I studied her picking at the corner of one of her nails, head down. Going over to shake her and ask why she never confided in me wasn’t a possibility now. Wasn’t a damn option.
Mrs. Blakely took a breath and her voice cut through the air with precision and purpose. “My family doesn’t go to great lengths to share our story because it doesn’t define us. We’re Blakelys. We define ourselves. When we battle something as terrifying as cancer, we’re humbled. Vick, Harvey wants our family to do a commercial,” she whispered the last statement.
My pixie shot up from her chair, no longer a little bundle of fun. Her eyes bounced around the room, finally resting on her mother. One word bled from her, a world of emotion packed into it. “No.”
Her mother stepped forward, ready to argue. “This is for the company, Vick. It’s for others who’ve gone through the same thing.”
“It’s not fair to ask me to do that.”
Harvey jumped in. “If you can’t …” He hung his head like he understood. The man came in loud and proud but it seemed the Blakelys held a special place in his heart, one he didn’t want to tarnish by capitalizing on their experience.
“She can,” Bastian said from the end of the table. His eyes were dark, his words final. “She will. If the commercial puts this drug in a place where people trust it. We do it.”
Vick turned on him, a wounded animal, fighting for her life. “You know what I went through, and you want to put me through more?”
“I want you to fight for this even if it means bleeding for it,” he countered.
She searched the room, and her eyes fell on me. Unshed tears pooled in them like she knew something was about to change, like we were approaching something she couldn’t turn away from. She blinked once and one tear spilled over as she said, “Okay.”
I understood not wanting her family in the spotlight but people would appreciate that her mother had survived this. They would respect the woman more. There was no downside.
None that I could see.
Harvey pulled out a laptop and explained they’d already actualized a commercial they felt was a great start. Weston asked if this had anything to do with the ingredients, and Harvey put him off by saying this was a better testament to the drug’s effectiveness.
The commercial started.
The first five seconds of the video showed Victory, probably high school aged, with family and friends on her birthday, laughing and enjoying the celebration. The music changed as it faded to black. A long, low note from the piano signified we were about to see Mrs. Blakely stricken with cancer.
When the screen revealed Victory in the hospital, my body convulsed with shock. My blood ran cold, the tips of my fingers tingled. I lost the air in my lungs along with the ability to think. I lost the ability to comprehend.
I was supposed to sit, apathetic, like a damn rock, but a tsunami of confusion, frustration, and some emotion I couldn’t put my finger on barreled through me.
“Get out,” I whispered.
Victory was probably the only one who heard because she stared at me with those same desolate eyes.
My body felt like a damn grenade had gone off inside it. I was supposed to sit there and not react, not feel the shards of emotion puncturing the insides of my soul. She’d never told me. She’d never thought to confide in me, to help me understand her. She’d never wanted me to really know her. She'd worn a mask better than I ever could. She'd painted a picture like Picasso. She'd had me living in a reverie I never, ever wanted.
“Get the fuck out!” The words thundered out of me like a cannon releasing its fury.
Everyone but Vick exchanged confused stares, except for Bastian, who nodded and ushered his crew out. “Let's give them a minute.”
They filed out just as the commercial ended, leaving us in silence.
I waited. And waited, recognizing the calm before the storm. I knew the eerie silence before a battle must have felt just like this.
Still, I waited.
Her hair cascaded down over her face as she hid from me, looking down at the table.
Her small frame curled in like she finally, finally was afraid of something.
A fear gripped me too. Because I’d been hit with the realization that I loved her and didn't know a thing about what she'd been through. The fear that I could lose her wasn't just a trick of jealousy anymore. Cancer. Ugly. Deathly. Too fucking real to ignore. Cancer gobbled up jealousy and presented a truly terrifying opponent, one I wasn’t sure I could control.
“So, Victory Blakely, turns out you're the Phantom behind the mask and I've been the one living in Neverland.”
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