I stand outside the ICU while Mom talks with some fat doctor. Everything in my body feels limp and numb. It’s times like these that I wish I smoked. People who smoke during a crisis look so calm.

Any semblance of calm that I might have possessed shatters when I see a tall, young, Asian man coming down the hall towards me. Mom must have called him. Shit.

His eyes run briefly over me and then he looks to the doctor talking softly to Mom. No tears, no shaking hands, no sign of stress. Daisuke looks like he always does, cool, confident, and in control. God, I hate him!

Ever since I can remember, Michael drew people. He didn’t like drawing animals or airplanes or cars, but people fascinated him and he would spend hours just getting their expressions right.

Now he just wants to be a cartoonist, illustrating comic books instead of sketching masterpieces. But I know he still draws people, because one night I went up to his room to get something and came across his drawings.

There were a few sketches of his friends and me here and there, but the best ones, and the most numerous in quantity were those of Daisuke.

Michael’s pictures of Daisuke far outnumbered any of the others. There were pictures of him angry, bored, lazy, even laughing, and somehow, Michael had captured the subtle, flawed beauty of Daisuke’s character, his arrogance and his gentleness.

Looking at all of them spread out before me gave me a strange feeling. I guess I should have asked Michael about them. But I never did.

My mother’s voice rises in a wail, “But she was so healthy for two years!”

The fat doctor tries to calm her.

“There are risks involved with heart transplants…” he starts to say, before a scream cuts him off. Horrifying banshee shrieks bounce off the cold, sterile walls.

We all try to push inside the room at once, but Mom has a head start and gets to the bed first, where Lena is thrashing and sobbing.

“No, no! Not here! Let me out! Please let me out of here! Pleeeease…”

I remember seeing her here, at this very same hospital on her fourteenth birthday. My sister looked so small and frail and sick, but she smiled and accepted her fate. She said that when she got her new heart, all the suffering would be worth it.

“Get out,” Daisuke orders. “Everyone. Now.”

For a moment, no one can believe what he’s saying. Even Lena is still with shock. My mom takes my arm and tugs me away. The doctor gives Dai a little nod.

“I’ll be back in a moment with some sedatives. Try to keep her calm.”

Retreating to the hallway, I turn and watch the room through the window. My mother leans against the wall and closes her eyes, letting out a sound that is something between a gasp and a sigh.

“I have to call your father,” she says wearily, turning down the hall. What are you going to do now? I want to ask her, She’s the only kid you wanted. What will you do now?

Lena stares out the window at the parking lot with red eyes; her mouth is still open with a little drool on her chin. Daisuke doesn’t say anything and doesn’t try to touch her.

It’s just Daisuke and me standing here, watching my sister, but I don’t really feel like I’m here either. Some other guy is standing in the hallway, watching these two people with the rain coming down outside the window behind them, and he’s thinking about how he would draw it, how he would make tears rimming the girl’s eyes and draw her hair straight, not tangled and messy, how he would emphasize the darkness and hidden turmoil in the beautiful young man whose face is turned down to the tile.

“It’s all over,” Lena rasps at last, “It was like some kind of beautiful dream…and now I’ve finally woken up again.” She sounds surprised, almost incredulous.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I murmur by reflex. The words sound ridiculously fake.

She can’t even hear me. She’s watching Daisuke, who’s watching the floor.

Suddenly, Lena begins thrashing again, pulling out tubes and wires, knocking over equipment as she struggles out of the bed. She’s not screaming, but sobbing sounds tear from her chest repeatedly and her movements are frantic.

When Daisuke tries to lift her back up on the bed, Lena makes an awful sound and struggles away from him, pulling her body into a tight ball as she crouches on the floor. He doesn’t try to touch her again, but kneels down beside her.

“You don’t!” she cries, “You don’t…so stop pretending!”

I can’t think anymore. One of the machines sputters and makes noises of protest. IV fluid spreads across the floor. My eyes are fixed on Daisuke, crouched beside her on the ugly yellow tile of the hospital room. He’s saying something I can’t understand. The logical part of my mind says it’s Japanese, but I can’t help but think that it’s some language of love that I never learned, that I never will learn.

He picks her up like she is a child and her arms slide around his neck. Daisuke lifts my sister into the air, never noticing how small and pathetic she is, how her thin hospital gown is stuck to her body with sweat and that her dull hair hangs in rough, tangled ropes over a pale, corpse-like face.

Two hospital workers trot up the hall, alerted by the commotion, but I hold up a hand to let them know it’s all right. Together, we stare at Daisuke on the tile, holding Lena without confusion or fear. He cradles her like a child, not seeing me or anyone else, because his eyes are locked on her face.

“Bishoujo,” he says to her softly, “Aishiteru.”

I desperately want to understand. But I can only stand here and watch as he sets her on the bed, pushing hair out of her wet face with his fingers. Lena is crying softly, her pale hands gripping his shirt tightly.

“Aishiteru,” I whisper without knowing the meaning of the word. I am so weak that it hurts. The staff members enter the room slowly and begin to set up the machines again, casually, methodically. I’m standing here in the empty hallway, with my arms wrapped around my fragile, pathetic body, tears burning behind my eyes, and nobody sees me.

“Aishiteru…”