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Chapter 19

“Breakfast! Breakfast is ready, baby girl!” A young woman, dressed as a nurse, gently stirred a pot of oatmeal. She smiled and reached over the stove toward the spice rack, quickly adding a dash of cinnamon to the pot.

Moments later, a bleary eyed little girl entered the kitchen. A pair of shiny black ballet flats tromped across the floor toward the kitchen table, neither graceful nor poised. Twin blonde pigtails bobbed as the girl pulled herself onto a chair, her legs, encased in smooth white stockings, dangled just above the floor.

“Fix your skirt, baby girl.”

“Mommy, don’t call me that. Kids make fun of me. Like at the beach. They called me a baby.”

The young woman leaned down and gently kissed the little girl’s head. “I’m sorry, Kaylee. I’ve called you that for so long it’s hard for Mommy to change. How about Mademoiselle Kaylee?” The woman gently pulled the girl’s skirt down, so that it covered her knees. The pink and purple floral patterned skirt flared outward. It perfectly matched the sleeveless striped blouse emblazoned with the girl’s favourite Disney twosome.

The little girl giggled, “No! That’s bad too.” A second later, the girl adopted a severe look, with pursed mouth and gently furrowed brows, she said, “I’m in first grade now, Mommy. Can’t you just call me, Kaylee?”

The young woman poured oatmeal into a bowl and added some sliced banana and strawberries to the mix. She set a faded pink plastic beside the girl. The utensil was once adorned with pretty Disney princesses, however; the countless dishwasher loads had chipped away at the images, leaving the characters unrecognizable.

“No. I don’t wanna eat with that spoon. I want a metal one.” Again, the young woman couldn’t help but smile. However, as she deposited the grown-up spoon next to her daughter, she couldn’t contain a soft sigh.

“I want the marsha mellos that daddy eats in his cereal.”

The young woman shook her head, “Nope. But you can have a little bit of brown sugar. Just a bit for taste.”

A careful teaspoon dropped a dollop of brown sugar, and the girl rapidly dug into her breakfast.

“Slow down, Kaylee. The school’s not going to fly off to the moon while you eat breakfast.”

The little girl giggled, but this laughter ended with a light yet discernible snort. “You’re funny, Mommy.”

The young woman tousled the little girl’s hair, “I know, baby girl.”

After breakfast, the young woman walked the little girl out to the bus stop. Young children laughed, while older looked on with a sense of dread. Anxious parents stood, some holding the hands of their children, others allowing a measure of space- but most only a foot. Soon enough, a bright yellow school bus peaked over the tall hill at the end of a cull-de-sac with row upon row of nouveau-style brick houses.

The school bus door swung open, while nervous parents of kindergartners hugged them as if it was their last day on earth. The young woman reached out, but the girl with the twin pigtails was already lining up to get on the bus.

The young girl looked back at the young woman and waved happily, but seeing the woman with downcast eyes and slouched shoulders, she quickly jumped into her arms.

“It’ll be OK, Mommy. I’ll see you and daddy tonight.”

A tiny tear leaked from the young woman’s eyes. “I know, baby girl. I know.”

The little girl broke the embrace and hopped onto the school bus. She waved happily from a window seat.

I watched the entire display. It was sort of like a video game with a first-person perspective, but instead of controlling it, I was just along for the ride. I couldn’t describe it as a movie, as they only engaged two senses. The smell of cinnamon in the oatmeal and the light perfume, a sweet almost airy flavour that screamed housewife who wasn’t getting any- it was all too real.

But this was nothing like the sudden warmth I felt when the little girl hugged her mother. The warmth was not heat, unlike a blanket covering a shivering form, it elicited a response from my heart. I knew heartache, at least as long it took for me to find another girl, and another, to fill the void left by Hannah, but this was something else entirely.

My heart, my chest, my brain- everything was filled to bursting with an overwhelming sense of love- to give and receive it in an immeasurable fashion. The only thing similar to it was the intense, incredible high I got from sex, but it wasn’t lust, the hard wrenching of parts, stares and longing, until the moment of climax, and then nothing- no, it was something real. Lasting.

And that’s why it scared the fuck out of me. Because it didn’t exist. To me it had to be the serum, and I was staring at my future if I embraced this world.

The moment I realized this, the dream turned to a nightmare. The idyllic image persisted, the little girl on the bus, chatting happily with friends, excitement about a new school year- it was all a farce. A creation of the serum.

And somehow, as I entered a half-dreaming state, the memory of Eve and Greg’s conversation crept within, and I screamed.

“Ryan! Are you OK?” Soft hands were on my naked back. California had to be going through one of the worst heat waves in history, which had resulted in a serious drought and multiple wildfires, but Eve and Greg wouldn’t splurge on an 80$ air conditioner from Wal-Mart. So, I slept in shorts.

I retreated from the touch, quickly scrambling to other side of the couch. My eyes were so wide they felt dilated.

“Ryan, what’s wrong? You don’t look good.” There was genuine concern in her voice. She sounded exactly like she had in the dream.

“How many times have we been over this? Don’t fucking treat me like that. You know it fucks with my head.”

“Is this about the news, Ryan? The whole thing with the studio and Tracy?” Eve kept her distance from me, but it wasn’t far enough. I wanted about a two state separation between us- or even better- the entire Midwest.

“All this shit about adopting me. And making me go to school. It’s bullshit, Eve. You know I can’t be around kids. Is that what you want, so you can just stop dealing with me? So I’ll be your little fucking baby girl?”

Eve flicked on the kitchen light and then took a position at the opposite end of the couch. She sighed heavily, “Were you standing at our door with a glass pressed to your ear?”

I shook my head fiercely, “Fuck, no. What is this the seventies? You know our phones are basically the perfect bugs, right? Anyway, I want to know what you two are planning to do. But there’s no fucking way I’m going to school.”

Eve frowned, “I guess I’ll kind of ignore the whole spying and trust thing because we should have had the conversation with you. So yeah, we talked a bit about trying to adopt you. Greg mentioned school, but I shot him down. I said we would figure out a way to keep you home. We have no intention of sending you to school.”

“That’s bullshit, Eve. I know that you’re lying. You’re going to send me to school to erase me because you don’t want to deal with me. You seemed really happy about it too. I’m telling you that I’m not going. So what’s the plan, you going to just casually forget to book off a Wednesday or two and leave me with Emma and Sophia and by September I’ll be all ready to go?”

The frown on Eve’s face deepened, but her jaw also jutted slightly. She grit her teeth back and forth, until another heavy sigh escaped from her body, setting the entire structure in motion. “Ryan. I’m not even sure where to begin. You recorded our conversation, so you know that none of what you are saying is true. I’m just- I’m not sure what to tell you.”

I expected her to lash out, to absolutely lose her shit at being called a liar, but she just looked at me with serious concern.

“What the fuck, Eve? Don’t you have anything to say about this? It’s true isn’t it?”

Eve slowly shook her head, “No, Ryan. None of it is true. You know how I feel about our situation. I don’t want to be your mother, and as much as a ‘delight’ as you can be, I don’t want you as my ‘baby girl’ either. The adoption is to protect you, so we have an actual right to keep you. And it’s also to make certain that the only person who knows the truth, who experienced the plot first hand is able to tell their story.”

Before I had a chance to answer, Eve asked me, “What was your dream about?”

I blinked and replied, “School. And you, and we were in a big house. You made breakfast for me. It was- it was the first day of school- and-“

I remembered Eve telling Greg a boring story about some kid at the hospital. She was convinced that a snake was in her bed, slithering between the sheets towards its prey- the little girl who was terrified of snakes. She woke crying, more like bawling to the point of being inconsolable actually. Based on the description the girl gave, it was obvious she had a dream and repeated viewings of the Jungle Book may not have been a good idea. Still, Eve checked the bed for a massive boa constrictor, along with the closet, the curtains, and even the bathtub- but there was no sign of it, but still, the girl believed it was there, waiting in the shadows for her to go to sleep. The solution? Eve actually switched her room for the night.

I was only half paying attention at the time, but it made me think of something that happened to me as a kid. Instead of a snake, it involved the annual car show. My dad and I went each year, but that year he couldn’t go, so my mom was going to take me. I was still pretty young, so I didn’t really care, but what I did care about was when she told me we couldn’t go. She insisted we could still go, but I had a hard time trusting her. Of course, it was all a dream- a nightmare world where my mom locked me in my room while all my friends got to see the new Mustangs and supercars.

“It’s just a dream, honey. I promise we’ll still go tomorrow.” And we did.

Realization struck me like the moment you know you are lifting too heavy, that embarrassing second when you have to slowly and sometimes painfully lower the weight and reduce the load on the machine or the barbell.

Eve said nothing. She turned from me, slowly shaking her head.

I felt my cheeks burn as I cleared my throat lightly, “OK. So- maybe I owe you an apology.”

Eve nodded, “Greg and I are on your side, Ryan. But we have to trust each other. That means no more recording our conversations.” I opened my mouth, but once again, Eve quickly jumped in, “And we’ll involve you more when we are talking about you specifically. You’re right, Ryan. You should have a say in all this. I mean if you don’t want to be adopted, we can try and figure something else out. But if the government finds you, we won’t be able to do anything if they take you away. We don’t have any right to you.”

I asked, “If you start the adoption process aren’t you basically telling the feds exactly where I am?”

Eve shrugged gently, “Yes. It’s definitely a risk. But I brought this up before. They know exactly who you were in contact with before coming to the studio. My driver’s licence has our new address on it. They have to know where you are, or at least have a pretty good clue. But there is something keeping them from making a move.”

“If we start the adoption process, and we make it as public as possible- I’m talking about a social media blitz. Then it’s all public, how we found you, protected you and trusted you. And how we learned the truth in the studio. Because the story has already gone public, it’ll be impossible for the government to cover it up or bury it in the National Enquirer. They’ll have to let us adopt you. It’s the perfect story.”

I replied, “I think you’ve been watching too many rom-coms. Sometimes there isn’t a happy ending. What if the adoption doesn’t work, and I end up in an orphanage?”

Eve looked at me with a frightening seriousness, and then, she smiled at me like the happy housewife from my dream, “Don’t worry, it will.”

***

“You need to man up and tell your girlfriend to cut this shit out. She’s fucking with my head. First she says she wants nothing to do with me, then- then she’s looking at me like-“

Greg said quietly, “Ms. Daniels.” He sat across from me at the kitchen table. Usually, we would have a discussion like this while I whipped his ass at Halo, but with my controller still broken, the table was the best option. The table was a typical do-it-yourself Allen key number. The hard wooden seat was uncomfortable and my feet, as with most chairs, didn’t touch the floor, but I associated the simple piece of furniture with good memories, so I was content to sit down.

The table had dozens of small grooves and nicks laid over the surface. To most, the slight damage meant nothing, but to me, it was Saturday nights getting ready for the bar, slamming down shot glasses while Greg sipped light beer. I liked the alcohol coursing through my system, it gave me an impenetrable confidence, a state of mind that could face rejection, angry boyfriends- anything.

We talked about everything at that table- cars, girls, our lives and futures. Greg even got me to open up about my mom once. Once. Some shit about how I couldn’t face the fact my dad was gone, and my mom was the only real family I had left. How she cared about me and missed me. It was easy for Greg- he was such a fucking momma’s boy, he was probably sucking tit till he was seven. I knew that she hated me, and that’s all that mattered. There was no going back to that, especially now.

“Like if I had anywhere else to go. I’d be fucking out of here. Can’t you talk to her? Tell her she’s acting crazy?”

Greg sighed, “It’s delicate right now. I’ve really tried to explain that maybe she isn’t seeing things clearly. I mean we aren’t going to adopt you.” He grinned, “Could you imagine that? I mean, I’d be your fucking dad, man. Your dad.”

I nodded, “Yeah, but everyone would know that I’m adopted obviously.”

Greg asked, “Why’s that?”

I smirked, “Because you are ugly as fuck.”

Greg shook his head slowly, “Damn. I really walked into that one. Anyway, like I said- I’m working on her, but I’m starting to think that it is the serum. Didn’t you say that Daniels eventually started acting strange around you?”

I leaned back slightly in the chair, while pushing my feet against the side of the table. The heavy wooden chair tilted backwards gently, until I released the pressure and caused it to thud against the floor. I used to do the same all the time as an adult, except I would tilt with my feet firmly planted on the floor.

“Travers had been giving her the same serum. But it was different- it made her want kids. Eventually, it made her completely crazy. Where she seemed to legitimately think that I was her real daughter. She started to care less and less about the show and more about taking Ashley and me away.”

Greg smiled, looking thoughtful suddenly. “Wow. That’s the most you’ve told me about the studio since you escaped. I guess it’s getting easier to talk about it?”

I sighed heavily, “For fuck’s sake, man- you and Eve, you are made for each other. I thought we were just shooting the shit here. Just like we used to. Don’t turn this into some bullshit counselling session. You know what. Get the Jack. I’m going to show you that even looking like this, that I can drink you under the fucking table. And by that I mean, I bet I can do one. And like usual, you’ll look like you swallowed a fucking rotting lemon. Like half vomit face and half what I’m guessing your sex face looks like.” I modelled the face, shooting my eyebrows to the sky, wrenching my jaw to the side and forming a disgusted frown, all the while squinting like someone letting piercing light into the eyes of a hangover victim.

Greg looked at me sceptically, “You can’t even drink a cup of coffee. Or a latte with more whipped cream than coffee. Look I get it, you’re kind of freaking out because of Eve and what you’ve been feeling. It’s scary.”

He smiled, “Besides, we’ve only got one bathroom.”

I said, “I think you’re just scared of your girlfriend. Look, she doesn’t have to know. She’s at work for 12 fucking hours. I know what’s going to happen anyway, you’ll sniff the stuff, bring it to your mouth. Then, you’ll hold your nose and try to swallow it. At that point, you’ll remember you are a giant pussy, and you’ll set it down.”

I smirked, “Come on, she’s not even here, and she’s got you by the balls.”

I saw a rare thing. Greg’s face reddened, his jawline, usually hidden behind slightly chubby features, firmed, while his eyes took on a frightful intensity. It had only happened one other time. After a fight between him and Eve, I tried to take him out to get his mind off her. I made the mistake of telling him that he could do better than Eve and that there were girls way hotter at the club. He spent the next hour telling me how wrong I was. I honestly would have preferred a punch in the face.

Greg opened the cupboard underneath the sink and proceeded to slam a dusty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table, adding another notch to the table. He pulled down two tumblers, giving one to me and setting one across the table for himself. I peered at the glass in front of me, marvelling at its size.

It was enormous.

I was forced to hold the whiskey glass with two firm hands, essentially cradling it. Jack Daniels was a sipping whiskey. A strong hand would raise the glass to waiting lips, and then return it to its spot on the table. That was how I watched my dad do it. It was a shoot-the-shit kind of drink, but it was also an endurance test- one Greg had failed multiple times.

Greg, still red faced, filled both glasses nearly to the brim. Damn. Greg wasn’t even going to try and mix his with cola or even put ice in it to water it down? He was pissed, like when Duke would come home from the vet. He was always in a terrible mood immediately after, sitting on the couch with a look of absolute betrayal. He would even growl at my dad, curling up his lip, looking like some deranged Elvis impersonator. In a lot of ways, Greg reminded me of my old dog- fiercely loyal, easily swayed, but most importantly- forgiving. The next day, Duke had forgotten all about the horrors of the vet. He was back to his slobbery self.

I felt a lump form in my throat, as I moved my tongue back and forth, desperately trying to say something. Why did I feel so bad? I knew Greg would forgive me, but in that moment, the fact that he was angry with me caused my little chest to tighten. I stared at the glass of Jack in front of me, the golden coppery liquid swirled, threatening to escape over the sides. The glass seemed larger than seconds ago. I could swear that it was the size of my head now.

Neither of us said a word. We both stared at our glasses, like cowboys staring each other down before a quick draw.

Greg was the first to take a sip. It was a tiny one, barely a mouthful. The moment it entered his mouth, Greg’s shoulders rose, nearly reaching his ears. His head began to shake, moving back and forth comically, in a rapid ‘no’ gesture. Meanwhile, his tongue left his mouth, seemingly trying to move as far away from the sour mash as possible.

I laughed loudly, “See. Fucking pussy. That wasn’t even a sip.”

Greg narrowed his eyes, “Let’s see you take one, man. And at least I’m not the one giggling like I’m at my first sleepover.”

I replied, “What the fuck, man? I don’t sound anything like that.”

Greg, who had recovered from his first sip, was going for another, “You sound exactly like Jessica’s niece. Exactly.” This was the trash talking part of game. I always won because I could drink more, but I hadn’t even taken a sip, and…I was surprisingly disturbed by Greg’s comment. Was it true? How come I couldn’t hear it? I knew it had happened before, but only when I really stopped trying to be Ryan.

I almost retorted with, “Do not!” Instead, however, I firmly gripped the whiskey glass and brought it to my waiting lips. As it reached my lips, the smell of it, or rather the stench entered my nostrils. Normally, Jack smells like a campfire, charred wood and charcoal briquettes. It always reminded me of camping, especially hunting trips with my dad. There was usually a mixture of something sweet, almost like honey mixed with blueberries, but it was faint.

Now however, everything that I had enjoyed about the smell of the drink was suddenly taken to the extreme- it smelled disgusting, like an old sock drenched in rubbing alcohol and combined with an entire beehive worth of honey. Just like I couldn’t take coffee, level two spices at La Casa- I wouldn’t even be able to sip the Jack.

Greg looked at me with pity, but this was mixed with the lingering taste of Jack, which caused his mouth to sour every few moments. “You don’t have to do this, Ryan. I’m sorry about the shit I said to you. I know you are sensitive to stuff like that since your change.”

I took a large mouthful of whiskey, immediately regretting it, but at least, I had taken more than Greg. I wasn’t going to allow him to bury me in sympathy. Our relationship didn’t work like that. Sure, Duke would lay next to me when I had the flu, his soft fur and the cold bathroom tiles allowing a small bit of comfort in between puking sessions. As my mom would say, it was self-inflicted, so she had no sympathy for me, but Duke didn’t care. But I never got the sense that he was sympathizing with my condition. Could dogs actually feel bad for someone? He was just there because he knew I was feeling like shit.

The moment someone sympathizes with you, is the moment you lose all your power. Sympathy had its place- like completely untrue or embellished sob stories that worked great in attracting the girls who treated the men in their life as repair projects, but genuine sympathy is weakness. The person who feels it says, “Their situation sucks. Glad my life isn’t like that.” It’s like the commercials they play of starving kids around Christmas. We feel bad for them, but they don’t get any power from that, except maybe a few more meals after the holidays when the donations come in. In fact, it makes us feel better about our lives because at least we aren’t as bad off as they are.

So, Greg feeling that way toward me was the beginning of the end. If I was in such a state that Greg felt superior to me, I was royally fucked. So, even as the whiskey burned my throat, even as the flavour of burnt wood and charcoal set my taste buds on fire, I smiled because Greg watched on in absolutely shock.

“Y-You really didn’t have to do that.”

The aftertaste was so horrible that I felt my lip curl upward, my face looking like I had just taken a massive bite of a lemon. My insides continued to burn, while my stomach did belly flop after belly flop. It was a little like being inside an elevator that shot up and down at incredible speeds.

But, I took another sip, this one larger than the first. So much, in fact, that the liquid dribbled from my lips, but I still managed to swallow most of it.

“OK. OK. Ryan, you win. Just- I mean you’re fucking six years old. You’re gonna kill yourself.”

Greg frantically reached for the tumbler, taking it from my shaking hands. I didn’t want to die. That was the coward’s way out. My dad would be kicking my ass in the afterlife if I did that. I had proven my point, and that was all that mattered. I wasn’t even upset that Greg had taken the glass away. It’s not like I could have taken another sip without my body saying enough was enough and repelling the liquid like the pea soup scene from the Exorcist.

Plus, Greg would think twice about showing me any sympathy, and if I could swallow something that tasted so horrible, maybe El Casa’s flaming enchiladas were in my future. It made me think that I had control for once, that the incident at the beach with the girls, the sudden reading problem and the fact I still desperately wanted the Elsa Frozen Castle Playset, dolls sold separately, were isolated one-offs.

***

“Congratulations, stupid- you won the pissing contest. Or was it a different kind of contest?”

There was amusement in Eve’s voice, the words dancing, bobbing and weaving toward my fractured pride and striking the equivalent in boxing to a brutal gut punch. My head throbbed, feeling like a thousand tiny hammers were plinking away on my skull, while a massive mallet made contact with my forehead. The room spun, the toilet bowl beneath me seeming like it was suddenly attached to the ceiling. My heart was a shitty compact car pushed to the limit, the entire frame buckling under pressure, and the engine pushing into the red. On top of this, I had the sickly feeling that the lasagna, which we had eaten for the third time this week was going to make a sudden reappearance…maybe the pea soup scene from the Exorcist would fit better here.

“Fuck off, Eve.”

“What was the point of this, Ryan? Because you don’t look good at all. I’m actually really worried I’m going to have to bring you to the hospital. F-Fuck, Ryan. I thought we were actually getting somewhere. If you have to see a doctor, then it’s over. There’s no way the adoption will ever work.”

I wasn’t afraid to puke. It would get rid of the horrible burning in my stomach, and it wasn’t the first time. When you have an idiot friend who likes to experiment with drugs, and you are equally stupid sometimes, you puke your fucking guts out. As a kid, I also liked the buzz I got from beer, but I couldn’t hold it well at fourteen. So, as confident- unstoppable as it made me feel, the morning was a different story. My dad, who found me hunched over the bathtub of all things, laughed his ass off.

He said, “Ryan, why aren’t you using the toilet?”

I replied groggily, “It’s harder to miss.”

Of course, I had to clean out the bathtub later, because not everything went down. Thinking of the incident made me lurch forward. The whiskey wasn’t mingling well with the four types of cheese on the lasagna. My hair was in a messy yet puke-ready ponytail. I had actually done it myself, feeling a strange sense of pride, even though little tufts of hair escaped from the elastic like wayward springs. It was about time, and especially with how Eve and I acted around each other…I really needed to learn how to do it myself.

“How did you know anyway? Don’t tell me Greg told you. Fuck me.”

Eve replied firmly, “Of course he told me. Think about it. You could have alcohol poisoning. I’d be kicking his ass if the whiskey wasn’t already doing it for me. The idiot is on his way home on hopefully the worst bus ride of his life.”

She continued, “I can’t believe you goad him like that still. I really thought I got through to you when we talked in the car, but apparently it will take the monster of all hangovers to make you realize that maybe you need to grow up. And that’s if- if we don’t have to go to the hospital.”

I groaned, “Fuck, just leave me alone. I’d rather just watch the room spin than have to listen to this. I know you talked about trying to find out who I am, what makes me who I am beyond girls, booze and video games. But the only other thing I cared about was-“

And then it happened. I gripped the sides of the toilet, feeling a burning and bubbling sensation travel from my stomach to my throat. It had started with that sickly sensation, like thousands of spiders tickling my throat, and then came the wave as my stomach heaved.

In an instant, a comforting hand was on my back, but it was tentative, like fingers reaching for warmed up leftovers in the microwave. I heaved again, my stomach contracting painfully as more vomit sloshed into the toilet bowl. Surprisingly, the hand left. Eve continued to stand over me, but it was with clinical eyes. I was the belligerent patient who wanted nothing to do with their nurse, and Eve- she was just doing her job, minus the comfort. I wretched again, but the hand did not return to my back. Eve hovered over me like a concerned parent, but she kept a respectful distance- a distance I had asked for.

“Ryan, tell me- tell me what you meant. Before- you know the other thing that you cared about.” Eve’s voice wasn’t sweet, but there was genuine worry that she couldn’t hide. Still, it sounded like she was reading from a list, checking symptoms.

I groaned, “Acting. But I can tell you that I don’t exactly want to walk into a casting office looking like this. If I got a part, I’d probably be surrounded by fucking puppets, talking animals and a bunch of kids.”

Eve replied, “That’s not exactly true, but I get it. You aren’t ready- or might never be ready. My hope is that you won’t have to make that choice. Can you tell me what made you want to drink like that? A-Are you having any suicidal thoughts?” If there was any confusion before, it was immediately removed, like a set of fog lights piercing through roiling coils of mist on an early morning hunting trip- Eve was my nurse and nothing else.

It was obvious why I wanted her comfort, but it went beyond a simple hand on my back. I wanted Eve to gently stroke my head, like my mom did when I was sick as a kid. It was a good memory, despite the illness, same as bath time, PJs and then tuck-in-time. My mom was the one who always put me to bed. Even when my mom went out, my dad would just let me stay up and watch movies with him.

The vomiting stopped. I slinked onto the floor, practically slithering from the toilet. The bathroom tile felt unusually cold against my skin. Normally, it was pleasant- a nice break from the toilet, and it cooled down a body wracked with fever. Hangovers were, however, an entirely different beast.

“Ryan? Ryan? Come on, Ryan. Focus.”

A thermometer entered my mouth, and I instinctively let it rest underneath my tongue.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Even though it was scorching outside, I felt like I was inside the freezer at the Palace. A heavy woolen blanket was draped over my slight body, and then another. I snuggled underneath the linen, at the same time, feeling like my mind was fuzzy. Violent imagery of stabbing needles filled my senses, along with horrific screams, changing timbre from masculine bellows to the mewling of a helpless infant.

I took a long ragged breath. Click-clack-clack. Click-clack-clack Eve was typing furiously on her phone which vibrated incessantly.

“Ryan. Stay with me here. Keep talking. What are your favourite movies?”

I replied tiredly, “Goodfellas, Godfather Part 1, and um…” I wracked my brain for the third movie. It was a horror flick, but it still had detective elements, “Saw. The first one.”

Eve continued asking me very simple questions, my name, locations of some of the bases I grew up on, phone number, first girlfriend- questions which I answered with some difficulty. My body, which was swaddled with the thick woolen blankets, quickly warmed, but the warmth made me want to sleep.

Eve snapped her fingers in my face, and I bolted awake. Why couldn’t she just rub my back and hum soothingly. I steeled myself, screaming inwardly that Ryan Sullivan didn’t fight his hangovers by being coddled. No, after puking, he drank black coffee and ate cold pizza.

In this body, however, the little girl, who obviously couldn’t hold her booze, desperately wanted her mommy to make everything better. And finally, as the small girl whimpered, her body convulsing in dry heaves, her mommy placed a hand on her back and gently rubbed.

And while I tried to separate us, as I had done in the studio, simply playing the part of Kaylee, as Eve’s hand brought instant comfort and acted as a miraculous painkiller, I realized I was beginning to see the woman who I had once referred to as ‘fifteen pounds away from being hot’ as something else entirely. Something wonderful that could fix every problem in the world.

“Shh. Shh. It’s OK now, baby girl. You can close your eyes now.”