Darkheart

The Present: Blood & Guts

"How did you manage to do this, Cris?"

"The knife slipped."

"You were just—"

"Cutting an apple, I know. I told you I'm no good in a kitchen."

Her sister snipped the extra thread, tied it off, watching with almost a bit of amusement the grimace on Cris's face. "Cutting an apple hardly counts as cooking. Mom would've been so disappointed."

Yes, Mom would've been disappointed at just about everything Cris hadn't accomplished, not to mention her lies; Cris hadn't been cutting an apple at all but cracking open rocks on the beach in hopes of finding geodes. "We can't all be doctors," she grumbled, rising from the chair.

"That is not what I was talking about at all." Jessica stood as well. "Let me wrap it for you--"

"No. It's fine. I've got to get back." She moved aside the papery blue curtain, its metal rings jangling in annoyance along the overhead bar.

The fluorescent lights blazed down in alternating rectangles of harshness. A nurse looked at Cris in curiosity, eyes flicking down her bloodstained dress and then up to her face before turning away and attempting to look busy. Must've been a new one. Cris didn't care. She'd been in enough times to know how the staff saw her--as a screw-up, a lost cause. And maybe they weren't all wrong. She hated relying on her sister for anything, least of all medical attention. But without insurance, where else could she go?

"Hey!"

Her sister's voice from behind served only to quicken Cris's pace, but she couldn't escape Jessica—no one could.

"Cris, listen." The more charming, more vivacious of them hurried to get to the waiting room door first, blocked the way out. "Dusty and I are having a barbecue tomorrow night. Why don't you come?"

A small child on its mother's lap stared at Cris as it sucked its thumb. She narrowed her eyes at it, causing it to turn and tuck its little bald head into its mother's breast. Looking back to her sister, Cris shook her head. "No thanks."

Even in her doctor's coat--maybe especially because of her doctor's coat--Jessica knew she wielded a certain kind of sword, one capable of guilting Cris even in her moments of confidence. "You have got to get out more. Mom would never have wanted us to be distant like this. I'm worried about you! And it's--it's just a small thing. Just us."

Cris crossed her arms, accidentally tweaking her freshly stitched finger and trying not to reveal the pain of it. "No random guys you're trying to set me up with?"

Jessica opened her mouth but failed to give the firm denial Cris knew she couldn't.

"Yeah, like I said--no thanks."

Deflating her sister just long enough, Cris found her chance and pushed past.

"Crystal! Come on! Ok--just, just call me if you change your mind!"

Cris rolled her eyes, though her sister couldn't see anything but her back as she walked across the parking lot to her truck. That name--nobody called her Crystal anymore except for Jessica, when she was upset. Hearing it always brought up thoughts of adolescence in Cris, the awkwardness and the drama, the ridiculous optimism and the disappointment of reality. The embarrassing crushes and the fear of failure and the perceived intensity of absolutely everything. And then, of course, her old name brought up other memories, too, of secrecy and adventure and terror and, ultimately, one particular night, one particular summer, when one particularly incomprehensible thing had happened.

Climbing into her rusted-out pick-up, Cris started up the engine. Alt rock blared out of the speakers, and the whole vehicle rattled as she pulled it out of the Urgent Care lot onto the road.