* * *
Kylie hit her target. I was on stage at the scheduled time feeling more relaxed than I was the night before. The road crew has been leaving the lights on at the side of the stage at my request. That way I can keep my eye on Kylie during our performances. It’s lucky I’ve performed these songs hundreds of times before, so my eyes can continually dart to Kylie without ever losing the tempo of the song.
I’m three-quarters through our current set when I notice one of the stage assistants approaching Kylie. When she hands her a large white envelope, my breathing lowers to shallow pants even though I’m exhausted from playing the drums for the past hour and a half.
Time slows to a snail’s pace as I watch Kylie read the document inside the envelope. Her face pales mere seconds before she yanks her phone out of her pocket. Even from a distance, I swear I can see tears shining in her eyes as her fingers fumble over the screen.
Three seconds after she squashes her phone to her ear, her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. My heart sinks into my stomach when she flees away from the stage. When I freeze with my drumsticks mid-air, unable to move out of fear, Nick stands next to me, still strumming his guitar. He says something, but my mind doesn’t register a single word coming out of his mouth. All I can see is the devastated look on Kylie’s face before she darted away.
Nick nudges me with his knee before jerking his head to the curtains Kylie just fled from. “Go, Slater!”
I stand from my drum kit so quickly, the cymbals topple over. You know the feeling you get when you’re so drunk everything around you is a blur? That’s how I feel right now. I stumble and trip over my own feet, even though I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in days.
I somehow manage to get to the side of the stage, although I’m disoriented and confused.
“She’s in your dressing room.”
The tears streaming down Jenni’s face cause my eyes to water, but they also kickstart my feet. I race to my dressing room, scanning it five times before my brain clicks that Kylie isn’t inside. Just as I’m about to exit, a loud sob comes out of the bathroom. It’s the cry of someone who sounds truly heartbroken. It rips through my chest and maims my heart.
I rush to Kylie, wanting to comfort her. After a frantic search, I find her huddled on the ground in the shower. She’s cradling her legs in her arms, and her cheek is resting on her knees. She’s gripping a white sheet of paper so tightly it has a large crease down the middle. As she rocks back and forth, horrifying sobs rack her body so hard, she shudders with every one.
I sit on the wet tiled floor before pulling her into my arms. I comfort her the best I can while fighting to keep my own tears at bay. Now I don’t just feel like I’m dying. I’m certain I am. My heart feels like it’s being torn in two. I can’t fucking lose her.
Please god, don’t take her away from me.
Why didn’t I force her to go to the doctor’s the instant I saw the bruise? Why didn’t I make her have blood tests every month? If only I’d been more diligent, we could have avoided all this heartbreak.
It takes several long, heartbreaking minutes before Kylie’s head lifts off my chest. Despair marks her beautiful face. As my eyes dart between hers, I silently beg for her to tell me everything is okay. I don’t want to hear any other words come out of her mouth, other than she’s okay.
She tries to form words, but every time she moves her lips, only a painful whimper escapes. After a beat, she hands me the piece of paper she’s gripping to near death. After scrubbing the back of my hand over my moisture-filled eyes, I read the handwritten letter.
Dear Kylie,
I never understood why you left the man you loved when you found out you were sick. Why sacrifice your own happiness for another? Why put anyone’s happiness above your own? Now I fully understand why you did what you did. You did it because you love him even more than you love yourself.
Please remember that when you read the next part of my letter. Everything I did, I did for you, because I love you more than I love myself.
I never went into remission. I was informed at my last appointment that my condition had become terminal. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to see your devastation when you found out, so I lied instead. The happy glint in your eyes when you thought I was in remission was worth betraying you, even though I knew it would eventually break your heart.
I went through the stages of grief. The very first step was denial, then I was angry, then I was sad, then I finally came to terms with what was going to happen. I was going to die. I just refused to leave until you got the life you deserved.
You thought I didn’t know about Slater until after you got back together. You were very wrong. You’ve always been a loved-up drunk, and you mentioned him a few times the past two years. I knew it would only take him seeing your beautiful face one more time for him to fall head over heels in love with you again.
Well, that was my plan. I just didn’t realize he was as stubborn as you are. With a little pushing, you got there in the end, and I’m so incredibly happy for you. The joy on your face last week made me realize I made the right decision to keep this from you.
A few times, I wanted to tell you what was happening. I really wanted my best friend by my side, but just like Slater, I knew you would have given it all away in an instant to be with me. I loved you too much to force you to do that, so, just like you, I sacrificed my happiness for the person I love.
You have the most beautiful soul, and it was my absolute pleasure to call you my best friend. I love you; I believe in you, and I know one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I lived the fullest life I could by squeezing eighty years into twenty-four. Out of those twenty-four years, my best ones were with you.
Please don’t cry for me. Please don’t grieve. Live! Live the best life you can live and live it for both of us. But more than anything, remember everything I did, I did for you. I’ll be waiting for you in heaven in another eighty plus years. Look for the sexy angel with two margaritas in her hands.
I love you, and I’ll miss you every single day.
Your very best friend in the world,
Melanie xx
This will make me the biggest fucking asshole in the world, but I sigh while reading Melanie’s letter. I’m devastated for Kylie—truly, I am—but I thought I was coming in here to console her over her diagnosis. I thought I was losingher, so my first thought was relief, which is rapidly changing to guilt.
