“Top of the list of things you shouldn’t say to the girl dying of brain cancer,” I tease her. Her eyes begin to water and I groan, pulling her into my arms and burying my face in her thick, blond hair, the same shade as my own. “Calli, it’s okay. I’m just messing with you.”
“Well don’t,” she growls, hugging me tightly. “I know you think you’ve made peace with all of this, but I haven’t.” Her lip quivers as she pulls away long enough to kiss my cheek. “I’m the one you’re leaving behind.”
Instantly, I feel guilty. I really need to stop trying to make light of the whole dying thing, at least around my family, but I can’t help it. If I can’t joke about it, then I have nothing to get me through this. They say when you lose someone you go through five stages of grief, but what about when you lose yourself? In the last few months, I’ve been really fucking angry. I’ve been sad. I’ve tried to pretend this isn’t really happening, and at my lowest point, I gave up. I gave up on everything, because what’s the point if it’s all going to be taken away?
I’ve been fighting for over three years, and look where it’s gotten me. I’m sick of fighting. Nothing has worked, and my doctors are at a loss of what to try next. Chemo, radiation, drug therapy…it’s all just prolonging the inevitable, and I can’t live like that. I’d rather die next week, having lived life to the fullest, than be around for another year but too sick to enjoy it. I want the chance to do this on my terms, but how do I explain that to people who just don’t get it?
People—my family, especially—don’t understand why I don’t continue to fight. They’re clutching to the false hope that miracles happen, because they read a post on Facebook about a woman whose sister’s cousin’s brother’s fiancée was given a week to live and is still alive ten years later. They think I’ve given up, but there is a difference between facing reality and giving up. They don’t get that I’m still fighting this. I’m fighting to keep this disease from taking the only thing I have left. All treatment is going to do for me now is maybe buy me a few extra months of feeling too shitty to lift my head off the pillow. I can fight to be someone, to do something, and somehow leave a mark on this world. I can fight to be the one to decide my own fate.
“Ez?” Calli prompts, breaking me out of my daydream again. “I said I’ll go. I’ll take time off work and go with you.” Her eyes brighten and I know she’s convincing herself that coming with me is the answer. Only it’s not. It’s everything I want to avoid, but I have no idea how to tell her that.
I knew the second I started planning this trip that Calli would want to come, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to let her down easy ever since. Then I realised that there is no way to say what I need to say without hurting her, but I can’t deal with that right now because I need to think about myself.
“I don’t want you to come with me,” I say quietly. Hurt flashes in her eyes as I try to explain. “I love you more than anything, but I need to do this for me. Having you there is only going to remind me that I’m dying. I need to forget, Cal. Even if it’s just for a second. Having you there, I can’t do that. I can’t look at you without seeing pity in your eyes.”
“I don’t pity you—”
“But you do,” I cut in, my voice soft. I know she wants what’s best for me, but so do I. “You might not realise it, but you look at me with so much sadness and despair sometimes that I just want to scream.”
“Okay fine…” She shakes her head, still in disbelief. “But Craigslist?”
“Why not?” I say with a grin. “Because it sounds more like something you’d do?”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “Exactly that.”
I chuckle and think about all the silly, stupid things my sister has done over the years, many of which I also got blamed for. Like the time she took Dad’s car out for a ride when she was fourteen and rammed it through a shop window. Or the three weeks her boyfriend lived in our basement without our parents knowing.
Even all grown up, Calli is still a handful. Last year she was arrested for her part in a nude protest against animal cruelty, which got her fired from her job. There was always a silver lining with Calli, though. In this case it landed her a photography contract with a top agency. Even when things went wrong, they always seemed to turn out well for her.
Our parents expected this kind of thing from her. They didn’t expect it from me.
“This isn’t you, Ez. You’re changing so much and so quickly that it’s scaring me. I feel like I’m losing you before I even lose you.”
“I’m no different,” I say, sweeping the dirty blond hair from her eyes. “I’m just doing my best not to lose control.”
If I’m changing, it’s because I have to.
“It’ll be fine, Cal. I’ll be fine.” The words catch in my throat, because we both know that isn’t true.
Less than half an hour after my sister leaves, my parents arrive and the real panic begins to set in. Telling Calli was almost like a practice run for the real show, because I know my mum’s reaction is going to be a thousand times worse. I thought telling them I was dying was hard. That was nothing compared to breaking the news that I’ll be disappearing for what might well be my final months.
God, I sound so dramatic. My doctor didn’t want to put a timeframe on it, but after I pleaded and begged he finally buckled and said at a guess, six months. I can’t tell you how hard that floored me. There is so much I still want to do with my life, and even thinking about trying to squeeze all of that into six months makes my head hurt. Or maybe that’s just the large tumour making himself more at home around my brain. The worst thing is not knowing. I’m a planner, and not being able to do that really messes with me.
“You look tired. Should you be lying down?” Mum touches my cheek, her blue eyes concerned.
I sigh, because I’m feeling good, just like I do most days. Good enough to forget I’m sick, if it weren’t for the twenty thousand reminders.
Most of the time I don’t even feel that sick. Apart from the headaches and the odd day here and there where I can’t drag myself out of bed, I feel as healthy as I have in years because I don’t have all the side effects of the treatment. It’s not always going to be this way, though. The doctor made it clear that when things do begin to progress, it will probably happen quickly. The day will come where the pain will be constant, and I’ll lose the ability to do things I take for granted, like walk and talk. It feels so surreal. How can I have so little time left when it completely contradicts how I’m feeling?
“Mum,” I warn her, my voice gentle but firm. “I’m fine. Sit down. Coffee?”
“You sit, I’ll get it,” she orders, pushing me into an armchair.
I roll my eyes at Dad, knowing it’s pointless arguing. He sits back in his chair, watching me thoughtfully as he rubs his chin. I’m about to comment on how tired he looks when I remember how much I hate hearing that.
“How are you really?” he asks as soon as Mum is out of earshot.
“Good. Really,” I say with a grin. “You’re usually the one on my side.”
Dad is the one who keeps Mum calm. He’s the rock when she starts to freak out, and with everything that has happened over the last few years, he has singlehandedly kept my relationship with Mum stable by stopping us both from saying and doing things we might regret. Dad supports me a lot. Where Mum might need time to come around to an idea—like her sick daughter going off on a world trip—I know Dad will be there for me from the first moment.
“Your mum is convinced that it’s bad news. It seems the only time we hear from you lately, it’s bad news.”
“Not true,” I argue, my eyes twinkling. “I called you last week to tell you I won ten dollars on that lotto ticket you got me, didn’t I?”
Dad groans and I laugh.
“Really, Dad. It’s nothing bad. I’ve just been doing some thinking.”
He winces, his brown eyes playful. “That never ends well.”
“Hey,” I retort. I reach ove
r and whack his arm, to which he laughs. “Mum isn’t going to like what I have to say,” I warn him.
“When does she ever like what you have to say?” he replies. “You’re too alike, your mother and you. Always knocking heads.”
It’s true. I love Mum more than anything, but we argue more than anyone I know. It doesn’t affect our relationship, though. Aside from Calli, Mum is my go-to person. We can talk about anything. I guess that’s partly what makes this all so hard. I’ve accepted that life is unpredictable, but watching them suffer still hurts.
I’m about to respond to Dad with some lame comment when Mum comes back in with our drinks, complete with snacks that I’m too nervous to eat. I’m not sure what has me more worked up—telling them about my trip, or the trip itself. I haven’t even checked my ad since I posted it last night, so I have no idea if anyone has even replied. What if I can’t find someone to come with me?
I’ll go by myself before I don’t go at all. But even as I’m thinking it, I know that defeats the whole purpose.
“I’m going away.” I blurt the words out much faster than I wanted to. So much for easing them into it.
Mum’s eyes widen with confusion. She glances at my dad, then back at me. “What are you talking about, Erin? Going where?”
“I’ve booked a trip.”
My heart pounds as I try to swallow, my throat suddenly feeling like it’s closing over. I booked and paid for the whole thing online, non-refundable and with no insurance, because I knew they’d try to talk me out of it. Ten grand down the drain if I don’t go through with this.
“I’m going away. Overseas. For two months. I placed an ad on Craigslist for someone to come with me because I don’t want to take Calli. Or either of you. Or any of my friends.” I cringe. Oh God. The words are spilling out now, just like they tend to do when I get really nervous. Mum’s eyes grow wider—if that’s even possible—and I wait for the explosion I know is coming.
“Tell me you’re joking. Please, Erin.”
My gaze drops, because I don’t know what else to say. They’re never going to understand why I need to do this, so I’m at a loss as to what I say next.
“Erin? Is this one of the side effects of the cancer?”
I laugh, because I can understand why she might think that.
I’ve always been the daughter they never had to worry about, so me taking off overseas with a complete stranger is totally out of the ordinary. Even as a kid I was never in trouble—unless Calli dragged me into it, which happened more often than not.
“No, it’s nothing to do with the cancer.” Well, that’s not totally true. Would I be doing this if I wasn’t sick? Probably not.
“You can’t do this alone. What if something happens to you?”
“Like cancer?” I joke.
Her angry expression wipes the smile off my face pretty quick.
“Mum, I’m sick of things not happening to me because I’m trying too hard to avoid everything. And I’m not going alone.”
“You might as well be going alone,” Mum retorts, her face red. “I’d probably feel better about it if you were. Craigslist, for heaven’s sake?”
I knew I should have left that part out.
“Please don’t fight me on this,” I beg her. I glance at my Dad for help, but he looks as disappointed as my mother does. Am I really being that selfish? I knew this would be hard for them to accept, but surely they’ll come around to the idea. At least until they figure out the other reason behind all this, and by then it will be too late.
“You’re cutting us out of your life,” Mum says, tears springing to her eyes. “How are we supposed to be okay with this?”
“Mum, I’m not—”
“But you are,” she cuts in. “We were supposed to have time to get used to this, but if you leave now…” She shakes her head. “What happens if you don’t come home?”
“You’re going to Ireland next year,” I point out. “What happens if you don’t come home?”
“I don’t have an inoperable brain tumour,” my mother scoffs. “It’s hardly the same and you know it.” She sighs, and kneels down in front of me. “I get why you want to do this, Erin. I really do. And I’m so proud of how you’ve handled this whole…mess. But going off and leaving your family when you need them most isn’t the way to do this.”
“What is the way, Mum?” I ask. I take her hand, her skin soft and warm against my own dry, cold fingers. “I take you guys? So you can make sure I’m eating? And taking my meds? Let you push me around in a wheelchair, and wipe the drool from my mouth?”
“We can take you to see whatever it is you want to see—”
“What I want from this, you can’t give me, Mum,” I respond, my voice soft. “You don’t get it, and that’s okay, because up until now I haven’t really either.”
“Then explain it to me,” she demands. “Tell me why this is so important to you and why we can’t be there for you. I’m your mother.” She stops, her voice breaking. “I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away.”
“This trip isn’t about sightseeing.” How do I put into words why I need this? “I don’t want to just see. I want to live. I want to feel. Because up until now, all I’ve done is what I think is going to help me later in life. And what use is that now?”
“And you can’t do that with us around?” Mum presses. If anything, I’m impressed with her persistence.
“Honestly? No. I can’t.” I’m amazed at how firm I’m being. Standing up, I pull Mum to her feet and wrap my arms around her. “I love you guys more than anything, but you can’t help me through this. I can only help myself.”
“Erin—”
“Please don’t say anything, Mum. Just go home and process everything and we can talk about it tomorrow. I’m tired and I have to get up early for work.” She opens her mouth but I hold up my hand before she can speak. “Don’t even start on that. Go. I love you. See you tomorrow.”
I all but push them out the door, resting against the back of it.
There. It’s done. No turning back now.
It’s been a hell of a day, and I’m tired. All I want to do is fall into bed, but I’m dying to know—for lack of a better phrase—if there has been any interest in my ad. I grab my laptop and turn it on, navigating my way to my email.
Mailbox full. My eyes widen at the message that pops up on the screen. I click okay. I only just created the account yesterday. How many replies have I had? My eyes stray to the little New Messages icon. Four thousand new messages.
What the actual fuck?
My heart pounds. I’m sure I’m hallucinating. Maybe it’s a side effect of the tumour? There is no way in hell four thousand people read, let alone replied to my ad. But I’m not imagining things. It’s right there in front of me.
My hands shake as I click on the first email.
Sorry to hear about your situation, I just wanted to wish you good luck.
The next few are almost the same: “I’m sorry, I wish I could help.” The support from total strangers is overwhelming. I carry the laptop into my room and curl up on my bed. My eyes are getting heavy, because it’s been a long day and I get tired quicker than I used to, but I’m determined to get few more.
I wish I could help you but I couldn’t take that much time off work. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Your story is an inspiration to me.
Just as I’m beginning to wonder if there are actually any takers, they begin to pop up, in all sorts of weird and wonderful responses.
You sound like a real sweet chick who I’d be happy to show a good time to. When do we leave?
And
I’m always up for a free trip, so long as I know you’re not gonna die on me. I’m not good with dead chicks.
Laughing, I close my laptop, my head buzzing. I know I need to sort through them, but I can’t concentrate at the moment. At this rate I’ll still be going through emails in a month. There is no way I can get through all of these alone. My pho
ne buzzes. I pick it up and see a text from Calli.
Calli: How did it go?
I grin, knowing a hundred percent that the first thing my mother would’ve done after leaving here was call her.
Erin: Really? You’re going to pretend she wasn’t begging you to change my mind?
Calli: You caught me. She’s just worried about you. We all are. Let me come with you.
I groan and dial her number, my fingers too tired to text anymore.
“But you’re not doing it alone,” she argues. “And if you want me to be honest, I think you’re being selfish. It’s like you don’t even care how this is affecting us.”
“That’s not true,” I say quietly. I close my eyes. How do I even try to explain what I’m feeling? How do I tell my sister that I need to get away because I can’t just sit here and wait? I can’t let them smother me because they’re worried I’m overdoing things or that my body isn’t coping. I don’t want the constant reminder that I’m dying.
All I see when I look at my family is death, because that’s all I am to them now.
“I expected you of all people to get why I need to do this,” I say. If I don’t have her support, what hope in hell do I have in getting my parents on my side? I’m doing this regardless, but it would mean so much to me to actually have their support before I go. Maybe I should tell Calli the truth. I shake off the thought as fast as it enters my head. If she can’t accept this, there is no way in hell she’d accept that.
“Who do you think gets the fallout from all this, Ez? Who do you think Mum calls up to complain to? I can’t side with both of you.”
“Why does there have to be sides?” I cry out. “If Mum could just understand—”
“You’re her daughter and you’re dying,” Calli cuts in. “You’re the one who needs to understand here. Not Mum.”
Wow. I can’t believe she actually said that to me. I need to feel guilty about dying now? This conversation is going nowhere, and I’m done exhausting myself over something that is obviously not going to be resolved tonight.
Don't Hold Back (Love Hurts Book 4) Page 2
