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Chema shifts me on the bed so I’ll face him and knows I can’t fight it off. “Someone like what, Valentina? Someone strong and brave, smart and loving? Why wouldn’t anyone deserve someone like that?”
I snort. “I’m not any of those things. I’m shriveling up and dying. Don’t you all get that?”
“You are not dying.”
I smile. “I used to say that when I first started treatment. I was so hopeful and thought I would live, and I’d say ‘I’m not dead yet’ a lot. I haven’t thought it in weeks now—”
“Valentina, treatment is almost over. Just one week to go. Of course it was going to take its toll on you, but hear me when I say, ‘you are not dying,’ and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you tell me how you are going to die. I won’t do it—”
I raise my chin so I can stare at my friend in awe. His voice crackles, but his face is furious. Fuck. I’m hurting him too. There is not a single loved one I’ve managed to spare from the circus that is cancer.
It takes all the strength I can muster, but I bring my hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t do it again,” he orders.
“Are you coaching me through the final week of treatment? Is that what this is?”
Chema wipes the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes and smiles. “Yeah. Guess I am. Now, rest.”
He shuts the lights off before leaving my room. I hug my pillow once again. I want his optimism, an optimism I shared when I first started, but my body is so far gone, I can’t imagine ever being what I once was. I was so naive to think I could hide this from everyone, that I could go back to fighting like nothing had ever happened. What a child.
My body will be altered for life, internally and externally. I will bear the scars as proof of this battle whether I die in weeks, months, years, or decades—I’ll always carry the reminders.
I lie in bed and have a breakdown unlike any I’ve experienced so far. I’m surprised at how far I’ve made it, from what Mandy had told me. I let the tears flow as I mourn for the life I’ll never get back even if I do live. I mourn the loss of the body I was once so damn proud of. I grieve for the loss of my physical strength.
The crying leads me into the early hours of the morning, and I can’t stop the breakdown because I also mourn for the only person I could ever imagine being the love of my life.
My heart is bruised.
Contusions in every ventricle sending waves of pain with each heartbeat because Rory's gone. And no amount of ice baths, salves, or massages will ease the hurt.
I mourn for the loss of my love with Rory Dennis.
