CHAPTER TRES
Peter Van Houten doesn't narrate the audiobook for An Imperial Affliction. That's a good thing; I wouldn't be able to concentrate on the words if his drunken, slurred speech was the voice, even if his brain formulated the words.
I'm focusing too much on focusing. And when I'm trying to focus on something else, I'm still focusing on my focus... All I want is to close my eyes and listen to the words, but that's pretty difficult when my mom is trying to lurk around my room and clean it. She's bad at trying to be quiet, but I can't blame her as she tries to dust and tidy up a few things on myself with a bunch of chords and tubes strung around [a side effect of dying at home due to that bitch of a side effect cancer].
My eyes are slightly opened, groggily chasing after her swift movements. I don't want her to know I'm awake- if she knows I'm awake, she'll try to talk to me. Either my voice will go out again and she'll look at me with those pitying eyes she's mastered, or something even worse will happen- I'll be able to talk, and she'll try to hold out a conversation. Why is that bad? Well, this is my prediction of how that possible conversation could go:
Mom: Hazel, you're awake. [she'll talk in a soft, cautious voice, of course] How are you feeling?
Me: Okay.
Mom: Do you need anything?
Me: No tha-
Mom: Do you want to watch TV? America's Next Top Model is coming on soon.
Me: I'm good...
Mom: How about food? Are you hungry, sweetie?
Me: Not really...
Mom: You haven't eaten for a while. I think you need to get something in your system. How about a drink, at least?
To end the story, I'll end up having to get a drink or food item of some kind, and end up vomiting it up. Probably. So I'd rather look like I'm sleeping. I shut my eyes fully as my mother turns in my direction.
I tune in on her careful footsteps, and all background noise fades away. I wasn't that focused- AIA stopped playing. It wasn't over yet, though.
"Hazel, I know you're awake." I wince at my mother's voice and slowly draw my eyes open and focus on her. She's standing above me, the iPod that had my audiobook on it in her hand. Totally not the caring, saddened voice I expected.
She walks over to my blinds, which are cracked to only let a few streaks of light in. I groan as my mother yanks them open to full brightness and pull a blanket over my face.
"You've been home for three days. I know for a fact you can still hold a book," she says. Her tone is firm... maybe even a little harsh? That's new [semi-edgy Mrs. Lancaster? Sounds kinda cool to me]. "No need for an audiobook yet."
I remove the blanket from my face with ferocity, of course stirring some coughs from my tumor-stricken lungs. "So I'm being forced to read, now?"
My mom grumbles in response, "No, you're being forced to realize that you're overplaying this." Her lips form a straight line and remain there for a moment or two, but then her face relaxes and she sits upon the foot of my bed with a sigh. I let her stroke a few short pieces of hair from my forehead as she continues, "You're not too bad yet, Hazel. I don't want you fooling yourself out of the days you are able to do things. Trust me, you'll get plenty of times when you can play the weak card. Don't start doing that while you don't have to." She makes eye contact with me, and I can see the small quiver of the glaze over her eyes as the waterworks begins. "Please," she adds quietly.
I nod, and she returns the gesture. Sniffles arise from my mother's nose, and she suddenly rises and smoothly escapes past my doorway.
