I can’t drag a woman like Sera into any of this shit. I stare at her one last time, as the elevator doors start to close on her and turn to go back to my place. At least I got her name. Closing the door, I lean back against it and hang my head down, staring at my socks.
Money’s just money. It’s fucking paper, man. But shit, money means freedom. I could even get Matty that insulin pump so he wouldn’t have to inject himself so much. Fuck.
“I think we’re done here,” I say. I don’t know how Mom doesn’t hear it, how close I was to committing matricide.
“Hunter! There’s something wrong with Matty!” Mom wails. I glance up to see her actually fucking wringing her hands instead of doing something useful. She knows how to check Matty’s sugar. I’ve taught her enough times, but no. She’d probably get blood on her precious designer suit.
Matty looks up at me with glassy eyes. “Daddy, I’m tired.”
“Don’t worry, little buddy. Let’s just get Tony and check, then we’ll get you something to eat if you need, yeah?”
Matty just nods in his seat, leaning on the back of it, eyes half-closing. My heart does somersaults in my chest, and pulls against its chains to come out of my throat. Maybe this time, maybe this time I’ll be too late with the food. Maybe this time his sugar’s gonna drop so low, even the ambulance when it comes won’t be able to revive him with glucagon.
Maybe this time he’s gonna die because I wasn’t paying close enough attention.
Maybe this time, maybe this time.
I sprint into Matty’s room, getting his pouch from his dresser. Moving back to the kitchen table, I get his glucometer out, and take his blood.
When it’s done, I glare at the machine and wait for five seconds. It feels like months fly by where I’m only aware of my heart beating too hard and too fast, and my stomach turning. I can’t look away as the numbers decrease, not even to check on Matty. I feel like if I glance away for just a second, Matty might die. If I glance away for just a second, it all becomes real how close we are to mortality.
Five, four, three, two, one...
Fuck. His sugar’s at two point four. I clamp down on the need to vomit and piss at the same time, refusing to let my limbs shake as I move away from the kitchen table and grab my stash of honey from the second highest cupboard where Matty can’t reach. I slather it on a piece of brown bread, and sprinkle some sugar over it.
God, what if I can’t get him to eat this time? What if he throws it all up? Can I handle having his death on my conscience, too?
I sit at the table and slowly coax him to eat it. Matty makes faces and he gags a few times from the sugar overload.
I yell at him and tell him to keep eating, that he has to eat it all or else. I make up threats and tell lies to get him to eat that piece of bread. I pray and scream inside my head for Matty to be all right.
When he closes his eyes shut, my heart seizes and I end up cracking him in the face with my palm. Matty stares up at me, cheek turning pink with the remnants of my handprint and I want to vomit and laugh at the same time. He’s awake, he’s alert. The honeyed bread is working.
He’s going to be okay.
Christ, the kid’s going to be all right.
I’m pretty sure I’ve just lost ten years off my life. I feel like an old man, joints and bones aching, and I’d rather just sit here and slowly waste away than expend any more energy.
I clear my throat and find my voice after long minutes where I watch Matty become more and more alert. When he picks up his crayon again, massaging his cheek with his free hand and starts munching on the grilled cheese I made him earlier, I know I just skimmed Death’s scythe with Matty’s life.
“I want you to leave now. Please.” I toss out the ‘please’ and it sounds just as broken as I am. Mom and I both know that if she asks anything of me right now, I’ll say yes, just to get some time alone, just to be free of her presence.
So that’s exactly what she does. She asks me to call Aly, and I say I will.
When she’s gone, I snag my pouch from the kitchen counter and check my sugar. I’m high. I figure the adrenaline rush is gonna help burn off the excess sugar in my system, and what I really need is a nap.
Preferably one where Matty sleeps half-on my chest, so even in unconsciousness I know how he’s doing.
We end up in my bed, Matty somehow snuggling into my ribs like a puppy would do to its mother. My throat tightens up, and I palm his head, sifting my fingers through his hair.
I drift off with one thought in my brain; her name is Sera.
Chapter 6
“Please, Daddy? I want to watchhhhh itttttttt,” Matty whines, voice doing acrobatics with the syllables.