Free Diamond Girl by Kathleen Hewtson Page B

listening to Milan that the guy who you gave your virginity to would love you forever, so I shyly tried to nestle against him for cuddling.
    He stiffened up, moved away and sat up and started pulling on his sweats. He said my name. “Uhm , Carey?”
    “Yeah, Jeff?” I answered in what I hoped was a seductive way.
    “Uhm, when we were doing it, I felt something on your back. What the fuck is that?” I cringed but I was thinking, well, we’re together now, so no more secrets, and I rolled over onto my stomach and showed him. “See it’s just a little tube and a needle going into the pack. I have diabetes and it automatically pumps insulin in. This way I don’t have to do needles.” I told him that it didn’t hurt me because I thought he would be worried about me.
    He sort of nodded and shoved his hands through his hair. I thought how hot he looked doing that and reached up to touch him. He stood up like I had pinched him and yanked down his t-shirt. “Oh yeah, well that’s good. I mean if it works and everything. But it’s weird. Huh, is that why you’re here, 'cause having dia-whatever makes you feel weird?”
    “No, I don’t feel weird. What do you mean? I’m not even supposed to be here. I don’t do drugs. I’m not some sick freak.”
    Even in the dark I could see his lips twist. “No, not at all. You don’t do drugs, right? You don’t belong here. Well that’s cool. I do use drugs but you don’t see me with bandages on my wrists and some fucking tube in my back.”
    I felt tears start and, embarrassed, I pulled up my sheet. “Jeff …”
    “No, listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Listen, Carey, this was cool and everything. I didn’t know it was your first time but thanks for, you know, letting me be the one and everything. But, Carey, we’re like in treatment here, and I … I’m, you know, pretty fucked up. If I don’t clean up this time, my parents are going to send me to some fucking crazy school in Russia or somewhere, so …”
    I rolled away so I didn’t have to look at him. My stomach hurt and I thought about pink blood and shower drains. I thought about my funeral and mentally added him standing by my coffin, crying alongside my mother.
    I didn’t hear him leave, or notice if he said goodbye. After that he sat two chairs away from me in group and never met my eyes, and there were no more late night old movie dates, and on Saturday, during visiting hours, even though we were the only two kids there whose parents hadn’t shown, he didn’t come and hang out with me in the lounge like he had before.
    I stood at the window and watched him on the grass outside having one of his bullshit pretend earnest conversations with the orderly, smoking and gesturing dramatically. He looked like a douche; he was a douche. I felt something harden off in my head and I walked over to the duty nurse and, in my best Kelleher voice, I asked her if I could call my mother.
    The nurse looked at me suspiciously and I sighed loudly. “Oh, come on, you must have noticed by now that none of my family have made a  visiting day, and get a clue, they’re not going to, so I need to call my mother and have her send some things from home.”
    “Send what? You have the same commissary privileges as everyone else here, Carolyn, and there is nothing in your chart about calling home. I think we need to wait on this until Monday when your doctor is here.”
    Of all the many things I hate about treatment, and about hospitals, the thing I hate the most is when nurses say 'we' when they mean you. It’s the most pathetic bunch of crap and I told her so. Of course, this made her ugly face shut down, and I could see my plans going up in smoke, so I changed my approach. I gave her the dimple and tried to look sad, not totally pissed and wanting to club her to death with the receiver as I wished to.
    “Look, I’m sorry, I’m just really, you know, disappointed that my mother couldn’t visit me this week, so