by Shandi Boyes
“Why do I need a rush order?” I question confused. Normal passport applications are processed within a few weeks, so my passport should be here in plenty of time.
Slater takes a deep breath before he slowly swivels his body to face me. “I thought maybe we could go to Fiji next week,” he informs softly.
I don’t know want is going on, but I have noticed a change in his personality the past few days. He has been treating me differently. Similar to how people treated me when they found out I was sick. It is like he is walking around on egg shells. He has even been more cautious in the bedroom.
“I’ve also organised for us to go to the doctors today to get any vaccinations we need before the trip,” he informs. His eyes dart down to the documents in his hand before he slowly whispers. “They will also do a full check-up on you while we are there.”
My heart plummets into my stomach and my eyes rapidly fill with tears. I knew he had been treating me different. I quickly stand from the sofa and move away from him. I need some distance between us to help calm down my anger. His eyes dart up to mine the instant I move away from him.
“Please Kylie, I need you to do this,” he begs, his voice sounds like he is in pain.
“Do what?” I reply sternly. I rapidly blink my eyes, trying my hardest to keep my tears at bay, but no matter how hard I fight them, they end up flowing down my face.
“The earlier we find out the better your chances will be,” he replies quietly, standing from the sofa and moving towards me.
“I’m not sick Slater,” I inform angrily, moving away from him. He grabs a hold of my wrist, halting my angry retreat. My eyes stay planted on the ugly Persian rug that is in the middle of the living room.
“Baby, look at me,” he requests softly. I angrily shake my head. “Please Kylie,” he pleads. Hearing how hurt his voice sounds, I can’t deny his request and slowly lift my eyes to look into his tormented brown eyes.
“You had that blood nose on Sunday.”
“Everyone gets blood noses Slater, it doesn’t mean anything,” I interrupt.
“I know that, I do, but you also have that large bruise on your thigh for the past six days that isn’t getting any better,” he says.
His eyes dart down to the large bruise I have on my thigh. I got it when I ran into the table in the entranceway of our hotel room the night we returned from the gala. At the time it didn’t even hurt as I was too busy enjoying being lavished with Slater’s affection. When I woke up the following day, the little bump had turned into an extremely angry bruise. I iced it, and with regular pain tablets I forgot it was even there. That same afternoon I had a blood nose. To me it was no big deal, but Slater’s faced look mortified when a small trickle of blood ran over my lips.
“I know me. I know my body. I’m not sick,” I assure. My words don’t offer him any comfort. His face stays marred with concern and panic. He looks like he is grieving me, even though I am standing right in front of him.
His glossed over eyes stare directly into mine before he hauntingly whispers, “Please do this for me.”
I hate doctors. I know hate is a strong word, but I really do hate them. Probably because I spent the equivalent of months with them the past two years. But I want to help lessen Slater’s panic. I want him to look at me like he did last week. I take in several deep breaths before I slowly breathe out, “Okay.” The instant the words escape my lips he engulfs me in the tightest hug.
“Thank you baby, thank you,” he whispers into my hair.
An hour later, we are sitting in a super fancy waiting room. The furniture in this doctor’s office alone looks like it cost more than my last doctor made in an entire year. Slater is sitting next to me. He hasn’t spoken a single word since we walked in. The only reason I even know he is here with me is because his knee keeps bouncing up and down. I place my hand on his knee, stopping his fidgeting movements.
“Sorry,” he whispers, just as the nurse calls my name.
Dr Webster takes all of my medical history and does my vitals before inspecting the bruise on my thigh. He lowers down my skirt and motions for me to take a seat next to Slater behind his large impressive mahogany desk.
“Considering your history, I think it was very commendable that you came in today,” Dr Webster advises, causing Slater’s grip on my hand to tighten.
“I am sure you are already well aware of the signs of ALL, but I also want to assure you that these type of symptoms can be anything from a common cold to simply being just a bruise,” he continues. I squeeze Slater’s hand back in an attempt to lessen his panic.
“I will organise for a nurse to come in and take a blood sample for testing,” he informs, triggering me to nod my head gently. “If the test comes back with an elevated blood count, I will organise a bone marrow biopsy for later in the week,”
“I would like the biopsy done today,” Slater instructs as his feared eyes turn to mine, seeking my permission. I gently nod my head. Needles scare the shit out of me, but the fear in his eyes scares me even more.
The doctor flicks threw his open diary on his desk. Turning the pages back and forth several times seeking an opening. “I am fully booked out,” he informs, not looking up from his diary.
“I can do--”
“I want it done today,” Slater interrupts. I peer back at him and notice that his jaw is ticking and his eyes are shooting daggers at Dr Webster. When his eyes turn to look at me, his anger instantly vanishes and fear takes its place.
“I’ll pay anything you want, if you can get it done today,” he informs more politely, his eyes never once leaving mine.
I turn my gaze back to Dr Webster whose eyes are darting between Slater and I. When his eyes settle on mine, he smiles softly. “I will get the nurse to organise the day surgery room now.”
Slater sat in front of me and held my hand during the whole procedure. His eyes never left mine the entire time. He brushed away the tears that dripped down my face when the needle was inserted into my back and ran his thumb over my hand when my face grimaced at the weird pulling sensation you get when the marrow is drawn out. The whole procedure only took fifteen minutes because I chose not to have a sedative. They always made me feel drowsy and I would have been required to stay at the surgery for several hours after the procedure. Slater only has the next two days off before he has a week full of concerts again, so I didn’t want to spend half of our day hanging around a doctor’s office.
“Make sure you take pain relief tablets every four hours for the next two days,” Dr Webster instructs handing me a prescription for pain relief. “I should have your results back in a week, if it is any sooner I will call you,” he continues.
Slater and I both thank Dr Webster and shake his hand before walking to the town car waiting for us downstairs. Slater remains quiet the whole trip and doesn’t even flinch when the paparazzi asks him crude questions in an attempt to pry a reaction out of him. The ride in the elevator is one of the quietest trips we have ever made. We walk hand in hand to our hotel suite. The instant we walk inside, Slater releases my hand and walks over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a double whiskey. He downs the entire double nip in one hit before pouring another. No longer being able to hold in my tears, they freely stream down my face.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper painfully. He turns around to face me. His eyes are full to the brim with tears. “You know what it was like for Serena, please don’t treat me how everyone treated her.”
The past few months have been perfect. He has never once treated me like I was a fragile flower that might break. I loved that about him. But when I look into his eyes now, all I can see is pain and fear reflecting back at me. I promised him I wouldn’t run without saying goodbye, but I never promised that I would stand by and watch a disease destroy the man I love. I am no longer concerned about what this disease could do to me, I’m concerned about what it could do to Slater.
He places his glass down that rough it nearly smashes against th
e bar. He murmurs several curse words under his breath before he moves to me so quick he creates a ripple in the air. He engulfs me within his arms, lifting me from the ground in one fluid movement. His delicious mouth encloses over mine, his tongue sampling and tasting mine. I taste the intoxicating mix of his whiskey with the salt of my tears. By the time he finishes devouring my mouth, all of my tears have dried and my panties are soaked.
“Shit, did I hurt you?” he questions the instant he pulls away from our embrace. His kiss was that intoxicating I didn’t even notice a slight ping of the pain I was feeling earlier. When I shake my head, he kisses the corner of my mouth gently before sitting us down on the sofa. The instant I straddle his lap I feel his large erection straining against his zipper. He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“I’m sorry baby,” he apologizes quietly, his pained eyes staring firmly into mine. “I’m just scared,” he continues. His voice is so quiet it is barely a whisper.
“I know. So am I,” I respond truthfully. I am not scared of being sick again. I am scared of hurting him.
“But I am still me. I am still that same Kylie that went sky diving with you last month,” I continue, triggering the corners of his mouth to slowly tug higher. “I am still the same Kylie you had sex with in your elevator.” He smiles largely while bucking his hips, causing a shallow moan to escape mine.
“I’m still the same Kylie that is planning on getting you into a pair of the smallest swim trunks you have ever seen in your life on a beach in Fiji,” I inform waggling my eyebrows.
When he chuckles a full boisterous laugh that vibrates right through my body, I know without a doubt that even if I am sick again I will do everything in my power to stay with him.
I will fight to my very last breath.
Chapter 35
Slater
I had done exactly what I said I wouldn’t do when I suspected Kylie was sick again. I treated her different. I treated her like someone that was fragile and might break at any moment. I remember how much Serena hated being treated differently and yet I still did it to Kylie. I panicked and I fucked up.
But in my defence, I am scared out of my fucking mind that I may lose her. The fear is real. It has kept me awake the last few nights as I can’t stop thinking about it. I would like to say my fear has lessened the past few days, but it hasn’t. I’ve just learnt how to hide my fear from Kylie. I mask my feelings and act like everything is okay even though I feel like I am dying on the inside. I have called Dr Webster every day the past three days requesting the results. Every day he assures me that they should be arriving soon. I really hope they arrive soon as I am not sure how much longer I can keep up with this charade.
I don’t think Kylie has noticed, but every time I make love to her, my eyes aren’t just roaming over her body in appreciation, they are actively seeking additional bruises. Serena’s first symptom was a large bruise she got on her forearm from me. We were playing catch in the yard and she missed one of my curve balls and it hit her harshly in her arm. The bruise was huge and lasted for days. Mom eventually took her to the doctors the following week when it didn’t go down and that started the process of her diagnosis. Serena was taken from our family so quick as it had already formed in her liver and spleen by the time she was diagnosed. She did chemotherapy and radiation even though she knew it was only delaying the inevitable, but it gave her a few more weeks to say her goodbyes.
“Fifteen minutes until show time,” Kylie advises, popping her head into the dressing room I share with Marcus.
I try to mask the look on my face the instant I spot her, but I am too late, she has already seen it. She hesitantly walks into the room, passing Marcus as he exits. She straddles herself on my lap and undoes the top three buttons on her dress, triggering me to shake my head gently. She has been using sex against me the past few days. She knows my dick can’t refuse her so she is using it to her full advantage.
“If we had longer than fifteen minutes I would have been crossing off one hundred and ninety-nine of our list. But since I have only fifteen minutes, repayment number one hundred and eight three will have to do,” she whispers seductively, removing herself off my lap and kneeling in front of me.
“Are you sure you are going to be able to fully cross that off in fifteen minutes?” I question cheekily. She giggles softly, before her eyes turn up to mine. Fuck, she is gorgeous. She doesn’t even seem the faintest bit scared of having ALL again. She amazes me every day with how unbelievably strong she is.
“I think I’ll have you done with a few minutes to spare,” she replies confidently. From the look in her eyes, I am fairly certain she will indeed meet her target.
****
Kylie hit her target and I was on stage at the scheduled time feeling more relaxed and calm than I was the night before. The road crew have been leaving the lights on at the side of the stage at my request. That way I can easily keep my eye on Kylie during our performance. It is lucky I have performed these songs hundreds of times before so my eyes can easily dart over to check on her without ever losing the tempo of the song. I am around three quarters through our show when I notice one of the stage assistants approaching Kylie. She hands her a large white envelope. My heart rate increases and my breathing comes out in shallow pants even though I am physically exhausted from playing the drums for the past hour and a half. Time feels like it is going in slow motion as I watch Kylie read the document in front of her. Suddenly, she roughly yanks her phone out of her pocket, her fingers fumble over the screen before she raises it to her ear. Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth and even though she is a far distance away from me, I swear I can see tears in her eyes.
My heart drops into my stomach when her face morphs into devastation and she flees away from the stage. I freeze with my drumsticks midair, unable to move out of fear. Nick moves next to me, still strumming his guitar. He says something, but my mind doesn’t register any of the words coming out of his mouth. All I can see is the devastated look on Kylie’s face before she darted away.
“Go Slater.” I eventually register coming out of Nick’s mouth.
I stand from my drum kit that quick, I send the symbols toppling over. You know that feeling you get when you are really drunk and everything around you is a complete fucking blur? That is how I feel right now. I stumble and trip over my own feet even though I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in days. I somehow manage to get myself to the side of the stage even though I am disorientated and confused.
“She is in your dressing room,” Jenni informs softly. The tears streaming down her face causes my eyes to instantly water.
It takes a few minutes for my brain to register that Kylie isn’t in my dressing room, even though my eyes could clearly see it was empty the fifth time it roamed over it. Just as I am about to exit, I hear a loud sob come out of the bathroom. It is a sob from someone that sounds truly heart broken. It rips straight through my heart. I rush to her, wanting to comfort her. I find her huddled on the ground in the corner of the shower. She is cradling her legs in her arms and her cheek is resting against her knees. A white sheet of paper is gripped tightly in her hand. She is rocking back and forth and her sobs are racking through her body so hard she is shuddering. I swiftly move into the shower and sit down on the wet tiled floor. I pull her into my arms and comfort her the best I can, while trying to keep my own tears at bay.
My heart feels like it is torn in two. I can’t fucking lose her. Oh god, please don’t let me lose her. Why didn’t I make her go to the doctors the instant I saw the bruise? Why didn’t I force her to have regular blood tests every month? If only I had been more diligent we could have avoided all of this heart break.
It takes several long heart breaking minutes of loud and devastated sobs before Kylie eventually lifts her head off my chest. Her heart break is marked all over her beautiful face. My eyes dart between hers, silently begging for her to tell me that everything is okay. I don’t want to hear any other words
come out of her mouth other than she is okay. She tries to form words, but every time she moves her lips only a painful whimper escapes. She eventually hands me the piece of paper she is gripping tightly in her hand. I have to pry it out of her tight grip. I rub the back of my hand over my tear filled eyes before slowly reading the hand-written letter in front of me.
Dear Kylie,
I could never understand why you decided to leave the man you loved when you found out you were sick. Why you would sacrifice your own happiness for another? Why put his happiness solely above your own? But now I understand. I fully understand why you did everything you did. You did it because you loved him, even more than you loved yourself.
Please remember that as you read the next part of my letter. Everything I did, I did for you, because I love you even more than I love myself.
I never went into remission. I was informed at my last appointment that my condition had gone terminal. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to see the devastation in your eyes when you found out, so I chose to lie instead. The look of happiness in your eyes when you thought I was in remission was worth betraying you, even though I knew in time it would eventually break your heart. I initially went through the stages of grief. The very first step was denial, then I was angry, then I was sad, then I finally come to terms with what was going to happen. I was going to die. But I knew I couldn’t leave you without making sure you got the life you deserved.
