by Alexa Land
Opposite emotions slammed into me, joy and heartbreak. I couldn’t say anything for a long moment, and then all I managed was, “See, the thing is...you’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
I led him into the apartment, his hand in mine, then sat on the couch with him. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m moving away on June fifteenth. There’s something I need to do. And after I do it, I’m not coming back.”
“Why not?”
“Let me start at the beginning.” I didn’t look at him as I recited the facts that had been presented to me almost three years ago. “I have a brain tumor. It’s big, it’s malignant, and it’s spreading steadily. Eventually, it’s going to kill me. My doctor doesn’t know if that’s going to happen in the next twelve months or the next twenty-four, but it is going to happen.”
I swallowed hard and forced myself to continue. “Before it kills me though, it’s going to take everything from me. It’s already begun to invade the part of my brain that controls motor function. I’m on a lot of medicine to try to slow it down, but slowing it is the best case scenario. There’s no stopping it. The tumor is spreading at a consistent rate even with the drugs I’m taking and my doctor is sure that by summer, I’ll lose the ability to do even the simplest things as my motor skills break down.”
“Oh God,” Shea whispered.
“In June, I’m going to be participating in an intensive eight week drug trial. There’s almost no chance that the drug will help me, but my hope is that it’ll help others with this type of tumor down the road.”
I paused and cleared my throat. Shea was gripping my hand tightly. I still couldn’t look at him as I continued, “I’m going to be living on-site while I participate in the study. Afterwards, I’m going to move to an assisted living facility, because my doctor is sure that by then I’m going to need help with even the most basic things, like feeding and dressing myself. So far, I’ve only noticed minor changes, like my handwriting becoming illegible, but...it’s going to get bad.”
“You don’t need a care facility,” Shea said. “I’ll take care of you, Christian.”
“No, baby,” I finally turned to look at him. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. I refuse to become a burden to you, or to any of my friends or family. That’s why I’m going away. I didn’t choose to get a brain tumor, but I sure as hell can choose how many more lives it ruins besides just mine.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then asked, “Who knows you’re sick?”
“Just my dad, mom and stepdad.”
“Skye doesn’t know?” When I shook my head no, he asked, “Why not?”
“Skye was going through a really hard time when we met. No way was I going to compound his troubles with my own.” He’d actually tried to kill himself just days after we met, but that wasn’t my secret to tell. “After we grew close, I knew this would hurt him, so I never told him. He just thinks I’m moving away this summer, he doesn’t know where I’m going or why.”
“Your best friend loves you. He deserves to know the truth.” I nodded and Shea asked, “What about your other friends?”
“I don’t have a lot of friends anymore. There’s Trevor, who I mostly know through Skye, and Skye’s brother River, and Zandra, who moved to L.A. with her boyfriend so I barely hear from her these days, and Chance. That’s about it. I withdrew from a lot of people when I found out I was dying.”
Shea was quiet for a long moment before asking, “When, if ever, were you going to tell me?”
“I really don’t know.”
“There’s no way I’d let you go off and live out the last part of your life in some assisted living facility. I’m going to take care of you.” His jaw was set in a line of grim determination.
“Shea, you’ve known me a few weeks. It’s incredibly sweet that you want to take care of me. That just goes to show what a great guy you are. But there’s absolutely no way I’d even consider this. Caring for me would be a full-time job.”
“Fine.”
“No, it’s not fine! No way would I want you to give up your life and burden yourself with a complete invalid.”
He asked, his voice low, “Did you hear what I said when I first came into your apartment?”
“Yes. You think you love me. But—”
Shea cut me off. “No. I don’t think I love you. I know I do, with every part of me.”
I jumped up from the couch and took a step back from him. “I love you too, Shea, and I won’t let you sacrifice your life like that!”
“You love me?”
“Shit. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out.”
His voice rose a little. “So, you weren’t going to tell me that, either? You’re dying, you love me—didn’t it seem like maybe I should know this stuff?”
“No, absolutely not and this is why! I didn’t want you to get some crazy, heroic notion in your head about stepping in and becoming my Florence Nightingale, at the cost of every other aspect of your life!”
Shea knit his brows as he rose to his feet. “So, you’d rather go off and be a martyr.”
“I’m not going off to be a martyr! I’m just going. I won’t become a burden to the people I love. I absolutely refuse!”
“Well, that’s just great!”
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because you’re fucking dying, Christian!” He covered his mouth as a sob tore from him.
I grabbed him and held him tight. His voice was pure anguish as he said, “How can this be happening? I just found you. I’m in love for the first time in my life and you actually love me, too. We’re supposed to have a future together, not a few months!”
“I’m sorry.”
He put his arms around me and held on tight. “There’s no reason to apologize. You didn’t choose any of this.”
“But I let you get close. I started something I knew for a fact I couldn’t finish.”
He pulled back and took my face in his hands. “If the alternative was never getting to know you and never sharing what we’ve already had just in this short time together, no thanks. I’ll take the pain. I’ll take all of it if that’s the price for getting to be with you.”
“It’s too high a price.”
“Not to me it isn’t.”
We sat back down on the couch, holding each other tightly. After a while he asked quietly, “Are you in pain?”
“Not really. I had terrible headaches at first, that’s how the doctors discovered the tumor. Now I always have a low-grade headache, but I’m used to it. I take pills to keep it in check. They won’t keep working as it spreads, but they work well enough for now.”
He whispered, “You can’t go off and die alone, Christian. You just can’t.”
“We all die alone though, Shea. Even if we’re surrounded by others, it’s still a solo journey. And it’s so much harder on those left behind. It’s bad enough that the people who care about me have to say goodbye to me. They shouldn’t have to watch it happen, too, especially the way I’ll go out. It won’t be quick and painless, it’ll be this slow spiral as my body fails and the pain intensifies. I’ll probably be so drugged up at the end that I won’t even know what’s happening. I might not even really be me by that point. As more and more of my brain is affected, it’ll start to alter my personality. I’d much rather have you remember me the way I am now, instead of remembering whatever I might become.”
“How can you talk about this so calmly?” He was still whispering.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s because I’ve come to terms with it, and sometimes I think it’s because I’m in some weird form of denial. Like maybe it’s all just too much, too big, too horrible, and I’ve just sort of boxed it up so I can look at it from a distance.”
“Are you scared?”
I felt tears welling up at that question, but I held them back. My voice was quiet as I answered him honestly. “Yeah. I’m really fucking terrified. I don’t want to die. And I’m going to hate being so
helpless and dependent on others when my motor skills fail. You know what else I’m dreading? The day my hand-eye coordination degenerates to the point where I can’t paint anymore. It won’t be long. My handwriting’s already going. One day soon, I’m going to try to paint and my hand won’t do what I tell it to.”
“Oh God, Christian.” His voice was rough with emotion as he held on to me.
After a few moments I said, “My poor dad. He feels so helpless with all of this. I know that’s why he gave me that extravagant present. He can’t make me well, so instead he’s trying so hard to make me happy. I doubt I’ll get the whole building completed before my ability to paint is taken away, though.”
“It’s kind of like what you did with the comic book,” Shea said. “You wanted to give me something big to make me happy. It’s almost a consolation prize. You can’t give me a future with you, but you wanted to give me something at least.”
“I didn’t think about it that way. I just really wanted to do something nice for you, and why not spend some of my money? Hell, why not spend all of it? I’m going to use a lot of my savings to set up an art center in that building and my dad will help with long-term funding. He wants a piece of me to live on, so he suggested naming it after myself and turning it into a place where kids can learn art and music.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” Shea sounded so tired and he probably was, both mentally and physically.
I stood up and took his hand. “Come on baby, let’s go to bed. This has been such a long day for you.”
He let me lead him to the bedroom and we both stripped down to our underwear before climbing under the covers. Immediately, we gravitated into each other’s arms. We lay there in the dark for a long time, sleep eluding us even though we were exhausted.
After a while, Shea told me, “There’s something you should know.” His voice was resolute. “I’m dead serious about what I told you. There’s no way in heaven and earth I’m letting you go off alone to some facility. I absolutely refuse. You may have these noble ideas about not burdening your loved ones, but you need to get over it. I’m really, truly in love with you, Christian, and if you think for even a second I’d consider letting the man I love meet his end like that, you’re completely high.”
“This isn’t something I’m willing to discuss.”
“Me neither. I’m just telling you how it is.”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely no way am I going to put you through that.”
“You aren’t doing this alone.”
“You’re not going to out-stubborn me on this one,” I told him.
“I really am.”
I sighed and put my head on his shoulder, and he kissed my forehead. I was never going to agree to this, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t back down easily. There were going to be some major arguments in the days to come. But not tonight. He’d been through enough for one day.
Chapter Eighteen
I awoke before Shea the next morning and slipped out of bed. After I got the coffee pot going, I washed down my morning pill pile with tap water, then tucked away all the prescription bottles in the back of a drawer. When he’d been sick in my apartment all week, I’d hidden the bottles and snuck the pills because I didn’t want to have to tell him what they were for. I’d done the same thing when Chance had been my cabin mate on the cruise ship. Now, even though Shea knew the truth, I really didn’t want him to be constantly reminded of what was happening so I kept the pills stashed away.
After using the facilities and brushing my teeth, I slipped back in bed as quietly as possible. Still half-asleep, Shea grinned a little and murmured, “I smell toothpaste. You snuck off and groomed.”
He raised his lids and for just a moment there was nothing but love in his eyes. But then, as he woke up a bit more, yesterday’s conversation crashed into him and something that looked an awful lot like pity took over. He reached up and touched my face carefully, like I was a little porcelain doll or something. Damn it. I rolled out of bed, muttering, “Fuck, Shea. I’m still me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” I went to the kitchen, where I poured myself a cup of coffee.
He followed and asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not intentionally.” My back was to him and I blew on the surface of the coffee, then took a cautious sip.
“So, what did I do unintentionally?”
I turned to face him. “Can you try not to look at me like I’m completely pitiful? That’s part of the reason I never tell anyone what’s happening with me. It isn’t just because I don’t want to hurt them. I also don’t want this. I want people to treat me like I’m a regular person, not like some poor pathetic thing that’s dying.”
He frowned and said, “What about sympathy? That’s what I was actually feeling, not pity. Am I allowed to show that?”
“Shit.” I put down my coffee cup and pushed my hair back. “You’re entitled to your feelings, Shea. I just—”
“Don’t want to be pitied. I get that.”
I sighed and leaned against the counter. “That, and I don’t want to be constantly reminded of what’s about to happen to me. I have so little time left to get to pretend I’m just like everyone else. Sometimes, I manage to go hours at a time without thinking about the thing that’s growing inside my skull, like when I’m with you, or when I’m painting. Maybe that means I’m living in denial, but I don’t care. I don’t want to think about it all the time. I also don’t want people to just see the tumor when they look at me. It’s not the only thing that defines me, although someday it will be. I want them to see me and I don’t want them to treat me differently.”
Shea considered that for a long moment before saying, “Makes perfect sense to me.” He then scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
A little burst of laughter escaped me. “What are you doing?” I asked as he carried me to the bedroom.
“You’re right that my first impulse was to handle you with kid gloves, like you’re made of glass or something. But I can see why you’d hate that. I’d hate it too, if the situation were reversed.” We’d reached our destination now and he tossed me onto the bed, where I landed with a bounce. “If we’d never had that discussion last night, I’d have been all over you the moment I woke up this morning.” He stripped off his boxers and tossed them aside.
As I ran my gaze down his naked body he added, “Let’s face it, a few sympathetic looks are going to slip out occasionally, because I am sympathetic to what you’re going through. I’m going to try like hell not to treat you differently though, starting right now.”
We hadn’t had sex in a week thanks to that virus, and I was desperate for him. We worked each other up rapidly and fucked frantically until I came in him and he shot all over the sheets. Afterwards, I eased out of him and said, “Be right back,” then kissed his shoulder and stood on shaky legs. I stepped out of my briefs, then went to the bathroom to clean up a little.
When I returned, Shea was spreading a towel over the wet spot on the bed. He grinned at me and said, “My turn.”
I smiled at him and dropped onto the mattress as he went to clean up. When he returned a few minutes later, he climbed in bed with me and pulled up the covers. “I have to be to work at six. Can we keep doing this until five fifty-five?” he murmured as he rubbed his cheek on my shoulder.
“Absolutely.”
After a moment he asked, “Is this making you uncomfortable?”
“No. Why would it?”
“Because you don’t like to be naked during sex. Granted, we’ve finished for now, but I’m planning to start up again just as soon as we’ve both recovered.”
“I didn’t even think about it. Just goes to show how much I trust you.” I ran my hand over his smooth chest and added, “I’ve been giving some thought lately to that other thing I’ve never been comfortable with.” I glanced at him self-consciously and asked, “Does the idea of topping me hold any interest
for you?”
He looked surprised and stammered, “Oh! I mean, it’s not something I have to do, so if you never wanted me to I’d be fine with that. But, um, if you felt you wanted to give it a try, we could do that.”
I grinned at him. “That doesn’t tell me how you feel about it, though. Say for a moment you were dating a totally versatile guy with no hang-ups when it comes to sex. Would you want to trade off with him?”
He considered the question and finally said, “All else being equal, I’d want to try it. Bottoming feels completely natural, but I’m curious about the other aspect of it, too. It’s not like this need or anything, though. If you never wanted to go there, I’d be fine with that.”
“Okay. So, I’m still kind of working up to being able to do that, but, you know, maybe at some point we could try it. Like, somewhere down the road or something.” I shook my head at myself. If it was that hard to talk about, how did I think I’d actually be able to go through with it?
*****
We ended up spending half the day in bed, kissing and talking, emerging just long enough to grab some coffee before getting back under the covers. We’d both set aside the topic of my tumor for now, probably because we’d had all we could take earlier. I knew we’d revisit it all too soon, but this brief reprieve felt good.
Somehow, we got on the subject of Christmases past. I told him, “When I was growing up, holidays were wildly inconsistent. Some years, my mom would try to go all out, maybe to overcompensate for the way things were for us living with an alcoholic. My stepdad would pretty much always wreck it, regardless of how nice she tried to make it. He’d pick fights and there’d be a lot of yelling. He loved to break stuff. One year, he grabbed the Christmas tree and threw it right out the front door, ornaments and all.”
Shea brushed my hair back from my eyes. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was, but I guess I kind of got used to it. He didn’t reserve those moments for holidays, my stepdad would blow up randomly a couple times a week.”
