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“Don’t sound so depressed. You could’ve had worse company. Have you met myroommate?” I wiggled my brows.
I watched his reaction hawkishly. He let out a tired laugh but stopped quickly. It must’ve hurt his lungs. I had no idea what he was here for. I assumed it had something to do with his episode earlier that week.
“Can we talk about it in a second?” He gulped, his face wrinkling with anxiety. “Because what I have ... it’s bad, Duffy. Really bad.”
“Alcohol-poisoning bad?” I asked. He’d been moved from the ER to the ICU, but I still had no idea what he was here for.
“No.”
“Cancer bad?”
He shook his head. “Huntington’s disease.”
My spine went rigid.Huntington’s disease?The name was familiar, but I knew nothing about it. Only that it was quite rare and deadly.
“You look so surprised you’d think I told you I was pregnant.” He reached for his nightstand to pop open the can of Coke. “To make a long story short, it’s a disease in which the nerve cells in your brain rot progressively, until you can barely move, think, or speak.”
“You mean ... like ALS?” I gulped.
Charlie unleashed a soft smile. “No. ALS at least leaves your mind unaffected. Your healthy mind is essentially trapped in a body that deteriorates. Huntington’s disease is an overachiever. It robs you of your mindandyour body.”
I had so many questions. So many things I wanted to know. But the one big thing that stood in front of me was the realization that Charlie was dying. Dying and lonely. The only people who’d visited him were Riggs and me, and we lived next door.
“How long have you been suffering from this?” I tucked my hands between my thighs so he wouldn’t see me shaking.
He blew out air, swinging his gaze up to the ceiling. “Probably close to six years, I’d say.”
“I never saw you looking ... uh ...” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what the warning signs were.
“Yes,” he said, and I noticed that his speech was slower than usual. “I’ve been good about taking my medication, keeping up with my appointments ... did everything right. I’ve even stopped traveling because I needed to be close to my health care personnel.” His eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and now hedidlook at me, but I almost wished he hadn’t. His misery sucked away whatever sunshine I still harbored. “Just because you didn’t see it, didn’t mean it didn’t happen. I suffered through all the phases. Big and small. The memory lapses, the clumsiness, the muscle spasms, the impaired speech.”
“How did you hide it?”
“I got good at slinking away whenever it was necessary.” He smiled grimly. “I disappeared on the few people I was in contact with. And I wasn’t always in such pain. The time from the first symptom of Huntington’s disease to death is between ten and thirty years. I’ve been dodging the real bad stuff for a while. Looks like it finally caught up with me.”
I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath. This was why he’d soiled himself the other day. He had little control of his muscles. It took everything in me not to cry.
“You’ve been coping with this alone for six years?” I pressed my lips together to stop myself from crying.
He tried to nod. “Though each year felt like a decade.”
“Well, what are they planning to do to help you here?” I demanded, rising up. “There’s a lot to be done. You’ve been practically fine before this week!”
He looked at me sympathetically, like I was in complete denial.
“I wasn’t fine, and there’s not much they can do. Huntington’s disease is incurable. You can slow it down and sometimes manage it, but I’ve already done those things before. They don’t work anymore. This is my final act, I’m afraid.”
“How can you say that?” I began pacing the room, frantic. “You just got here!”
“It’s not my first stint at the hospital,” he admitted. “You know all those times I told you I was going out of town?”
My eyes flared. Charlie would text me randomly that he couldn’t make it to our weekly drinks every now and then because he was away. I never questioned his excuses. He was a dashing, cosmopolitan man. I figured he took trips to see friends and family, not lie in a dark hospital room all by himself.
“Oh, Charlie.” I cupped my mouth. Despite my best effort, tears leaked from my eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here—”
“Duffy.”His voice sharpened. “Listen to me. I’m not getting out of here alive this time. If I do, it’s straight to a hospice. I’ve been pushing it for the last year. Things aren’t getting better for me, angel.”
“How could you give up so quickly?” I whined childishly, fire burning through my lungs.
