I would give anything for a runny nose.
My mucous membranes are cracked. My sinuses sting. My throat feels like I swallowed a handful of sand. I can actually imagine my teeth crunching down on the bits and pieces of it and wincing as it goes down, cutting up my insides along the way.
I dream of snot and postnasal drip.
How disgusting is that? This is what I’ve become. This is how dried out and cracked I am.
Even my tongue hurts. It stays stuck to the roof of my mouth like it’s coated with paste. The sides of it tingle, like when your feet and hands fall asleep. I try to stretch it by rolling it from one side of my mouth to the other. My lips smack and stick. The skin on my body burns with cracks and fissures. My arm is agony. The heat. The heartbeat.
And I’m cold. Shivering in this damp puddle of water.
I can’t check my phone to know what time it is. But a whole day has to have passed at least.
How many days can I go? How long will it be before I cave in on myself? Before I’m a dusty heap of nothing?
“I don’t think I’m okay, Charlie.” I try to twist my limp neck, but it’s almost too hard to lift my head.
Charlie shifts. Groans from the effort. “Negativity like that is not allowed here, Ruby. We’re getting out. And when we do, we’ll be friends.”
Not strangers. Friends.
“Promise?”
“I’m holding up my fist for you to bump.”
“Bump.”
He sucks in a breath. “I really am going to come watch you play water polo, so be ready. I’ll bring one of those giant foam fingers to your games to embarrass you. And after you win we’ll go to a taco stand by the beach and I’ll ask you a million questions because I still won’t understand anything about how to play.”
“No way. I’ll make you an expert in no time. I’ll make you get in the pool. Teach you how to eggbeater.” I manage a laugh. “And then I’ll bring a foam finger to your poetry readings. Or when I watch your films. Or go to your art shows. Would that be tacky?”
“Please do it. I love tacky.”
I have to hold on to being able to see these things. Because time is passing us by now. And nobody is coming.
I haven’t peed since the middle of the night.
My mouth is sticky.
My stomach is empty.
My body can’t move.
My skin doesn’t feel like skin. It sags. Like a swimsuit drip-drying on the balcony railing. I don’t feel like me.
I’m done.
My thoughts are slipping.
How long before I’m gone?