Outer Banks (16 page)

“Talk to me,” I begged.

“It's not working.”

“What's not working?” We were very much on the way to working. I was definitely working.

“
Me
.”

“Em, you're going to need to spell it out for me. I don't understand.”

“It's like food.”

I'd heard of sex being compared to food, but that couldn't be what she meant.

“Remember what I said about food? I remembered how good it was, but when it's right there, I just can't eat it?” She looked at me expectantly.

“You don't want to have sex?” I finally clued in. She had been panting and running her fingers down my back, which was always an indicator that a girl wanted to have sex.

“I do, but when it's about to happen, I just…can't. It's like you're…not…right.”

“Wow.” Ouch. It might have been better if she'd yelled.

“Not like that. I'm sorry. I'm not explaining it right.” She took a deep breath and pointed to her head. “Emery Mitchell up here wants to have sex with you in the worst possible way, but this body…doesn't. It's not working right.”

“Oh.” I blinked as it clicked. “
Oh
.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's not your fault.” I rested my head back on the pillow, wondering if there was some kind of workaround. “You never tried before now?” I asked.

“No.”

I don't know why that should have made me feel better, but it did a little.

“I'm so sorry I didn't figure it out before we got this far. I should have guessed this would affect basic biological processes like…” She shook her head and rubbed her temple.

“Em. Please stop apologizing. It's not your fault, and it's not a problem.” I kissed her. “You like doing this, right?” I checked. She nodded. “And holding you is fine?”

“Yes. It feels nice.”

“Then we'll do this.” I shrugged.

“But you're a man,” she protested.

“I'm not a seventeen year-old boy who can't control himself. This is fine. There's a connection. I'll take this and be perfectly happy.”

“Perfectly happy?” She didn't believe me.

“Perfectly.” I kissed her again and stroked down her back, coming into contact with one of the scars on her back.

She jumped.

“Does that hurt?” I asked with concern.

“No. I just don't like it. It's disgusting. It must seem gross to you.”

I touched the spot again. “You should know me better by now. You haven't been able to scare me off yet.” I tilted my head and continued to trail my fingers down her back. I turned around and came back up. The scars were deep. It must have hurt like hell. I couldn't imagine how scared she would have been that day.

“Why aren't I able to scare you away, Dillon?” she asked.

I chuckled. “Are you still trying?”

“No. But, why don't you find the scars gross? Why aren't you frustrated that I can't do anything more than this with you? How can you lie here touching my cold skin and be happy?”

I thought it over before I answered. I sure didn't want to compare her to a car part again.

“There are women out there who might be perfect on the outside, but their insides are full of black goo and they haven't even been infected, you know what I mean?”

Her brow creased. I wasn't explaining it well. Again.

“It's not just about a pretty face. I like being with someone who has the whole package. You're pretty, and smart, funny, caring, strong, and tenacious—in this case, that's a good thing.” I smiled. “Someday you're going to look like the photo your father gave me, but you're going to be the same person, Em. The only difference is we'll be able to hang out together outside in the middle of the day.” I kissed her and pulled her closer.

“You're an amazing person, Dillon McAllister,” she whispered and touched my cheek. “Maybe even a prince in your own way.”

After a few minutes more of the snuggling and kissing we got up so she could get back to work. I kept her company in the idea room that contained no ideas as of yet.

Em walked over to look at the fish, making fun of the ones kissing. “Really?”

“That's us,” I told her with a grin.

“Ah. I thought this was me.” She pointed at the chassis drawing.

“No.” I shook my head knowing I was going to pay for this vehicle analogy. “I said you were strong like a chassis. Not that you looked like one.”

“Are you saying I look like a fish?”

“No, I…ugh. Never mind.” She could twist anything around, couldn't she?

Emery chuckled, looking at the chassis again. “So this is what a car looks like…naked?”

“More like its skeleton. The backbone.”

“Ah,” she said again.

Then she was gone.

She was still standing in front of me, but her mind was somewhere else completely. Her brow creased and her eyes blinked while she looked at the floor, or through it.

“What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She waved at me to be quiet while she was thinking. “I have an idea. I need your help.”

“Okay,” I said, but she was already at the door.

I chased after her. She was rummaging through drawer after drawer in the lab until she came up with a needle that was nearly as big as the one I'd stabbed into Corey's arm, but even longer.

“I'm going to instruct you so you can do an LP.”

“An LP?” I didn't know what that was, but I sure didn't like the looks of the ginormous needle.

“Lumbar puncture.”

I still didn't get it.

“Spinal tap?”

“Oh no! No way! I can't stick that into your spine!”

“Please? I obviously can't do it myself.”

“Emery! I'm an auto mechanic, not a doctor!”

“You'll do fine.” She made it sound like it was no big deal.

“And if I don't do
fine
, what could happen? What's the worst case scenario?”

“If I was fully human? Paralysis. But in my condition I doubt it would last.”

“I can't! I'm sorry. Let's call your dad.”

“My dad hasn't done an LP since I was a baby, and I doubt his hands are as steady as yours. You can do this. It's really not that difficult.”

“Then why do doctors get paid thousands of dollars to do it after going to school for so many years?” I pressed.

She tried a new strategy after she saw pushing me wasn't working. She ran her hands up my chest and around my neck, pulling me down to her cool lips.

“Please, Dillon? I'm asking you for your help. I need you. I might be onto something and I can't do this without you. Please.”

No fair. “I don't know, Em,” I faltered and she smiled, knowing she'd got me.

“There are over three hundred thousand people at the Outer Banks hoping right now, Dillon. Millions around the world. You can do this for them. Do it for Corey.”

I sighed in defeat. “Tell me
exactly
what I need to do and we'll see.” I left myself an out in case it was too much. This wasn't like changing a car's oil.

She drew a spine on the white board.

“Can you see my vertebra?” She asked as she pulled off her shirt and faced away from me.

“Yes, Em. I think I can.” I winced. I ran my finger gently down the lumps in her back. Vertebra.

“Good. Then you can count them easier. Feel this one up here and start counting down,” she instructed and then pointed at the diagram. “Put an X between those two. That's where you're aiming.”

“Ugh.” I felt woozy.

“Let's wash up and prep the area,” she continued while ignoring my resistance. I wasn't going to get out of it.

She gave me a kiss before crawling up on the table and curling up in a ball on her side, stretching her spine out.

“You're going to put your finger just under the X and use that as a guide to slide the needle in. If you meet something hard that's bone and you're not in the right place. You'll need to try again.”

“Em…” I began.

“You can do this. I need you. Please just jab that big needle into my back. Do it with some force behind it.” She laughed, actually laughed.

“Are you ready?” My voice cracked.

“Yeah. You don't need to go far. Just two to three inches.”

“All right. On the count of three—”

“Please don't count. Just do it when you're comfortable.”

“Um, that would be never.”

“Do it when you're
ready
.”

I sighed and jabbed the needle in. It slid in easier than expected and I didn't encounter anything hard. I must have done it.

“I'm in, I guess.”

“Now steadily pull back on the syringe until you've extracted about six milliliters.”

“What the hell is a milliliter?” This was America, not Europe dammit!

“Do you see a six on the syringe?”

“Yeah.”

“To there.”

“Ah. Okay.” I calmed down and pulled back on the plunger while being careful to not move the needle.

I had some expectations. I knew spinal fluid was clear. At least on TV. Those expectations were shattered when the fluid started to collect in the syringe.

Black.

I took a deep breath. Emery noticed.

“What is it?” She moved slightly.

“For the love of God, Em! Don't
move
!”

She froze and I continued drawling up to the six.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Pull it out gently and then use the cotton ball and the bandage to cover the spot.”

I removed the needle even as she spoke, wanting it out of her as quickly as possible.

“All done. And can I just say, I always thought playing doctor would be more fun than that.” With the bandage now in place I patted her butt.

She rolled over and laid flat on her back. I held up the vial for her and she gasped.

“That must be why the transfusions aren't working. If there is any trace of the foreign matter in our body it will replenish itself. Replacing just the blood isn't getting it all, and then it comes back in force. How the hell did it get in here?” I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or herself.

“Can you get it all out?”

“Maybe. I've got a better idea of how than I did ten minutes ago anyway.”

I waited for her to get up but she continued to lie there, looking at the ceiling, not moving.

“What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“I need to stay on my back for a few hours, just to be safe. Though chances are I'm already fine. The hole probably sealed up the moment you pulled out the needle.”

I winced, more than a bit creeped out, which made her laugh.

“
Now
you're repulsed?” She laughed again. “The black eyes, the cold skin, the hideous scars and the fact I could drink your blood doesn't bother you, but spinal fluid creeps you out?”

“So it would seem.”

“I'm fine.” She saw the worry on my face. “It doesn't even hurt. You did an excellent job.”

I helped her to bed, as she requested. I brought her an extra bag of food, and lay next to her with a YooHoo while she drank it.

“I like how you call me Em,” she said. Just thrown out there in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

“Really?” I sniffed. “You find my laziness endearing?”

“I never really liked my name. It's a boy's name. I was named after my mother's father. Go figure. My dad always calls me Emmie, which sounds like I'm still four years old. Em could be short for Emma or Emily.”

“I like your name. It's different and pretty. I sure don't think of a boy when I hear it.” I winked at her and she touched my cheek.

“I'm glad I wasn't able to scare you off,” she said, almost under her breath. I smiled at her admission.

“It's almost time for you to wind down,” I mentioned as the sky began to lighten.

“Yeah, I can feel it. Don't worry, I won't fight the inevitable again.” She sighed and pulled me to her. “Thanks for your help tonight. Thank you for manning up and doing something outside your comfort zone.”

I shook my head. “I did it because I can't say no to you.”

She smiled deviously. “Well. Isn't that good to know.”

“Oh please! You don't take no for an answer anyway.” I rolled my eyes and got up to pull the heavy drapes, still uncomfortable seeing the sunlight on her skin.

The room was pitch dark.

“I love you, Dillon,” she whispered as I sat next to her.

I froze, not knowing what to say in response. I'd never said that to anyone before. Then again, I'd never felt like this about anyone before either. Was that love? I should have figured it out before now so I was prepared.

I flipped on the light by her bed. She was out. Maybe she'd assume I said it back and she'd missed it? Maybe I should say it when she woke up?

Did I love her?

Long ago, before I joined the service and met Bobby overseas, I had made a list of expectations a woman would need to meet before I would allow myself to get serious. It was a completely impossible set of criteria, and I think I made it so I would always have an excuse as to why things never worked out.

As I lay there playing with Emery's lank hair I realized I was in big trouble.

She was funny, smart, and beautiful. She was also compassionate, stable, confident and mature. She liked to be outside, though she couldn't be out as much at the time. She liked baseball. She could cook, and I enjoyed talking to her for hours. Of course she was physically weakened, had no endurance, literally burned in the sun and had no sex drive to speak of. You'd think those would all tick something on my list so I could walk away.

But here's the thing: I realized the list didn't mean a damn anymore.

I was falling. Falling hard. And I didn't even seem to care.