The Cruel and Beautiful Series Boxset

by A. M. Hargrove

  “What’s going on?”

  I planted myself before him on the coffee table.

  “What do you think? I’m going to fucking die.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re going to beat this.” Whatever this was. Had he gotten the results back? “Where’s Cate?”

  “Cate’s in school where she should be. Where I should let her stay.”

  “What the fuck, man? What’s up with all the doomsday talk?”

  “I have Ewing Sarcoma.”

  “Yeah, and?” Because I had no idea what that was. It didn’t sound good.

  “My chances of surviving this are somewhere between nil and none.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, even though I had no idea.

  “Okay, you’re right. If I were say ten to fifteen years younger, I would have a fighting chance. But at my age, the prognosis is far worse.”

  For a second I watched him stare at the ceiling with fate kicking his ass. But I wouldn’t let him give up. “You said worse, not no chance. You can beat this thing. Have you told Cate yet?”

  That’s when the first water drops leeched from his eyes. And fuck if I had to grit my teeth to not break down myself. There were only a handful of times I’d seen Drew cry. And most of them were before we were out of elementary school.

  “I have to let her go, Ben. I have no right to hang on to her. She deserves better than to watch me die.”

  “You’re not going to fucking die Drew. We’ll figure this out. You can’t give up yet. And you can’t break Cate’s heart. She’s one of the good ones. You fight this for her.”

  “For her,” he echoed.

  Slowly, I come back to myself realizing the water had turned tepid on its way to cold. I shut off the shower and get out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I can’t go through this again. The lies about his chances of survival and how I was coping with it had spilled off my tongue as I watched my best friend slowly lose his battle with cancer. The disease didn’t seem to care he’d been the best guy there was out in the world. It still choked the ever-loving life out of him.

  I stare into the mirror where Woolly the Fucking Mammoth has taken up residence on my face. I have no desire to shave. So I brush my teeth and towel off, only to find myself standing in my room with no place to go.

  You could go apologize to Sam.

  That thought sends me into my kitchen with only a pair of boxer briefs on. I yank open the refrigerator door, mad at myself, mad at the world. I pour some of the soup in a cup and put it in the microwave, nuking it until it’s scalding hot. I don’t wait for it to cool off. Instead, I take my punishment like a man and drink it down before fanning myself like a little bitch.

  Fuck.

  I head to the stocked cabinet and find a bottle of vodka. It burns worse than the soup. But at least I’ve kept my promise to Mom. I’ve eaten something.

  The sofa calls to me as the vodka dulls my headache. I pick up the remote and press play. At some point the Drew on the screen seems to be talking to me.

  Call her.

  Squinting at the TV, that day when we were happy flashes there. He’d said one day we would rule the world. And that was the biggest bullshit ever. I reach for the half empty bottle of vodka.

  Shit.

  My conscience won’t let up as the words call her keep repeating in my mind.

  “For what?” I yell, hoping that will stop the incessant mantra in my head. “Sorry for being an ass? But, oh, I still can’t fucking be with you.”

  I get a firm grip on my hair and tug. The pain reminds me I’m still alive. I let my head fall back and glimpse a picture of Drew, still young with a head full of hair. And I remember.

  The phases of Drew flash before me. Healthy Drew, Sick Drew, Recovery Drew, Relapsed Drew, Realistic Drew, Dying Drew … Dead Drew.

  “How am I supposed to go through that again?” I say out loud.

  If anyone heard me, I’d probably be locked up. And maybe that’s for the best. I can’t imagine Sam losing her hair, her tits … her life.

  “Wasn’t there a bald chick who sang sad shit?”

  Drew isn’t here to answer me though.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Sinéad O'Connor. She was kind of cute. I bet Sam would look even better bald.” What the hell am I thinking?

  My dick tents my shorts as a bald Sam sings to me when I should be singing that chick’s song “Nothing Compares to You” or something like that to Sam. I sit up and find my laptop. I fire it up and google the song needing to hear it. The song streams through my speakers as I pick up the fucking vodka.

  Shit.

  “You were right. Look what a pussy I’ve become,” I say to Drew’s phantom.

  When the song is over, I feel just like the bottle of vodka—empty.

  I wake the next day or so, drool on my cheek, head pounding. Glaring at me on the TV is Drew and on my laptop the singer’s eyes. And more empty bottles stand around me in accusation.

  Knowing what I need to do, I stumble into my room, not sure how many more days have passed. The bathroom light yells at me, so I turn it off and take care of business before staggering back to my room to plug in my phone.

  On my laptop, I fire off a message to the office that I’ll be working at home this week. I can’t face anyone right now. They’re bound to see through me, but I can’t handle anyone asking me about Sam.

  Five minutes later, I hear my phone fire to life. I sit with it tethered to the wall as a barrage of messages flash. I read them feeling shittier after each one. She’s called. She didn’t even sound mad. The first one is cute as she’s obviously drunk. Seems like we both turned to the bottle when we couldn’t turn to each other. Then her next is a hasty explanation.

  There’s more and she seemed eager to forgive me. I don’t deserve her, my angel. She mentions news, but doesn’t tell me what. I have a few missed calls, but no more messages from Sam. That she’s scheduled for surgery puts the fear of God in me. Had they confirmed cancer? My fingers hover over the phone, but I put it down like a chicken shit.

  I slip into memory like a drowning man.

  We were high as shit.

  “Is she gone?” Drew asked, laughing.

  I nodded. “She’s going to get snacks.”

  Drew guffawed like I’d said the funniest thing in the world. Only the smile died on his face.

  “I want you to do something for me.”

  “What?” I asked, chuckling.

  He straightened and I frowned. He pulled a couple of envelopes from behind the seat cushions.

  “Give this to Cate.” He pointed at one. “And give this to the guy she falls in love with.”

  “What? No?”

  “Benny, stop. I’m going to die. I probably have a week.”

  “What?” My heart stopped in my chest. “No. I won’t accept that.”

  “I’m a doctor, man. Don’t make this hard. Cate will be back here any moment and I need you to promise me.”

  “Promise you what?” I snapped, anger killing my buzz.

  He sighed. “I want her to move on. I want her to fall in love and be happy.”

  “And how the fuck do you propose she does that? She fucking worships the ground you walk on. That’s asking too much, man.”

  “That’s the thing. I love her so fucking much, I want her to be happy. I took these years from her. I owe her the world. And there is some guy out there that can give her all the things I wanted to.”

  “There are miracles, man.”

  “Not for me. I’m a dead man talking.”

  I glared at him. “You’re an asshole. You know that?”

  He nodded. “I should have let her go.”

  I jerk awake as my phone shrieks to life. I get up to get it if only to silence it. The sound punches at my head like a heavyweight boxer. Sam’s picture in the yellow bikini flashes on the screen a second before it goes dark.

  There is no way I can call her back. Hearing her voice will only make me lose my resolve. So I open a tex
t message box and start to type. I erase it several times. I’m about to start another one when a message comes through.

  Sam: This is my last message. I’m sorry about Drew. But I’m mostly sorry about us. I get it. We’re done. Don’t bother to write back. Lose my number. I’m deleting yours. I hope you have a happy life.

  I’m doing us both a favor, I think. You are good people like Drew. You would want the same for me just as Drew wanted for Cate. I’m just skipping to the end because I can’t watch you die.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  I hit send and turn off my phone. With a fresh bottle and my laptop, I set up shop in my office to take care of business before making friends with Jack. Mr. Daniels and I haven’t spent much time together. But we will.

  The knock at my door won’t stop. I blink several times from my place on the couch. I haven’t slept in my room, not having the heart to smell her or remove the sheets. The rap gets more persistent.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  I groan when I see the figure through the peephole. I unlock the door but walk away, hoping to lie back down before the yelling starts.

  “What. The. Hell. Ben?”

  Jenna bursts through the door like the little fireball she is.

  “Please stop yelling,” I beg softly.

  “Like hell I will. I’ve called you for days. Mom said you were sick, so I gave you a pass. But Dad said he hasn’t seen you all week. This isn’t like you.”

  I cover my head with a cushion hoping she’ll take the hint and go away. Unfortunately, for me, my sister is a tenacious bitch. She pries the throw cushion from my hand and glares at me.

  “You reek and look like Sasquatch.” She chuckles for a moment and I have no idea why, but it rings church bells in my head. I close my eyes against the pain. When I don’t laugh, she sobers. “Ben, tell me what’s going on. Have you been listening to this?”

  She points to the YouTube music video that’s paused on the screen and the story of what happened between Sam and me regurgitates out of my mouth with a life of its own.

  When I’m done, her face holds a pensive look. She bends over and wraps me in her embrace. And my body suffers through the shuddering emotion that pours out of me. I’m no longer able to hold it back.

  She pulls back. “Ben.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t say it. I can’t do it. I won’t watch her die.”

  “Ben,” she says again. “You don’t know if she’s going to die. Have you called her?”

  “It’s too late for that. She told me to lose her number.”

  I close my eyes reliving the stabbing pain I got from her last message.

  “She’s angry, Ben. But if she loves you as much as you love her, she’ll forgive you.”

  “I never said I loved her.”

  Her head moves side to side like I’m delusional.

  “Your reaction is answer enough,” she says softly. “Take a shower and stop drinking. You’re not doing anyone, most of all yourself, any favors. Get your head out of your ass and go be with her.”

  Long after she leaves, I turn my phone on. One message from her says it all.

  Sam: Sometimes sorry isn’t enough.

  I slam the phone down as an echo of the words I said to her are tossed back in my face. Later, I will feel fortunate that the phone landed on my mattress.

  Fire burns in my gut for an unspecified time. Somehow I manage to get work done in sober moments. Then the grief over loss cripples me and forces my hand to poison my blood with a bar’s worth of liquor. It isn’t until I finish my entire supply that I get up.

  My head rests against cool tiles as I let water meet my flesh in too many days to count. I’ve disappointed everyone. Dad probably regrets offering me more responsibility. Me not being in the office has only meant that he’s had to keep his old hours. The piece of Drew that I keep within me is ashamed of my behavior. And Sam …

  I sit on my sofa turning Drew’s letter over and over in my hand before I finally open it. Not that I need to. I know the words by heart.

  Ben,

  You didn’t think I’d leave this world without giving you any parting words of advice, did you? After all the years we’ve been together, and everything we’ve been through, you know I never would do anything like that. Damn, I’m sounding more like your lover than your best friend. This is the part where you’re supposed to laugh.

  But seriously, dude, you’ve meant more to me than any friend ever could—you are the brother I never had. And I’m telling you now, if I didn’t tell you before, that I have loved you ever since you stuck your popsicle up that asshole, Mickey Master’s nose in the third grade. You were my hero then as you are now. All these years you’ve said those words to me, but honestly, Benny, I have looked up to you in more ways than I can count. You are a mountain to me and always have been. Hell, you got me through those tough nights in med school when I didn’t think I could keep my eyes open to study for the next exam. Your stupid jokes had me laughing until tears ran down my cheeks. You were the one that always told me I could do it, but I knew you had the balls to do anything too.

  And you were there with me during my rough spot, when I went through that shitty break up. But you were right. She wasn’t for me and you said so from the start. You picked me up and pieced me back together, promising it would be better and damn if you weren’t right. But then, you always were.

  Now it’s my turn to impart a few bits of wisdom. You told me I had a special knack to talk you down from the ledge. I don’t, not really. You talk yourself down, only you don’t realize it. I just get the conversation started and then you, in your Ben way, take it over and run with it. That’s what you’re gonna have to do when I’m gone. You’re gonna find a way to figure it out and run with it. I’m depending on you, man. My girl will depend on you and I know you have what it takes to get the both of you to the happier side of this shit.

  Now here’s the deal. Don’t worry about the little shit. It always takes care of itself. Don’t let your damn dick run away with you either. I know how you are sometimes, dude. Fucking every piece of tail in sight won’t help you at all. It’ll only be the band-aid for all your wounds and end up getting you into some shit you don’t need. Put that awesome brain of yours to work and let it do some magic. And add your heart to it too. You have one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever encountered. Use it—not just for keeping yourself alive. Open it up and let yourself fall in love, man. It will be the greatest gift you can give yourself—and me.

  Now do what I told Cate—go and live. Don’t you dare let yourself wallow in misery and self-destruct, like I know you have a tendency to do. And have the greatest life you can. Don’t look back, but only forward. And know my life would’ve been half of what it was without you as part of it.

  Love, your brother in this world and the next,

  Drew

  And take care of my wife. I don’t want to come back and have to haunt your ass. This is where you’re supposed to laugh again.

  I was never the hero. And if he could see me now, he wouldn’t say that.

  I’m dressed and in my car not truly knowing where I’m going. But when I get there, instantly I know this is where I’m meant to be.

  The doors slide open and I catch a glimpse of her. She’s flanked by her family as she walks towards an awaiting nurse.

  “Samantha,” I call out.

  She freezes, but doesn’t bother to turn around to face me. I get a precious view of her profile.

  “You’re right—sorry isn’t nearly enough. And telling you how much I love you and need you isn’t enough either,” I choke out. “No matter what, I’m going to be here for you, even if it’s too late.”

  She gives me no acknowledgement as she faces forward and disappears behind the windowless double doors.

  Three pairs of eyes turn to glare at me. I can feel the eyes of the other people in the waiting area as well. Their judgment doesn’t matter. Laney makes the first move.

  Sh
e’s on me before her dad can wrangle her away. Her fist connects several blows I take, knowing I earned that and more.

  “You asshole. You don’t get to show up now. You’re too late.”

  “Laney,” her mom says. She rests a hand on my forearm. “She’s going to be a while. You don’t have to wait.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry my appearance is causing your family distress. But I have to stay.”

  Her lips compress in a thin smile. She shuffles her family to a far corner. I slump in a seat and rest my arms on my legs as I cover my face.

  “He shouldn’t be here,” I hear Laney rant.

  “The bastard has a lot of nerve,” one of her friends adds.

  I look up to see four more pairs of eyes that could only be Sam’s friends giving me death by castration looks. I fist my hand in my hair as I find the floor for solace and push their words away. There isn’t anything they could say to get me to leave.

  Time passes like a slow leak. Hours later a man in blue scrubs comes up. When her family stands, I wait until he reaches them before standing and moving close enough to eavesdrop.

  “She’s fine,” he says in greeting. I can’t see his face, so I can’t anticipate his next words. “Although the tumor looked …” His words are drowned out by Sam’s mother’s gasp. “Her breast tissue didn’t look very healthy.” I rock on my feet wanting to find a chair, but force myself to stand to try to hear anything else he has to say. “She’ll be in for a little while longer before she’s taken to recovery. You guys might want to go get something to eat. It probably won’t be until later this afternoon before you can see her.”

  I go back to my seat where I plan to wait it out until I know she is safe at home.

  “You should leave,” one of her friends spits out at me as they head out.

  “I should,” I whisper. “But I’m not.”

  “She’s not going to want to see you. But you don’t care do you? It’s all about you.”

  She’s right about part of that. I don’t care that she doesn’t want to see me. Still I sit. Night comes and I watch her family escorted through the patient doors. And hours later, I watch them leave.