Brisé

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  He waits for one of us to ask, but neither of us formulates a sentence, let alone a clear thought. I immediately take her hand, hoping to reassure both of us. She beat this once before, surely she’s strong enough to survive a second time. We finally have our lives mapped out, we’re together, and our demons and tragedies are supposed to be behind us. That fucker continues, “You’re just over three weeks pregnant. There’s no easy way to say this, but I suggest a therapeutic abortion. Some of the drugs we need to give you are still in trial, and they can create a risk for the fetus.”

  Her tears are silent, no outcry over the injustice of this. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  Her gasp is audible over the noise of the machines around the room monitoring her. I look at her and see a ghost of a smile on her face. “Luke, we are pregnant. I can’t believe it”

  Ignoring her question and shock of the situation I turn back to her doctor. “How? We were safe, I made sure she was protected.” I’m thinking back, and we never had sex without protection. Maybe her pregnancy is making her blood work come out abnormal. “Is it possible that you’re wrong about the leukemia? Maybe it’s the pregnancy.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective. Abstinence is your only guarantee. Her white count is abnormal, along with her other symptoms; glands swollen, the pain she said she’s having.” I look at her. She’s never mentioned any pain to me.

  “I’ve been sore. Weak feeling. I thought it was from everything else going on.” Her voice is timid, ashamed she didn’t voice her concerns either. When her eyes meet mine, determination comes over her face. She faces Dr. Marks, “I never thought of pregnancy. With everything else that was going on I blamed it on stress. I won’t have an abortion. We can hold off on any treatment until after the baby’s here.” I see she is reeling from this noise, and at any other time I would have shouted from the rooftops and celebrated with her, but now I am barely holding on. The air has been sucked from the room as we contemplate the entirety of what this means. I simultaneously got the news that elated and destroyed me.

  He shakes his head. “That isn’t advisable. You know leukemia is aggressive. Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia doesn’t wait for you, it kills you if not treated.” He looks to me. “Can we talk outside?”

  I let go of her hand, and before I can follow him out of the door, Phoebe calls, “Don’t do it, Luke.”

  “Mr. Nichols, you’re her guardian. She isn’t eighteen, and I don’t take this situation lightly. I can lie out the facts for you. She is in for a long road, about six months of treatment, minimum. Hopefully, we caught it early enough. The fetus very well won’t survive, and in the middle of treatment, if she suffers a miscarriage, it will delay her regimen. That could kill her. A lot of drugs will be off limits to her due to the pregnancy.” I need to talk to her. I don’t know why though … it won’t change what will happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to save her.

  “What do I need to do?” I choke out.

  “We will get the consent forms. You’re doing the right thing.” Maybe, but doing the right thing still hurts. There’s no concise answer here; I can deal in facts and weigh the options, but I can’t live without her.

  I walk back in the door, and she immediately reads my face. “No. No. You didn’t give them the okay to kill our baby?” Putting it like that causes bile to rise in my throat. I can barely swallow the thickness of it.

  “Phoebe, I can’t lose you. Think about the options. You can’t delay treatment but we can have more babies.” Even if that’s the truth it sounds like bullshit to my ears. We created a life, the best of her and me, in love. Nothing will ever replace it, our first, and I just agreed to make it non-existent. I know the goal is to keep her alive, but what if she doesn’t make it anyway? I’m killing the only piece of her I may have left. Right now, I really hate her parents for doing this to me, putting me in this position. “Not having the treatment is like signing your death warrant.”

  “You consenting to that treatment is signing our death warrant.” No doubt she means that. I have to make her see reason. “I may not have known about our baby five minutes ago, I may be the worst mother in the world, but after the shock wears off, we can do it. I know we can. Luke and Phoebe. Remember that. Please, Luke, think about it.

  “Don’t say that. Anything but that.” How does she think I have a choice? Losing her or losing a baby that hasn’t sunk in for either of us. It’s not a choice anyone should ever have to make and I am expected to make it after she just told me I would be killing us.

  “I will never forgive you, Luke. I don’t care what your reasons are. You’re taking something of me, something of us, and treating it like it means nothing. Well, it means everything to me. Everything!” She’s shouting at me. Hysterical crying is sure to follow, and I can’t take that. I can take anything but seeing her pain. She has to be in shock, the pregnancy was a shock to both of us and I know it would be a joy to us, but not right now. I feel like the worst human in the world right now . . . human doesn’t describe me in this moment. I am a monster because I am going to make a decision that will cause both of us pain and one I am not sure she will ever come back from. In her mind I am killing another life to keep hers. No amount of bargaining with God will help me now.

  “Phoebe, your parents did this to me. They asked me to make the best decisions for you, that’s what I am doing. Don’t ask me to disregard their wishes.”

  “I won’t fight. Once I turn eighteen, I will stop treatment and follow our baby.” I gasp. How can she be so callous? I know she’s hurting, but I am too.

  “I never would have thought I would be able to call you selfish. That is exactly what you are right now. Your parents used every resource they had to make sure you were okay. No, fuck that, to make sure you survived and had a life. Well, that’s what I am going to do, too. With or without your approval, I will not let you kill yourself today. If you do it when you are of age, that’s on you. Don’t be surprised when you can’t look your parents in the eyes and explain your reasoning, because your spot will be in hell.” I walk away. I walk away from her big blue eyes staring at me with pain, their depths telling me how much she thinks I’m betraying her. I meant every word I just said, but I never wanted to hurt her. I stand in the hallway, and when the nurse brings the paperwork for me to sign, I do.

  I hear her sobs as they enter her room to prep her for the procedure that may save her life, but will surely end us. I will fight for her, make her see this is the only decision I could have made. Once the emotional turmoil of everything settles down, I can make her see reason. She loves me, and that has to count for something. I’m almost positive, no matter how much I lie to myself, that won’t be enough.

  Chapter 10

  Phoebe

  The one person I had left in this world . . . Luke. I can’t even think of him without anger, despair, and hatred clouding my vision. He stood in the hallway and watched them wheel me towards the procedure room. Stoic, not an ounce of remorse for destroying what is left of me. He allowed them to tear our unborn baby from my body. The choice was his, and he made it. I hope he can live with it, because there’s no way I can. He’s still here, sitting in the corner of my room, staring at me, his love shining in his tear-rimmed eyes. His tears won’t sway my decision, the only one he left me with.

  He cut to my core with his words. His decision about something that should have been our decision, caused this. I called my dad’s partner as soon as I was back in my room. Once he gets here, and I sign the papers, he will file them with the courts. Lucas Nichols will not be able to control me after that. I won’t contest the conservatorship of the money, I won’t need it. No way in hell will he be able to make another decision about my life from this point forward.

  “When Myra gets here, you need to step out.” The first words I have spoken to him. He heard the entire conversation I had with Myra, but I don’t care. According to the attorney there is not really much
he can do about it.

  “I won’t fight you, Phoebe. I don’t have it in me. But, we can get through this together.”

  “No. We can’t do anything together. Your decision … you live with it however you want.” He is goading me into a conversation I don’t want to have. It hurts to hate him, but it hurts more to love him. Two emotions that mean the opposite are closer than people realize. I now understand the saying, ‘There’s a thin line between love and hate,’ and at this point I don’t even think there’s a line. They’re meshing together, creating one ball of emotion I can’t understand. I hate seeing him cry, yet feel he deserves to. I hate seeing the fear in his eyes, knowing he’s lost me. Then there’s determination and hope in his demeanor, and that scares me the most. He’s always been my weakness, my strength, my protector, and my destroyer. Pretty powerful for one person. I gave him all those titles, all that power, and it is up to me to take it back. Wanting to be numb, I want to call the nurse and ask for medication, but I need a clear head for all the paperwork I need to sign. Time is of the essence because I don’t want the consent forms signed for my treatment. I have a plan, and it’s mine alone. I won’t share it with him.

  Myra knocks on the door and enters my room. I look at Lucas, and he stands from his chair and walks out. Still doing what he thinks I want. What I want I can’t ever get back. I don’t want to hear the platitudes of ‘we can have more kids,’ or ‘I did the only thing I could do.’

  “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Phoebe? I feel a bit torn going against your parents’ wishes, but in light of what happened here today, I want you to make a clear decision.”

  “I won’t know how everything will work out until I get to New York.” He looks taken aback. “I’m going to find an oncologist there, get the treatment I need. I will survive this, then I am going to audition and dance. I just don’t know how to get around the financial issue. I don’t want anyone but you to know where I’m going.”

  “The only way for this to go through quickly is if you don’t contest the conservatorship. I told you that.”

  “I know.” I’m still working out the specifics in my mind. To be the ballerina at a top ballet company is the cream of the crop. There is only one and the pay can be substantial. I know that there is no way I can keep up the schedule of performances and rehearsals while undergoing treatment. If I get a principal dancer position I will be okay financially until I’m twenty-five, when Lucas loses control of the money. Aspiring to be the ballerina will allow me more financial security and fulfill a dream for my mom.

  “Phoebe, it is against everything your parents set forth, but I’ll draw up a contract. Once you gain your independence, you’ll sign it. I’ll pay your medical bills, and once you get income, or your inheritance, you can pay me back. No interest.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe if this doesn’t happen this way, you’ll give up. I can’t allow that to happen if I can help. I couldn’t live with myself. So yes, I am going against your parent’s general wishes, but I’m ensuring the one thing they wanted the most. You alive and healthy.”

  “Tell me where to sign and file these papers. Today.” Once that is done and he leaves, I’m more than ready for some drugs to knock me out. The administration at the hospital is informed by Myra the plan is that no treatment can be administered until the final hearing, that could be as soon as tomorrow, or as long as seven days; assuming there’s nobody contesting it. I hope he gives me that.

  I’m surprised when I wake up, Momma Nichols is by my bedside, holding my hand and staring at my face. I meet her gaze, and the tears escape, again. I’m really fucking tired of crying.

  “Phoebe,” she whispers. I know she knows everything. I can’t rehash it again. Not so soon. I shake my head at her. “What are you doing, baby girl?”

  “The only thing I can,” I tell her honestly.

  “There are options. There are so many you haven’t thought of. He’s trying to honor your parents, and protect you and his heart all at the same time. You know your parents would have done the same thing.”

  “No, I don’t. They aren’t here to ask.” I do know they would have done the same thing, and that hurts the most. I would have hated them, too.

  “Please tell me you are going to go through with the treatment.” I want to ignore her plea. I don’t want him to know anything. I want him to suffer. I don’t know who this girl is inside of me.

  “Yes, but not here. I’m leaving as soon as I get the guardianship resolved and discharged.”

  “Where?” I shake my head no. She sobs. “I just lost your mom, not you, too.” I hate myself right now. I’m hurting innocent people, but I’m not strong enough to stay here and face every loss I have suffered. I need to move on, away from the memories. Cancer survival is mental too, and here I will surely let the disease beat me. I continue to let her cry, her tears forming a thicker barrier against my heart. I won’t let anything penetrate it once I put the last brick up. That will be the day I leave. Leave Lucas, my parents’ house, my memories, and my life. That last brick will be put in place, and nothing will get through.

  The next day is a blur. I stay medicated as long as they will give it to me, ignoring him in the corner, praying Myra comes through with some news. When I’m lucid enough, I look online at oncologists and treatment centers in New York, schedule a video audition to send to The American Ballet Company and a few smaller companies, email Joffrey and let them know the new circumstances, and decline their offer. I won’t be ready, and they won’t keep the offer open; nobody knows if I will ever be able to dance again. Chemotherapy can do wicked things to your body. I know that’s a risk I’m taking by setting my plans in motion, but I vow not to allow leukemia to take one more thing from me. It stole most of my childhood, my baby, and I won’t allow it to take my mom’s dream.

  Myra comes in the following day with the papers. My oncologist is not far behind, wanting to discuss options. “I won’t be getting treatment here.”

  “Don’t make this decision now. I’ve treated you for years; you can beat it again.”

  “I know, but I have other plans,” I dismiss him.

  “Twinkle, don’t do this. Please, what can I do?”

  “Get out. I now have the power to make the decisions. I have power over my own life. GET OUT!” I try to calm myself, suddenly feeling light-headed. I don’t know if it’s from not eating, or emotional overload, but I hear the monitors going off and I see Lucas’s stricken face and a bustle of activity inside my room before losing consciousness.

  I hear that fucking guitar before I open my eyes. He’s sitting in the corner strumming it, and a melody plays that I have never heard. I allow myself a few minutes to listen to him, watching without him knowing. I can’t fight the sleep that keeps attacking me, and I fade away again.

  Chapter 11

  Luke

  Two days since I have seen her eyes. The infection came out of nowhere, but the oncologist said it isn’t uncommon. There’s nothing we could have done to avoid it, but he reiterates how important her treatment is to her survival. My only hope is that she told my mom she is getting treatment. Not here, but that doesn’t matter because I will go wherever she is. I can support her from afar if she doesn’t want me near. She has to change her mind about giving me up; she doesn’t really mean it. If there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that she loves me. It can’t be switched off that easily. Not the kind of love I have, it’s embedded in my heart, and there’s nothing that can tear it out.

  She should have woken up by now; everyone’s saying that. Is she silently giving up? Is she upholding her promise that she would follow our unborn child . . . I can’t imagine a world without her. I won’t allow that to happen. I will fight Myra, the courts, God himself before I allow her to leave my life. She can have my life if that happens. I’ve played the guitar every day for her and nothing. I hope she can feel me, feel my presence like she used to be able to. I will her my strength, my health, and I willin
gly give her my love. She’s gotten through this once; she can do it again.

  The nurse checking her vitals frowns, and I ask, “What’s wrong?” She checks her chart, asks my name, and then refuses to give me information.

  “You aren’t authorized on the chart to receive information on Ms. Wells.”

  “I don’t care who’s authorized. I’m the one here.”

  “Sorry, it says only her attorney is listed as a point of contact.” I pick up her phone and find his number.

  “Myra, it’s Lucas Nichols. Something’s wrong with Phoebe, and nobody will tell me anything. I don’t care what you have to do but find out.” I hang up and begin pacing her room. I stare at her face, worried about how pale she is, her breathing is shallow, but she looks at peace. She’s just resting. She’s getting stronger. She will not leave me here to face life without her. She won’t. She can’t.

  An hour later Myra pokes his head in the room. “Only while she is unconscious are you allowed any information.” I nod. “It isn’t good. Her heart rate is lower than they would like, the infection is spreading, and no treatment can be started when she is so fragile. The longer treatment is put off, the worse her chances of survival are.” I have cried before, but I have never broken.

  I. Break.

  I pull the chair as close to her bed as possible and hold her hand. I bend my head to her chest, placing my lips above her heart and let go of every emotion. I kiss her heart, willing it to heal. I kiss her arms, her cheek, her eyelids, and every surface I can reach. I promised her once I was her superhero, and superheroes have healing powers. I can heal her; my love is that strong. I never stop crying, I never stop kissing her. I tell her how much I love her, how sorry I am. I promise her fifty babies if she’ll just fight. Just live. “Twinkle,” I beg her.