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Wow. That’s the first time I’ve admitted that to myself. I keep it close to my chest because it’s the card I’m not sure I’m going to play. I started researching assisted suicide before I even decided to do this trip, convincing myself that it was ‘just in case’.
That’s why I wanted someone like Cade with me—someone unattached enough to be able to support me without bias if I decided that is what I needed to do. That’s something I would never expect nor ask my family to do.
All I wanted was for it to be up to me to decide when my time is up and not let this disease do for me, because who knows what’s going to happen next? I could end up on life support with my mind slipping away from me. The idea of losing the essence of who I am is too much to bear. I wanted to have the option there for me if I decided I needed it. I just wanted the chance to control. There is dying and there is choosing to die, and I was sure the latter was the better option for me. But as it becomes more real and the end creeps closer, I’m not sure I can do it. Because I didn’t expect to fall in love with him.
Now as much as I doubt whether I can do this myself, I don’t think I could do it to him. How can I make him live with that? How can I ask him to help me die? It’s just not fair. He sacrificed so much to come here and help me, and for what? A free trip is nothing. That doesn’t even begin to cover everything he’s done for me.
Does he love me? I don’t know. But I do know that he didn’t come here expecting to fall in love. And I’m sure as hell he isn’t expecting to lose me during the course of this trip.
After I’m showered and dressed, I make my way down for breakfast. I still haven’t seen or heard from Cade, but I’m not worried. He knows our flight is at two in the afternoon. I try him again after my breakfast of an orange juice and half a piece of toast. Still no answer.
It’s lunchtime, and I’ve just returned from a walk around the morning markets. There is still no sign of Cade, and I’m starting to get concerned. What if something happened to him? I head back to his room again, hoping he came back while I was out. I check the bed and the bathroom, but there is no sign of him.
I anxiously pace the room. It’s not rational, because he’s only been missing a few hours, but I can’t shake the feeling something has happened. Why else would he be missing? He knows what time our flight is, just like he knows how important this next part of our journey is to me. If I could only see one place, it would be Paris, and I don’t want to experience it without him.
I may not have known him very long, but it feels like a lifetime. Probably because more good has happened in these last two months than in the rest of my life. A stab of anger hits me. Why couldn’t we have met five years ago? Why am I falling in love with someone just before I’m gone? Is it not bad enough that I’m twenty-four and dying—I had to fall in love, knowing I’m going to lose him?
I’m calling the police. I dig out my phone to Google the Spanish emergency number, when it hits me to check my room. Why the hell didn’t I think of that earlier? It’s the logical place for him to go if he needed space.
I walk to the next room and let myself inside using my second card. Immediately I spot the lump under my covers and relief floods through me. Thank God.
“You had me worried,” I laugh, my breathing laboured from doing too much walking this morning.
I walk over to the bed and nudge him to wake him up, but I get no response. He’s so out of it. He must be exhausted. Smiling, I lean close, deciding there is only one way to wake him. The urge to kiss him dissipates as soon as the overwhelming stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke hits me. I step back, both annoyed and concerned. What the hell happened after I fell asleep? He’s so drunk he’s on the verge of being comatose, which is impressive for the middle of the day.
“Cade,” I say, my voice rising. “We are going to miss our plane.”
This time I get a weak groan, which at least tells me he’s still alive. That’s something, I guess. I have no idea what is going on with him, because he won’t talk to me. One minute I think we are connecting on a whole new level, and the next he’s like this.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m so glad I could fund you getting off your face while I sit around and wait for you to sober up. Find your own way to the airport.”
I grab my bag and storm out of the room. I’m so angry that I’m shaking. I can’t believe he’s doing this. Tears threaten to pour down my cheeks, but dammit, I won’t let him see me cry, nor will I let him ruin this for me. I’ll leave him here in Spain before I do that.
I know I’m running out of time. I can feel it every second of every day. Even just the short walk to the taxi rank is leaving me out of breath. As I reach the trunk to place my luggage, my vision disappears for a millisecond, just long enough to make me panic. The driver jumps out and grabs my bags, asking in broken English if I’m okay. I nod, ignoring the curious looks of a few bystanders, and let him assist me into the back seat of the taxi. Just breathe, Erin. Relax. I close my eyes and lean my head back, listening to th
e sound of my heart beating, my hand resting against my chest.
How much time do I have left? I hate leaving angry at Cade, but I can’t help it. I don’t even know if it’s him that I’m angry at. Maybe I’m angry at myself. Maybe I’m angry at the world. I thought I was handling this. People keep telling me how brave I am, but the truth is I’m not brave. I’m a fraud. I put on a face and let people think that I’m this amazing, strong person when inside I am weak. Because the truth is I am scared, more than I’ve ever been in my life, and I am terrified of doing this alone.
I’m terrified of doing this without him.
Chapter Seventeen
Cade
The sound of her slamming the door shut jolts me into action. I sit bolt upright, my pounding head a reminder of just how much I had to drink last night. Hell, I don’t remember half the night and I’m not sure I want to. Forget about what I’m doing to myself—all I can think about is how much I’m letting her down.
I have to get to the airport.
I surge into gear, throwing my things into my bags at lightning speed. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and I don’t bother changing because I don’t have time. I reek of stale cigarettes and alcohol, which is a great combination for a three-hour flight, but I don’t care. My only focus is getting to the airport before the plane leaves.
In the bathroom, I cup my hands under the running faucet and splash my face, the freezing cold water stinging my eyes. I glance in the mirror and laugh. I look like shit, but it’s nothing a few days sober won’t fix.
I’m out the front and hailing a taxi cab less than fifteen minutes after she left. I sigh with relief as one finally stops, happy I’m at least going to get there in time for our flight. That doesn’t mean she’s going to forgive me for acting like a shit, but at least it’s a start.
I find Erin sitting in the airport, iPad in hand, drinking a cup of coffee. She looks up as I walk in, her eyes narrowing slightly. She has her long hair tied back, and in her long, flowing dress, she looks carefree and healthy. I walk over to her and smile apologetically. Her cool stare back at me tells me she’s going to make me work for her forgiveness.
“I owe you a huge apology,” I begin. I sit down next to her and rest my arms on the table in front of me. Her eyes are red. I’m not sure she’s been crying or if it’s just an indication of how she’s feeling. Either way, my guilt creeps up a notch. “Can we just write the last few days off and start again?”
