Within These Walls (The Walls Duet #1)(6)

I translated that to mean, he’d slept with a lot of women, and he’d done about every drug imaginable, but I thought he was a man of poetic words.

Later in life, he’d settled down and married—several times. He had a few children, who had eventually had children of their own. He was a writer, and apparently, he was a very successful one. I’d made a mental note to look him up when I got home. His love for filet mignon and chocolate cake had caught up to him, and now, he was paying the price with an extended stint in the hospital.

“But every part of our life is a journey, isn’t it?” he said.

I made my way to the door without a response before entering the hallway.

My life was anything but a journey. It was a dead-end.

As I passed by room 307, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. It was a room I hadn’t visited yet. I quietly peeked my head just inside and saw a young woman sitting up in bed. Flowing down her back, her long hair was loose and straight, like silky sun-kissed straw. Pale and thin, she looked fragile and angelic. Her gaze was focused up toward the TV positioned across the room in the corner, and she laughed silently, covering her mouth.

That was when I noticed she had chocolate pudding on her finger.

In her other hand, she held a pudding cup. She was scooping out the chocolate with her finger and sucking on it like a child might suckle a favorite pacifier. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face at the sight of her using her finger instead of a spoon. It was kind of gross but a little endearing. She slowly continued this process, taking small scoops of the dessert, until the cup was completely empty. She then proceeded to lick the edges clean.

I didn’t know why I was so fascinated by this event. Maybe it was the simplicity of it or the sheer goofiness of witnessing something so innocent.

When was the last time I enjoyed something so simple? Have I ever?

Growing up, my life had been all about privilege and clout. I’d enjoyed it, but I didn’t know if I had ever taken the time to appreciate something so easy and insignificant.

Have I allowed myself the opportunity?

Before she had a chance to notice the creeper standing in her doorway, I disappeared back into the hallway. The slight smile was still spread across my lips as I set my sights for the hospital cafeteria. I suddenly had a special late-night delivery to make.





NO CHECKLIST WAS required this morning. It took all of a second for my tiny eardrums to recognize the whisper-soft sound of oxygen being pumped into me. As my eyes fluttered opened and focused, I reached up and felt the plastic tubing around my nose. I instantly frowned. My nose was already dry and flaky from the stupid tubes.

Gross.

I hated sleeping like this. It was uncomfortable, unpleasant, and put me in a bad mood, but since my breathing had been a little less than ideal yesterday, I’d been put on oxygen overnight.

The bright side was I at least had machines and monitors on days like these.

Things could be much worse, and when I found myself trending toward the bitter side of the spectrum, I always tried to remind myself of that little fact. I could have been born half a century ago and never made it out of the hospital. In my twenty-two years, I’d done my fair share of complaining. I’d cried myself to sleep more times than I could count. I’d argued with my poor mother. I’d begged and pleaded with her when she brought me back to the hospital for yet another procedure.

But through it all, the rational, realistic part of me knew one very important thing—I was so incredibly lucky to be alive.

I had been fortunate enough to be born in a century with modern technology and in a country with experienced doctors who could treat my condition and help me move from one birthday to the next. Without them, I knew I wouldn’t have made it this far. My life would always be an uphill battle, and even though no one knew what the future held for me, I knew I was blessed for the short life I’d had so far. Longevity wasn’t a guarantee for me. It was a reality I had come to terms with long ago, far younger than any person should, but it was my reality and mine alone.

Being the repeat offender that I was in this medical establishment, I didn’t bother with calling in a nurse to help me. I simply shut off the oxygen myself. Pulling the tubes away, I took a deep breath and wiped my nose, hating the way my skin felt after a long night of the cannulas blowing air on it.

I did a small stretch and quickly glanced across the small room. My mother’s latest book was once again lying on the chair, forgotten along with her sweater. An empty cup was sitting on a nearby table. I searched around for my journal. I’d been writing late into the night.

That was when I noticed it. A single cup of chocolate pudding—with a spoon—was sitting on the tray next to my bed.

I looked around as if the hospital walls would somehow divulge an answer. They didn’t, and I scratched my head in confusion.

How did that get here?

It matched the same snack-sized pudding cup I’d eaten the night before.

I did eat that last night, didn’t I?

My mind wandered back to the evening before.

Lying in bed with my fuzzy slippers on, I’d watched a rerun of New Girl to keep me entertained. Dr. Marcus had made good on his promise of getting me an extra dessert. Not only had two helpings of carrot cake been delivered, but there had also been a little pudding cup as well. I’d saved that little morsel for last.

After my tray had been taken away, I’d realized that I’d handed my spoon over with the rest of my dinnerware, so I’d no longer had anything to use for the pudding. I’d sat there, staring at my pudding for a while, as I’d tried to decide if I really wanted to bother the poor nursing staff with bringing me a spoon, or if I should wait until later. Then, I’d remembered the events of the day and the fact that I was supposed to be snug in my own bed. So, I’d peeled the top off and just decided to go for it.