Fatal Attractions

Chapter Twelve: Cigarettes After Sex

Juliet poked her head into Chase's hospital room. Every inch of his room was a sanitary white color. There was a small balcony with an uncomfortable, metal chair that looked out over the ocean. The only decor that broke the white pattern was a dried-up blue starfish that hung on the door. A sad attempt at a coastal theme.

His room was peaceful, enough so that Juliet sometimes forgot she was visiting her injured friend in a hospital. If she let her thoughts numb, she could trick herself into thinking that they were vacationing on the Oregon Coast, staying in a luxury suite. Then she would see the walker propped by his bed, and the cuts darkening into scars on his face. Everything would come back then. Forgetting had become a chore, and the more Juliet tried to forget, the more she remembered.

Chase hadn't noticed Juliet yet, and she leaned her head against the doorframe, taking the opportunity to study him. A month had passed since the shooting. Chase looked better. Tubes didn't keep him alive anymore, and a pan didn't rest on his stomach for the times when he'd get sick, coughing up a mixture of blood and vomit. The yellow hue of his skin had vanished, allowing his natural olive tan to return.

Soon his physical wounds would heal, and the cuts in his heart would be the only remainder of the shooting. Those wounds weren't so easy to heal.

He had almost died that night. At that time he had been suffering from internal bleeding, a shattered leg, and an infection. In the end, Chase's will to live had been stronger than his injuries. The infection did cost him his leg though, which they surgically removed at the knee.

From where she stood, Juliet could see the corner of the spidery metal contraption they had stuck on his leg peeking out from his white sheets. His tv was on, but his eyes were instead focused on the ocean outside. Juliet creaked the door open a bit, and Chase swiveled in her direction, eyes alight with fear. She noticed his fists clench. When he saw her, he relaxed, tucking his fear into the abyssal corners of his mind. They both had become extraordinary at pretending everything was okay.

"Stalker," he crowed. Noticing the wind had blown his hospital gown up his leg a bit, Chase quickly pulled the covers over his bare legs, hiding his prosthetic leg. He turned the volume on the news down. On-screen, a lady with bright lipstick was patting the head of a one hundred and an eighty-eight-year-old tortoise. It was covering the Miracle Juice trials. They would be happening today worldwide. The first trial. Unlike most experiments, this could not be tested on animals. A human trial was necessary. Supposedly, the serum could add a hundred years to a human's life, increase their strength, and give them super-power abilities.

"You're watching this?" Juliet asked in regards to the tv. She hated Miracle Juice. It was all everybody talked about, but Juliet knew that if it worked, only the rich would be able to use them. It would only give them more power over the rich and middle class.

"It's a whole lot of bullshit, but it is a good distraction -and it's one of the only shows that doesn't," he bit his lip, searching for the right word, "trigger me."

Juliet understood. Distractions were necessary. They were one of the reasons Juliet spent her days in the hospital with Chase. He was her favorite distraction.

"'A whole lot of bullshit'" she quoted, imitating his gruff voice. "You're such a glass half empty kind of guy."

He grinned without his eyes, dimples deepening around his smile.

"Better than being a glass completely empty kind of girl," he retaliated.

She rolled her eyes at him, scowling and smiling simultaneously. Both of them were pessimists, and it was nice to finally have someone with the same uncommon trait. The world was full of optimists, and Juliet hated them all.