A to Z of You and Me Read Free Page B

Purple and yellow, brown and bruised. Every vein is collapsed. Every entry point blocked off. Lumped-up fistula scars now useless, no way in anymore. My insides are sealed off from the outside forever.
    They’re numb cold, my arms. Cold arms are the price to pay. I can’t keep them under the covers. They feel like they’re dead already.
    Arms
    I flick the syringe lightly with shaking fingertips, and the bubble unsticks itself from the plunger and creeps sullenly through the liquid toward the needle.
    â€œCome on, man, the little ones don’t matter.”
    â€œThat’s not a little bubble, though, is it?”
    It settles up around by the needle, and I flick again. Flick harder.
    â€œCareful, man. You’re losing the liquid out the top.”
    â€œI’m not injecting bubbles.”
    â€œIt’s only a little one.”
    â€œListen, man—fuck off. It’s up to me, yeah?”
    Mal sits back, surprised. I never talk to him like this.
    I don’t like this.
    Feels wrong. This is not me.
    All I can think of is you. What if this goes wrong? What if…what if it changes me forever? What if you find out? I’ll lose you.
    No, no. All this is bullshit. This is exactly like I was before I took my first trip. I was scared there would be no way back. But there is a way back. And anyway, this is the first and last time.
    Try anything once. Once only.
    â€¢ • •
    Sheila’s head eclipses the television screen a moment as she walks past. She’s doing her Closing Ceremony.
    â€œI’m just on my way, Ivo,” she says. “Got to go home and see what that useless lump of a husband’s been up to overnight.”
    â€œYou should…you should get him in here. Ask him to come here.”
    â€œWhat? Come in here and I can look after everyone at the same time? That’s not a bad idea, that. Save me coming and going every day, wouldn’t it? Now, how are you doing? You’re looking perkier than when I came in earlier. I want to see more of the same later, please. Do you need anything sorting out before I head off?”
    I don’t want her to go. Don’t go, Sheila.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re comfortable, are you?”
    I nod.
    â€œHow are your arms and shoulders?” She rests her olive-skinned hand on my arm, uninvited. I don’t mind. Everything everyone does to me now is uninvited, and it’s rarely so tender. “Are they a bit cold? Do you want me to get a blanket?”
    I nod. “They are cold. They ache.”
    â€œIt’s always a problem,” she says, opening the bedside cabinet and beginning to rummage. “Because with most people it’s all these drips and taps and pipes, they have to keep their arms exposed for them. It’s always the same. Where are these spare blankets? Honestly, people must just come in and—” She stands up and looks about.
    I know what’s coming.
    â€œOh, here,” she says, reaching down into my bag. She’s got the crochet blanket.
    No, no. Don’t ask.
    â€œPut this around your shoulders. That’ll keep you nice and warm, won’t it?”
    No, don’t.
    She casts the blanket about my shoulders, and your scent wafts up, perfectly preserved, and floods my senses.
    I don’t want her to see, I don’t want her to see, but she’s looking up at my face, and she can see now there’s something wrong. My throat’s so tight. Hot, tight, tight, dry. That’s normally what passes for crying with me. It’s a dry throat. It’s not being able to breathe.
    But this time, for once, gratifying tears begin to prickle.
    â€œOh, lovey…” she says, quietly.
    She doesn’t make a fuss. She must be used to unexplained fluids leaking from patients.
    How weird, tears. I trickle water for you.
    Sheila sits on the side of the bed, takes up my hand, and strokes the back of it.
    â€œIs there anything I can do,