Styx & Stones

by Carmen Jenner

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I whisper it over and over like a fucking mantra. Then I groan and come inside her.

  I feel like shit the whole time. I’m an eighteen-year-old who finally lost his fucking virginity, and after all that this illness has taken from me, from her, from us, I couldn’t even enjoy it because it meant hurting her.

  I lie there trembling as my mind threatens to give over to sleep, but I’m not okay. She’s not okay, so how can I be?

  I push up onto my elbows and slide free of her body. Blood stains the towel beneath her. Alaska’s eyes widen as she stares. I guess we’re both surprised by how much there is.

  I slide off the condom and discard it in the trash. My dick bobs as the cold air assaults it. I need a shower. I’m so fucking tired, I just want to fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years, but I hold out my hand.

  She stares at it.

  “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “Come shower with me.”

  “No, we’ll get our lines wet. I’ll just clean up after you.”

  Shit. I didn’t think of that. I glance at the few remaining sterile dressing kits in her bag. I could always head back to the drug store afterward.

  “Nope,” I say. “Not happening. You’re coming with me, little lady. If they get wet, we’ll change the dressings.”

  She screws up her nose. “I just did mine.”

  I get to my feet and hold my hand out again. She doesn’t take it. “Take my fucking hand, Alaska.”

  “Alaska? You never call me that. It sounds like I’m in trouble.”

  “You will be if you don’t take my hand.”

  Finally, she places her hand in mine, and I pull her from the bed into the tiny bathroom. Stones stares at her reflection in the grimy mirror above the sink. She’s glassy-eyed and her cheeks are pink, flushed with embarrassment or from crying, I’m not sure which.

  After a crap ton of prepping her line, and my port, with waterproof guards, gauze, and medical tape; she leans against the vanity as I run the shower. Her legs and arms tremble. “I thought I’d look different.”

  “You do.” I wrap my arms around her waist and press a kiss to her shoulder.

  “Shut up. No I don’t.”

  “No. You’re right; you don’t look different. But you’re still just as fucking gorgeous as you were an hour ago.”

  She shrugs out of my embrace and shoves me toward the shower. “Go wash your stink off, you fucking cornball.”

  I grab her hand and tug her into the cubicle with me. Once the curtain is closed behind us, there’s barely any room to move at all. We both shuffle awkwardly to get under the spray. I grab the soap, and almost elbow Stones in the face, then I turn her so she’s facing the wall and pull her tight against me, washing her shoulders, her tits, and wrapping my arms around her from behind. She takes the soap from my hands and runs it along my arms, up my shoulders, and the back of my neck. And I busy my hands in other ways, with her tits, her hips, and finally her stomach and lower abdomen.

  Her hand grips my wrist tightly. “No. It hurts.”

  “I’ll make it better. I promise.”

  She lets go, and I continue trailing my hands over her wet body, and down between her legs. I try not to delve inside her pussy. Instead, I focus only on her clit. I keep my touches light as I circle that little center of nerves I can’t wait to get to know better. Her breath catches again and this time I bring her to orgasm with her back against the tiled walls and her hands jerking me off. We come together, and the water runs cold soon after. I take my time drying her body, and she does mine. We nip and touch, kiss and caress, unable to get enough of one another.

  The bandages surrounding our lines are soaked, and even though all I want is to take her back to bed and fall asleep, we can’t risk an infection in the tube that runs straight to our hearts, so we temper our lust and carefully clean, sterilize, and rebandage the areas, one after the other.

  In the room, I strip the comforter from the bed, and we lie on top of the bottom sheet, covering ourselves with Stones’ chemo cuddle blanket. For the first time in days, I let thoughts of home creep in. What will happen when we get back? Will our parents separate us? For two days our phones have rung incessantly, and I know it isn’t fair for us to be this selfish, but a part of me doesn’t care. Because I am selfish. I have to be. I don’t know how much more time we have.

  Stones is curled up in my arms, and I watch the TV with bleary eyes, unable to stop thinking about the future, about how little time we may have left. But for a second, only a split second, I let myself imagine we’re normal kids, with a normal relationship. Able to do all of the things that regular kids do: date, finish high school, go off to college, travel, get a job, have kids, get married, buy a house. All of the things our illness deprives us of. All of the things we’ll likely never do. At least not together.

  One in fifty kids is diagnosed with cancer every hour, and only ten percent make it out alive. I stroke Alaska’s hair and smile, knowing we’re both fucking lucky to have even made it this far. It’s pretty fucked up when stage-three and stage-two cancer patients think they’re lucky, but hey, at least we’re not dead yet. All the shit people take for granted. The pettiness, the anger, the arguments over who owns what, who ate the last donut, who left the toilet seat up, and those people who are concerned with how much they have, what they’ve got, what they earn, and what they can take? None of them get it. That insight belongs only to the terminally ill. Those of us who know our days are numbered. To kids like Alaska Stone and me, as fucked up as life is, as unfair and cruel, it’s also sometimes perfect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ALASKA

  I glance out the window, nerves running riot inside my veins. Styx grips my hand and squeezes hard. “You ready?”

  I nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  We climb out of the car and I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head toward the long line. My gaze flits over everything—the people, the signs, the booths.

  Once we gain entry to the park, we walk up Main Street to the castle. We take several selfies before asking another parkgoer to take a full-length shot of us. I realize a little too late that we maybe should have asked an adult because realization dawns in the girl’s eyes, and I balk as she looks between me and Styx, and her mouth gapes open. “Holy shit! I know you! Kaitlyn, come here.”

  I glance at her friend, who’s busy taking her own selfies with the castle.

  “Coming,” she says, snapping more pictures of herself.

  “That’s okay. We don’t need—”

  “Holy fucking shit. You’re Styx and Stones.”

  “Er ... no, we’re—”

  “You are. We’ve been following your story since you met in chemo. Oh my God, you guys are so lucky.”

  I frown. Styx squeezes my hand, because I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. Lucky? Lucky? We’re fucking terminally ill. “Yeah, we’re super lucky.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean about the cancer. That sucks, but like ... at least you found each other before you—”

  “Kaitlyn,” her friend admonishes her.

  At least one of them has a brain.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that—”

  “It’s fine. Will you just ... will you take our picture?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The girl snaps several pictures of us before handing back my phone. “Can we get one with you?”

  “With us? Um ... okay?” I look at Styx, and he grins, but he looks as uncomfortable as I do. The girls rope another person into photographing us, and then they start furiously typing on their phones. “Wait. Please don’t post that.”

  “What do you mean? It’s not every day you get to meet two celebrities.”

  “Can you, can you just wait until the end of the day? Please
? If we post anything right now, we’re sitting ducks for our parents and the cops to find us. They’ll scour the park.”

  “It’s a big place,” Kaitlyn says.

  Man, this bitch is getting on my nerves. I give her an acerbic smile. “Not when you have security cameras.”

  “Oh, okay sure.”

  “Can we post later?” Not Kaitlyn asks.

  “Give us till midnight?” Styx says. “We want to see the light parade.”

  “Sure,” Kaitlyn agrees, but she doesn’t look happy about it.

  “For what it’s worth,” Not Kaitlyn says, “I think what you guys are doing is really brave.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And I’m really sorry you’re sick.” Not Kaitlyn looks between us, and swallows hard. “I hope you guys beat this thing. My dad had a carcinoma. He wasn’t so lucky, but I hope you kick cancer’s ass.”

  A lump forms in my throat, and I fight back tears. “Thank you.”

  She smiles. Kaitlyn has the good grace to look chagrined. I lead Styx away, walking as fast as I can towards Tomorrowland before I completely lose my shit. I pull him to the side of a hedge, resisting the urge to throw up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why the hell should their words affect me like this?

  “You okay? Stones, if we need to go—”

  “We’re not going.” I glare at him. “I’m fine. Or I will be.”

  “Okay. Then let’s go ride Space Mountain until we puke.”

  “Should we make it really worth our while and eat our weight in corndogs and Dole Whip first?”

  Styx wraps his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me in close to whisper, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  ***

  If I thought a whole day at Disneyland was tiring, a whole day at Disneyland with cancer is truly insane. Despite the overcast weather, lathering ourselves in sunscreen, staying out of the midday sun, and replacing our Mickey Mouse ears with giant, floppy hats, we were both burned to a crisp, but we were happy.

  We spent a lot of time between rides sitting on benches, and hopping on the Disneyland Railroad to get from one point of the park to another. We even spent a bit of time on Tom Sawyer’s Island so we could sit in the shade, away from the bustle of the crowds. Neither of us were capable of going on ride after ride, but it didn’t matter because that’s the magic of the park.

  Styx wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head. He smells like cotton candy, and boy sweat, and it’s heaven. He squeezes me tightly as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell are projected onto the castle wall and I laugh.

  “Maybe I should start calling you Tink from now on, my little angry pixie.”

  “First of all, Tink is a fairy, dumbass. Not a pixie,” I shout to be heard over the swell of music and cheers from the crowd. “And secondly, if you call me Tink—cancer or not—I will punch you in the face.”

  His deep chuckle resonates through his chest and into me. Despite the violence I just threatened, I smile and lean back in his arms to watch the show. It’s no wonder they call it the happiest place on Earth. Disney has a way of making you forget that you’re fighting for your life.

  ***

  After the park closes, we check into a nearby hotel. We can’t actually afford to stay at Disney, and Styx’s funds are running low. We need to conserve what little cash we have.

  This room looks clean at least. Neither one of us have discussed how crazy it was to stay in that cheap, crappy hotel in Pismo, or that we could have picked up an infection from such an unclean environment. I don’t know if Styx thought about it or not. I guess I got so lost in the moment I didn’t think about it at all, until now.

  “You wanna shower first, or should I?” he asks, kicking off his Cons and slumping on the bed.

  “Why don’t we shower together?”

  That crooked smile plays across his lips again. “Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re not as smart as me,” I say, pulling my dress over my head and tossing it on the bed beside him. I turn and walk toward the bathroom, removing my bra and panties and discarding them to the floor. Styx is on his feet in a second, wrapping me in his arms and kissing my shoulder and neck as we awkwardly moon-boot shuffle our way to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ALASKA

  I wake in the middle of the night.

  I’m slick with sweat, my mouth is dry, and my eye throbs. Searing pain shoots through me and I pull away from Styx and sit up. The aching in my head is unlike anything I’ve felt before. I’d get my pills if I could move, but everything hurts. My whole body screams, and I’m both burning up from the inside and ice-cold all at once.

  I open my mouth, but no words come out, just an ungodly scream as Styx leans over and switches on the light. The brightness pierces my vision, rendering me blind. My stomach twists, revolts, and I puke before everything fades to black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  STYX

  Jesus Christ.

  “Stones, baby, stop. Stop!” I scream at her convulsing body as if what I’m saying makes perfect sense. As if she were seizing by choice. Puke covers her face and mouth, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Fuck. Fuck!”

  I turn her on her side, attempting to hold her down with one arm so she doesn’t hurt herself, and I fish my phone off the nightstand and dial 911.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  “My girlfriend. She’s seizing. She has a brain tumor.” I shake my head. My heart thunders against my ribcage, and fear grips my gut like a vise. “Diffuse Astrocytoma. She has Diffuse Astrocytoma.”

  “Okay, and where is she now?”

  “On the bed.”

  “Are her airways clear?”

  “I don’t know. She vomited.”

  “Can you turn her on her side for me?”

  “She’s already on her side.” I put the phone on speaker and throw it on the bed.

  “Good man. Now don’t hold her; she should stop soon. I know it’s frightening, but she’ll be okay. Paramedics are on their way. You just stay on the phone with me until they get there.”

  “Yeah, okay.” My teeth chatter. Shock, most likely.

  Alaska gradually stops the worst of her shaking. Her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated and unfocused, and her mouth is a little blue in the corners.

  “Baby, baby wake up.” I gently slap Stones’ cheek, trying to bring her back to me.

  “Styx, the paramedics are almost there. Can you open the door for them?”

  “But ... she’s naked.” I glance down at her body. Her hair is slick with vomit and sweat, and I smooth it back from her head. “I’m naked. She’s underage.”

  “These men are professionals. They’re just here to do a job. Do you have a blanket you can cover her with?”

  I glance at the puke sullying the hotel duvet and grab her chemo blankie instead. I place it over her and throw on my jeans and shirt. I don’t have time for shoes. Then I yank open the door and shove the desk chair in front of it to hold it in place.

  Alaska moans and tries to sit up. “Styx?”

  “I’m here, baby. You’re okay. It was just a seizure.”

  “My head hurts.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “Styx, you need to make sure she stays still,” the woman on the phone says. I was so caught up in Stones, I completely forgot she was still there. “Don’t let her get up until the paramedics arrive.”

  “Okay.” I meet Stones’ wide-eyed gaze and cup her cheek. “Don’t move.”

  “Paramedics?” Alaska lifts her head, but quickly lowers it again. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Just lie still, babe. The paramedics will be here—”

  Her eyes close, her face contorts, and the scream that comes from her mouth is bloodcurdling.

  “Stones?”

  Her cries become a strangled sob and her body jerks and thrashes on the mattress. “Shit, Stones. Baby stay with me.”

  Fuck.<
br />
  This is all my fault. I never should have brought her here. I took her away from her doctors, from her family, and if she dies, it’s all on me.

  All my fault.

  ***

  The wait at the hospital is torture. I’m left in the waiting room, and no one will tell me what’s going on. I’m not immediate family, and because there’s a missing-persons report in place, they won’t let me see her until her family arrives.

  After thinking about making a break for it into the ER, I pace back and forth in the overcrowded room. I call my mom and tell her where I am. She yells. A lot. But her and dad are on a flight along with Alaska’s parents within the hour. At some point, a cop comes to talk to me. The words “kidnapping”, “underage,” and “of consent” are thrown around.

  A lot.

  I’m eighteen now. I could be tried as an adult.

  For kidnapping my girlfriend and taking her to Disneyland?

  When I say as much, he warns me that he has no problem taking me down to the station in handcuffs, but I don’t care what happens to me. My cancer will likely kill me before they can even get a court date, so it seems like I have nothing to worry about anyway. He doesn’t arrest me. And I go back to waiting.

  Three hours after I called my mom, our parents race into the ER waiting room.

  Alaska’s mom rushes to the nurse’s station.

  “Mrs. Stone. I’m really sorry,” I say, but Mr. Stone shoots me a glare so vicious and full of repugnance that I take a step back. My mom and dad wrap me in a hug, squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” I whisper, to them, to Alaska, to her parents.

  “Shh,” Mom soothes. “It’s okay.”

  “I fucked up, Mom. I coulda got her killed. She was fine. We were fine, and then I woke up, and she just started seizing.”

  “It’s okay, honey. You called the paramedics and did the right thing. Did they check you over?”

  I pull away and stare at her. “No. Why would they? I’m fine.”