyboard. With his head lowered, he would just do his job, methodically taking my blood pressure—which I was sure had gone wonky in his presence—and then he’d move on to the next task. His touch alone had been distinct, haunting almost. It was something I couldn’t yet comprehend. When everything had been completed, I would get one brief peek into his haunting sea-glass green eyes as he’d give a quick nod in my direction. Then, he’d vanish.

  Each time he had come into my room, I’d wanted to talk to him—ask him something, anything—just to hear him speak again, but I’d never really spoken to people my age.

  What would I say?

  Hey, did you see Jimmy Fallon last night?

  Are college parties as crazy as they are in movies?

  Do people really say words like totes and fo’ rizzle?

  Outside of TV and books, I had no idea what went on in the real world. My life existed in and out of a hospital. When I wasn’t here, I would be at home. So scared of what the outside world might do to my health, my mother had sheltered me from almost everything beyond the safety of what she could control. I’d been homeschooled since I was in kindergarten, I’d never been allowed to do anything outdoors, and I couldn’t remember a single memory of my life that hadn’t involved a doctor of some sort.

  Besides the tattooed addition to the staff, the other excitement to my life had been the continuation of my special pudding deliveries. Just like the first day, I would wake up to find a single chocolate pudding cup awaiting me as I rose from bed each and every day.

  By the fourth day, I’d created a list of potential suspects. Since Dr. Marcus was out, my list was now reduced to three people—Grace, my overly enthusiastic and recently engaged day nurse; the little girl from down the hall, who would sometimes visit me; and my mother who knew I was in need of some cheering up.

  Scooting my broccoli around my lunch plate, I looked at my list. Yes, I’d actually written out a list on paper. I had a lot of time on my hands.

  Receiving mysterious gifts in the form of pudding was the highlight of my day.

  Okay, it was the highlight of my year so far.

  My short pink nail tapped against the wood laminate of my tray table as I studied the list and finally came to a decision. It had to be Grace.

  Having just had what could only be described as one of the best moments of her life, she’d naturally want to spread that joy to others. Plus, she would sing show tunes down the hallway, and she loved Hello Kitty, so it wasn’t a hard conclusion to come to.

  Why wouldn’t she just deliver the puddings during the day when she was on shift, rather than in the middle of the night?

  The answer completely evaded me.

  Who needs logic?

  I decided to call Grace out on being the pudding stalker the next time she visited my room. Kindness like that couldn’t go unnoticed, and I wanted her to know that I appreciated the gesture. I also wanted to see if she could maybe bring me more—just in case the first one got lost.

  That could totally happen.

  I didn’t have to wait long. About thirty minutes later, I heard her familiar humming. Within seconds, she was gracing my door, her beautiful smile brightening the fluorescent-lit room like a ray of sunshine from the heavens.

  “Still on a I’m-getting-married high?” I asked.

  I shook my head at the comical display she was putting on as she waltzed around the room.

  “Mmm…yes. In about six months, I think it will change into an I’m-married high, and eventually, an I’m-pregnant high, and—oh!” She froze mid-waltz, covering her mouth, as she realized her words.

  “Grace,” I said softly, “you don’t have to hide the joy in your life around me. We all have happy moments. Mine are just different than yours.”

  “I know. I just…I’m sorry. Here I am, babbling about babies.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’ve known my whole life that I couldn’t have children. It’s not a secret or a big surprise. Besides, it’s not like I have suitors lined up down the hallway, fighting for my hand,” I scoffed.

  Her mouth quirked as she joined me and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her silky black hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, and her sapphire blue eyes met mine. She wasn’t just my nurse. She was a friend, my only friend.

  “That’s just because they haven’t seen you. You’re like Rapunzel, stuck away in that high stone tower just waiting for your handsome prince to come and steal your heart away.”

  I smiled as she went about checking vitals, and I listened as she carried on about some celebrity scandal I’d heard about on the news. My thoughts wandered back to what she’d
said about me being locked away, waiting for someone to steal my heart. Usually so hopeful about my condition, I didn’t know why, but my first thought had been that whoever the prince might be, he’d better hurry. I wasn’t sure how long this heart of mine would last.

  Grace had surprisingly turned out to be a dead-end as well, and as the week had gone by, my list of suspects had dwindled. My mother definitely wasn’t the culprit since I would see her leave every night at eight o’clock. That only left Abigail, the little girl from down the hall.

  She actually wasn’t a patient of the hospital, but I didn’t know how else to describe her, so I always referred to her as the girl from down the hall. I thought she was a granddaughter of one of the patients, and she would sometimes wander into my room when she got bored of listening to her grandfather.

  Abigail bounced into my room right around the time I was snuggling into the third chapter of my new favorite book. The book I was currently reading would always be my favorite, and the one I was about to read would always be my next favorite. I loved reading. I’d spent the majority of my life with my nose stuck in a book. I’d inherited my love for the written word from my scholarly mother, and I had managed to teach myself a world’s worth of knowledge within the dusty pages. I’d read everything from Chaucer to Shakespeare to even Anne Rice.

  “Whatcha reading?” Abigail asked, her springy chocolate brown curls bouncing behind her as she flopped on my bed.

  “It’s actually a book about a girl right around your age, maybe a few years older.”

  “You’re reading a kids book?” She ducked down to try to inspect the cover of the worn paperback in my hand.

  I’d read this particular book several times throughout my youth, and my copy of it had been well used.

  “Anne Frank. The Diary of a Young Girl. Who’s she?” she asked.

  “She was a girl who lived during World War II, and this is the diary she kept.”

  Inspecting the cover a bit longer, she stared into the black-and-white face of the young Jewish girl looking back at her. “I keep a diary,” she replied.

  “You do? So do I.”

  “Really? Aren’t you a little too old?” Her noise scrunched up as she looked up at me.

  I could see the tiny freckles dotting her rosy cheeks.

  “Absolutely not!” I pretended to be offended, but then I added, “But I do call mine a journal just to be safe.”

  I tickled her ribs, and she let out a little giggle.

  “What do you write about?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Papa gave it to me for my birthday. He told me to write what’s in my soul, but I don’t know what a soul is exactly, so I usually just write what I did at school and stuff I like.”

  That’s right.

  I now remembered Grace telling me about Abigail’s grandfather. He was a writer and quite the talker. Grace had said she couldn’t make it out of his room without getting hit on or hearing one of the colorful stories of his past.

  “Your soul is kind of like your heart. So, I guess your papa was telling you to write what you feel here,” I said, pointing to the place where her perfect tiny heart beat inside her chest. “Here, why don’t you borrow this?” I suggested, handing her the book from my hands.

  She hesitantly took it, and her eyes floated up to mine. “Are you sure? You weren’t done with it.”

  “I’ve read it enough times to have it practically memorized. It’s your turn.”

  Her face lit up with a smile, and she dived into my arms, giving me a hug so big that I had to brace myself from the impact. I laughed and wrapped my arms around her small body.

  She reluctantly let go and jumped off the bed before straightening her summery pink dress.

  “Well, I’d better get going. Thanks again for the book. I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”

  “No rush. Take your time.”

  She made her way to the door.

  I called out to stop her, “Oh, Abigail? Did you by chance leave pudding in my room?”

  “Pudding? Like the kind my mom sticks in my lunchbox?” she asked with a curious look.

  I huffed out in frustration, “Never mind.” Back to the drawing board I go.

  ANY DAY NOW, the cafeteria lady was going to stage an intervention for my all-consuming pudding habit. Either that, or she’d come up with some ridiculous nickname to call me.

  Oh, wait—she already did that.

  “Hey, Puddin’. Just the usual again tonight?” she asked with a sweet grin.

  I nodded as I paid for my pudding and bottle of water, and then I headed back to the elevator.

  Over the past week, I’d gotten used to the girl’s schedule in room 307. By eleven, she’d usually be asleep, and I could slip in, unnoticed, and drop off the tiny chocolate snack for her to see in the morning.

  It had started out as only a one-time thing. That evening, when I’d seen her licking that chocolate off her finger, I had felt like I was seeing humanity for the first time in years. It was crazy, considering where I worked. Hospitals seemed to be a place where humanity soared. Lives of loved ones or patients themselves would be put into the hands of someone else, and out would come every base emotion imaginable—overwhelming fear, unending love, unsurpassable joy, and heart-rending pain. Everything would be thrown into one messy basket.

  Being inside these hospital walls, I’d seen it all, yet I felt nothing anymore. I’d become immune to it all.

  Megan’s death had been like an atom bomb to my psyche, obliterating every emotion I’d possessed until I saw nothing. An emotional overload, I guessed one could call it.

  Every patient I would treat was just another blank face carrying me to the next.

  The only reason I was here was Megan. It had nothing to do with taking care of my next patient or connecting with that person’s family. I couldn’t remember how to feel anything anymore.

  Then, I’d seen her. As if she didn’t have a care in the world, she had been eating pudding without a spoon while staying in a hospital, like it was the most normal thing in the world. At that moment, I’d experienced the slightest sense of something other than pain again.

  And I’d been supplying her habit ever since.

  I didn’t know how long I was going to keep up the charade or if I could continue without being caught, but it was the only highlight of my day that didn’t feel overwrought with emotionless shades of gray.

  With one pudding cup snug in my pocket, I was the epitome of stealth.

  I slipped through the door quietly, ignoring the fact that I looked like a creepy stalker, and I stepped into the darkened room like I had a purpose.

  I did work here, so there could be a dozen reasons for me entering a patient’s room.

  Delivering a fudge snack pack was probably not one of them.

  Like the many times before, I tried not to linger as I entered the room, but with each passing visit, it became more and more difficult.

  The first night I’d decided to do this, I’d quickly done this drop-and-dash routine. I had gone in and out without a second glance.

  But then, I’d met her. I’d come to her room and found myself face-to-face with the girl behind my late-night pudding runs. She was shy and timid, her gestures clumsy and unpracticed. She was so different from the polished and sophisticated girls I’d grown up with. Even her name was awkward. It sounded like the classic Eric Clapton song “Layla,” but hers was spelled all wrong.

  She had made me curious. I’d suddenly wanted to know what else in this world would make her smile.

  What made her laugh? Why does she quickly tug the collar of her shirt whenever I enter the room?

  Curiosity wasn’t something I’d experienced in a while, and it had me lingering a little longer each time I entered her room at night. Eventually, it would become my ultimate undoing.

  “Ouch! Shit!” I hissed under my breath as my knee collided with her bathroom door that had been left open.

  I froze, listening for
the slightest movement. My mind jumped ahead, trying to think of any plausible reason for being in her room at this hour.

  Changing her sheets?

  No, dumbass, she’s in them.

  Heard a noise and just coming to check things out?

  Yeah, okay. That could work.

  Never mind the fact that I was the one making the noise.

  Five seconds passed by as I stood in the shadows like a statue, my ears on high alert as I waited for any movement that might signal my need for a cover story.

  But nothing happened—no movement, no screaming or shouting.

  So, I continued with my weird late-night mission. That was what guys with nothing else to do did at night, right? Delivered pudding to hospital rooms in the dark?

  Totally normal.

  Pulling the small little snack pack out of my pocket, I carefully dropped it along with the plastic spoon on the wooden tray table next to her bed. I wasn’t sure if eating the pudding with her finger was a chosen thing or not. Everyone had their quirks, so I figured I’d give her the option. Hygiene was an awesome thing, especially in a hospital.

  The moonlight from the window lit up the wisps of her hair, making it appear as if a golden halo surrounded her face. She looked innocent, yet a wisdom beyond anything I’d seen seemed to shine through her very pores. I wanted to reach out and touch a single strand just to see what angel hair would feel like between my fingers.

  Instead, I turned away. I’d done enough loitering for tonight.

  Much quieter this time, I stepped lightly to the door. I reached for the doorknob and turned it slightly before making my exit.

  Then, a light voice behind me uttered, “You were definitely not on my list.”

  Busted.

  Knowing there was little I could do to escape, I stuck my hands in my pockets and pivoted around on my heels. I found her very much awake. Sitting up in bed in a loose T-shirt and shorts, she assessed me quietly with her knees pulled into her chest.

  “Your list?” I asked., turning to flip the switch on the wall that turned on the overhead light. Standing in the dark while she was awake now felt awkward and weird.