Page 65 of The Scientist

“It’s a bit fuzzy,” I told him. I remembered from high school biology that I probably just needed to adjust the knobs on theside to bring it into focus, but I didn’t want to take the chance and break his fancy lab equipment.

He leaned over my shoulder, looking through the lens and adjusting the knobs. Our faces were mere inches apart. He smelled like clean laundry and general maleness. I breathed in slowly, savoring the scent of him, until he pulled away, allowing me to look through the lens again. The image was crystal clear now, but I still had no idea what I was looking at.

“Umm Lex, I hate to break it to you, but the only thing I remember from biology class is to steer clear of the kid who was overly excited about frog dissection day.”

He laughed. “Sorry. You’re looking at a tissue sample from a part of the brain called the pre-frontal cortex.”

“Okay?” I said, continuing to look at the image.

“Do you know what the pre-frontal cortex is responsible for?”

“Decision making?” I guessed, thinking that sounded familiar.

“Exactly,” he said excitedly, though he couldn’t hide the surprise in his tone. “But not just decision making. It’s responsible for impulse control, emotional reactions, as well as our focus.”

“Should I be taking notes?” I teased.

He chuckled again. “Does anything seem unusual about this image?”

“Not really, no.” It looked okay as far as I could tell but that wasn’t saying much.

“That’s because this is healthy tissue,” he said. I could sense him coming closer. I inhaled that familiar scent again, feeling the warmth of his body as he leaned over to change out the slides, his chest brushing against the side of my arm.

“Now, look at this one,” he said, remaining close to my side.

As soon as the fog of lust cleared, I was able to focus on the new image before me. I could definitely see a noticeabledifference. The cells appeared more shriveled and distorted and just had a sickly look to them.

“This one looks much worse,” I said.

“It is.” He was silent for a few moments. “This is the pre-frontal cortex of a heroin addict,” he said quietly.

I froze. It suddenly dawned on me why he was showing me this.

This was about my father.

“I wanted you to see it,” he said almost apologetically. “I wanted you to know that no matter how much you love a person, addiction alters your brain on a cellular level to the point where you lose almost all impulse control. The person you’re looking at had virtually no willpower. We like to think we’re in control, but ultimately, we are at the mercy of our brain and how well it’s functioning on any given day.”

I didn’t move an inch as I continued looking at the fragmented picture. Tears started to fill my eyes, distorting the image even further. He was trying to show me what he and my mother had been attempting to tell me all along—my father had been ill.No matter how much it hurt that he wasn’t able to overcome his addiction, I couldn’t deny what was staring back at me through the lens—proof that addiction was as real as any other illness.

I blinked away my tears before I finally looked up at him.

“Thank you, Lex,” I whispered, knowing if I spoke any louder my voice was going to crack.

His forehead wrinkled. “You’re not mad?”

I shook my head before getting down off the stool and standing before him. His eyes roamed over my face like he was looking for any hint that I was lying. I could almost see the wheels working overtime in his mind.

“You’re going to hug me, aren’t you?” he guessed.

I nodded and waited a moment to see if he was going to refuse me.

“Ready?” I asked softly.

He gave a quick nod in response. I stepped toward him until we were toe to toe. I looped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to the center of his chest. I could hear his heart hammering wildly as he tentatively wrapped his arms around me. He was probably uncomfortable with the close contact, but I selfishly didn’t pull away. I could think of no other way to show him how grateful I was that he cared enough to show me this.

I stood there quietly holding onto him until his heart slowed to a normal rhythm. He had one hand pressed against the center of my back, while the other slid slowly to the nape of my neck. I didn’t have a single clue how long we stood that way, but I knew in that moment as I held him and he held me back that I couldn’t deny how I felt any longer.

I was falling for him.