WHEN I was in school, I used to wear a metal bracelet that had my name, my date of birth, and my doctor’s name on the inside of it. The outside looked like a fancy thin watch, except for the fact that it had the word epilepsy printed on it in thick black letters.
I hated the way the cheap rubber ones I could get at a doctor’s office looked on me, even hated the way they felt on my skin, so I told my parents I wouldn’t wear a medical ID bracelet unless it looked like actual jewelry.
So they had one specially made for me. I keep it in a wooden box next to my stash now. I wonder why I ever gave up wearing it in the first place, even though I hate it. My limbs hurt, everything does, and my legs don’t work properly yet.
I’m always overconfident after a seizure—I know what it’s like, I just really want it to be over, so I ignore the drowsiness, the nausea, the fact that I can’t walk yet despite what the people around me say.
If I’d had the bracelet on, at least Levi would’ve known what to do. Wait it out. Then I wouldn’t be in this unfamiliar hospital, feeling like death. I’d at least be in my bed, feeling like death but somewhere familiar. That, and a cold compress pressed against my forehead, would be enough to make me feel better.
I wonder where Levi is.
He wasn’t in the ambulance with me, and he’s not in my room now. I vaguely remember how panicked he seemed for a second, so distant and far away, and then nothing else.
I hope I didn’t get him in trouble.
“Damien,” Ziggy says. She’s still near the door. “I came as soon as I heard.”
I wish she wasn’t making me talk. “Thanks, Zig. You didn’t—”
“They’re on their way,” Ziggy says, pulls up a chair, and sits down next to me. I groan and try to roll my eyes, but I’ve still not fully regained control of my motor functions, so I might look like I’m having another seizure.
“Here,” Ziggy says, pressing a cold towel against my forehead. I wonder where she got it from, but I don’t have it in me to ask. “I was really worried about you.”
I nod. “Was the hospital—”
“No,” she says. “It was actually the weirdest thing. You know Professor Arkwright? He called me and said he’d found you outside of an art studio having a seizure. He said he took your phone and called the emergency contact from your wallet and an ambulance was coming. I guess you got lucky that he knew you, because you know how sometimes people aren’t sure how to react.”
I nod. It hurts. I know Levi can’t be here with me, but I’m still mad. I mean, I don’t know what else he could have done. I guess I’m angry because he could have handled this himself. He didn’t have to call Ziggy; nobody would have known about us. I love Ziggy, but I would rather he was here.
“He said he’d come to see you later,” she says. “He seemed really worried about you.”
I look at her, not saying anything. I’ve wanted to tell her about Levi ever since the first night we spent together, but he made me promise not to tell anyone, especially not one of my classmates. I told him Ziggy wouldn’t care, but he just glared at me, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Your parents are on their way,” she says. “Do you want me to stay here when—”
“Yes,” I say.
She laughs. “I got in touch with your brother too.”
“How?”
“Facebook,” she replies.
“Ugh,” I say. “I hate you.”
“I’m sorry,” she replies. “Your parents seemed to have enough on their plate.”
“When are you coming home?”
“You know I can’t exactly leave right now,” she says. “I have to look after Hassan and Jana’s place while they’re away. Plus, with everything that’s going on with my dad—”
I sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry you couldn’t go with them.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. Greece will be there in a year or two. Honestly, I’m glad I’m here right now. I would be worried sick if I wasn’t in the country while this was happening.”
I nod and grab her hand. It’s really warm against my skin. “Thank you, Ziggy.”
“FLOWERS,” MY mother says from the bottom of the bed, placing a nosegay packed full of pansies at the bottom of the bed. “From Alton.”
I laugh. It hurts my entire body but not as much as before. My mother rolls her eyes. “He said he would call you later.”
“Good,” I say. “I may start having seizures more if it means hearing from him more often.”
She glares at me.
My mother has never really understood my relationship with my brother. I think she hopes she can still save me from his influence, but I’m way closer to him than anyone else in my family, even though I hear from him only rarely. That’s what living across the ocean will do.
When I was growing up, the ten years between us seemed like forever. Still he was the only one in my family who truly seemed to get me—he was the first person I came out to, and when he moved away, I cried for days. I knew it was what he had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier.
It’s been maybe five years. I’m still a little angry at him, but it’s getting easier. If I was as smart as he is, I would’ve probably planned out how to get away from my parents too.
But I’m not.
“Damien,” my mom says. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I know,” I say, sitting up. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was scared too. So what happens now?”
“You’re probably going to need to see your neurologist again,” she says. She’s sitting down now. “Do you know what triggered it? Was it stress? Have you been drinking?”
The answer to all of those questions is a tentative yes. Except for the last one, which is a definite yes.
“No,” I say. “No idea. Where’s Dad?”
“On his way.”
“Right. Cool,” I say. “Do you think you can get him to stop for food? I have a feeling that this hospital’s vegan menu—”
She rolls her eyes, but my mother laughs.
“Sure,” she says. “What do you want?”