What's Left of Me

by Maxlyn, Amanda

  I want more.

  “Shh, baby.” He lowers his lips back to mine. Our mouths work together as our bodies move as one—connected.

  I try to pull him closer to me, tugging on his back, hips, neck, and hair.

  Our bodies rock in slow motion. This is nothing hot and heavy like our first time.

  This is passionate.

  Tender.

  We don’t need words. Our bodies do it for us.

  It’s beautiful.

  When I feel the pressure building and my muscles tightening around him, Parker begins to move faster.

  “That’s it, baby.” His fast movements are never hard. He continues to thrust into me gently, but with the perfect amount of force.

  When I cry out his name he captures it, muffling the sound with his lips. He finally slips his tongue into my mouth, and I meet his greedily. Not wanting it to end, I bring my hands up, wrapping them around his neck. He continues to slowly move in and out of me until he finds his own release.

  We lie there panting, our bodies stuck together with our sweat.

  “Parker …”

  I can’t continue. I don’t know what to say that would make this moment any more special. Well, I can think of three words.

  “Aundrea?” he says, breaking my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “No. I’m sorry, what?”

  “I realized that last night we didn’t use anything.”

  I think of what he means. Protection. What do I say? It’s okay; I can’t get pregnant.

  “It’s okay, I have that taken care of, and I’m clean.” There. That’s not really lying. It’s honest, but vague, and I’m being very honest about the clean part. I have to have multiple STD checks with all the treatment I do.

  “Well, still, I shouldn’t have been so greedy. I didn’t think you were coming last night, or I would have brought something.”

  I turn into him, resting my hands on his chest so that I’m looking down at him.

  “Parker. Really, it’s okay. I promise. We’re good.” I give him a quick kiss, then get up to get dressed.

  He asks me to join him in the shower, and I tell him how much I want to but my parents are coming today and I need to get back. He begs me to stay, so it tears me apart to tell him no. I want to. So bad.

  Parker tried to get me to take off my wig various times last night and I insisted on keeping it on. He pushed this morning, too, but I played it off.

  “Do you really have to go?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” He looks as if he wants to say more, but doesn’t. “Call me later?”

  “Of course.” I give him a quick kiss, then ask for him to zip my dress back up. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed yet, and my eyes can’t help but roam over his body every time I look at him.

  I leave him standing naked in the hotel room with the memories of last night.

  “Honey, why can’t we meet him?”

  My mom has asked this question no less than fifteen times since I got out of the shower.

  “Because. We’re not at the meet the parent stage.”

  “What stage are you at?” my dad chimes in.

  “No stage. We’re taking it slow.”

  “I’d say you’re spending a lot of time together for someone who is taking it slow,” Genna chirps while flipping through her latest cookbook. I give her an evil glare before turning back to my dad.

  “Dad, we’ve been hanging out.”

  “A lot,” Genna interrupts.

  “Will you quit it!” I throw one of her blue and gray couch pillows at her.

  “Hey!” she screams, dropping her cookbook to the floor. I laugh, and soon she’s laughing too.

  “Okay, you two. Calm down. Dre, why don’t you tell your dad and me about this Parker guy?”

  “I already told you what there is to tell.”

  “More please.”

  My mom is just like my sister. Or rather, my sister is just like her. They always want the damn details of everything. I tell them how I met him at the house when he came over for dinner. Genna still doesn’t know how we really met.

  “Dinner’s done!” Jason smiles, carrying in two large take out bags from the local diner down the road. Genna insisted on making a home-cooked meal, but my mom and dad love that diner, so she relented.

  “Honey, what time do you need to be at the hospital tomorrow?”

  “Eight.”

  My dad wants to go with me. He’s only gone to a handful of my treatments in the last four years. The treatments were always during the week when he had to work, so my mom would take me during the day and he would stay up with me, all night if necessary.

  “Mind if Mom and I go with you?”

  “Of course not.”

  I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, which I think is why he never says much about my cancer. He doesn’t normally like to talk about it or discuss it in detail besides the important facts. Shortly after I was diagnosed, I told him I wasn’t scared and that he didn’t need to be either. He didn’t need to tell me that he was. I could see it in his eyes. Genna would tell me how he would drink coffee after coffee during any of my scans or surgeries just so he had something to do.

  I would sit on the deck with him late at night, looking at the stars, holding his hand, and comforting him, telling him it was okay. That I was okay, and he didn’t need to worry.

  When my cancer came back the second time, his attitude amplified. He became quiet at the mention of anything related to my treatments. I knew he cared, but he didn’t say much. He just listened.

  Just before I came to Rochester, I sat outside with him, listening to the sound of the crickets and junebugs flying around. We talked about our family vacations and our home away from home, St. Thomas, in the Virgin Islands. “I’m not scared of death, Dad,” I told him. “I’m scared of not living. I don’t want to die with any regrets that I didn’t get to do the things in life that I’ve always wanted.” He listened when I told him everything I wanted to do and would do when I beat cancer. I’d travel the world, go on a safari, ride The Wild Thing at Valley Fair, go white water rafting, solve a Rubik’s Cube, and maybe float around in the Dead Sea.

  That was the first night I saw my dad cry.

  Veronica, the older nurse who set me up for my first two treatments, doesn’t work Mondays, so the young nurse that drew my blood last Wednesday is my nurse for the morning. I learn her name is Britney. She always speaks in a soft, soothing voice to the others. It’s sweet, and she’s nice, but it’s annoying. We’re not dead yet, so don’t talk to us like we’re about to be.

  “Okay, hon. Counts are really good. I’m going to hook you up now. This should take about four hours. When the machine shuts off it’ll beep once followed by three short beeps. Let me know if you need anything by pressing the call button.”

  “Thanks,” I say at the same time as my mom.

  Genna went to volunteer at the local library. She hasn’t volunteered since I’ve been home, so I told her to get in some Genna time now that our parents are here.

  Once I’m hooked up, my mom tells me about how she’s keeping up with her multiple jobs, as well as the small town gossip: who is sleeping with whom, local burglaries, and who wore what to church. I swear, she must spend every free minute at the hair salon because the things she learns about people’s personal lives are astonishing.

  I laugh at the comments and eye rolls my dad gives as he listens to her stories. I decide to change the subject. “Dad, how’s work going for you?”

  “Same shit, different day.” He wishes he could retire, or quit. I think he’d be happier working at a hardware store instead of the factory where he has spent the last twenty-five years. It pays well, but it’s stressful.

  “How many more days?”

  “Thirty-five hundred,” he laughs, shrugging.

  It’s good spending time with my parents, even if it’s like this. We catch up, reminis
ce, and even make plans for me to come home and visit.

  When the beeps begin, Britney comes over and turns the machine off. Taking the plastic catheter out of my vein from my port, she tapes a gauze bandage on me for the ride home.

  “Thanks,” I say to her as I get up from the chair and make my way out with my parents.

  Just as we’re exiting down the hallway to the elevators I hear my name being called.

  “Aundrea?”

  I turn to see Parker standing there.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to seem happy and surprised to see him. What is he doing here?

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, coming over to give me a hug.

  “Oh, we came to visit a family friend.” I scramble to find the words, hoping they sound convincing.

  I zip my fleece jacket all the way up, hoping to cover up the gauze tapped to my chest.

  The elevator dings, but we miss it thanks to my mom. “Hi, I’m Donna, Aundrea’s mom, and this is Jay, my husband,” she says, pointing to my dad.

  They greet each other with handshakes and smiles.

  “It’s great to meet you. Aundrea has told me a lot about you two.”

  “Funny, she hasn’t mentio—”

  “Dad, this is Parker,” I say, giving him a stern look. Please be nice!

  “Parker!” My mom practically pushes me out of the way to get closer to him, bringing him into a hug. “I’ve heard so much about you. Not just from Dre, but from Genna and Jason too. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  “Yeah, just great,” my dad says under his breath. I let out a little giggle at his tough guy act. He hasn’t really had to play the big, bad, scary dad role with me and I can tell he’s trying to show Parker just who the boss is.

  Releasing my mom, Parker smiles down at her. My mom is shorter than me, but still tall at five foot eight. “All good things, I hope,” he says, giving me a wink as he looks back to my mom.

  “Of course, of course!”

  The three of them exchange some small talk about the clinic while I stand there awkwardly off to the side.

  Taking advantage of a small pause to their conversation, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, one of the doctors here came to the benefit. I was dropping of some things he won in the silent auction.”

  “Oh.”

  “Have you all eaten? We could go get some lunch?” He looks at me and takes my hand.

  Both my parents look at me, leaving it up to me to decide.

  I think about it for a second. I can’t think of any reasons why not, and know I won’t be able to see him for a few days when I’m sick, so I agree.

  Piling into the elevator, Parker stands behind me, giving my hand a quick squeeze. I squeeze his back, twice.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispers into my hair.

  I don’t feel beautiful. My hair is pinned back, and I have jean capris on with a gray sweater. I didn’t think I would need makeup today, so I have none on.

  We agree to go to the cafeteria because we’re already here. To my surprise, the hospital has a really good selection. It’s not my usual experience of hospital food.

  When we’re all at the table, Parker takes a seat next to me with his hand resting on my thigh.

  “So, Parker, Aundrea tells us you two have been hanging out a lot.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Parker addresses my dad so formally that I have to choke back a laugh.

  Setting her pizza down, my mom speaks. “It’s good to know Aundrea is meeting new people. Her dad and I were so concerned she wouldn’t leave the house.”

  Parker looks over at me. “Why wouldn’t you leave the house?”

  Laughing, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “She’s only joking. You know … online classes, a house, bed, food. I have everything I need. Why leave?” I joke, looking at my parents. My eyes plead with them to drop it. My mom looks at me with confusion, then recognition. My dad looks at me with sadness. They both now know that I haven’t told Parker.

  We finish our lunch laughing and talking about embarrassing family vacation stories. Parker watches me with interest the entire time, never taking his hands off me. Mom keeps gushing over how cute we are while Dad continues to stare Parker down.

  Before saying our goodbyes, my mom tells Parker he should join us for dinner soon, which he happily accepts.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks me.

  “No, sorry. I took some time off to spend with my parents. I’ll call you later?”

  “Of course.” He pulls me into a hug. Releasing me, he hesitates, looking over at my parents. Running his finger gently along my lips, he whispers, “Goodbye, Aundrea.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’m sick. Not your normal, not-feeling-well sick. This is put-a-bullet-in-my-head-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery sick. I’ve never been so ill in my life. Nothing can or will ever compare to what I have been feeling. If this is dying, I want no part.

  My dad has to carry me from my bed to the couch, or from the couch to the bathroom. I need my mom and Genna to assist me in going to the bathroom, which crushes me. I hate that I can’t even stand up from the toilet on my own.

  I’ve been eating pain pills like candy, drinking water like it’s my last drop, and lying in bed or on the couch as if I were in a coma.

  Everything hurts. My head, arms, legs, back, chest, throat—even my eyes. I can’t keep them open long enough to get a clear view of anything.

  My mom and Genna baby me, which makes me snap at them. Even talking hurts. I shoo them away anytime they come near me, which makes my mom cry. I don’t mean to hurt her feelings, but I just need peace and quiet. Every noise, creak, or whisper hurts my ears.

  It hurts physically and emotionally to have anyone touching, moving, or talking to me.

  Parker calls three times. When I don’t answer, he starts texting.

  Mr. Handsome: Is everything ok? You’re not answering.

  Mr. Handsome: Aundrea?

  Mr. Handsome: I’m not trying to sound like a stalker but you’re freaking me out. Call me.

  Mr. Handsome: That’s it. I’m coming over.

  It’s the last text that makes me call him.

  “Aundrea?” He answers on the first ring.

  “Hi.”

  He sighs with relief into the phone. “What is going on? I’ve called and texted. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t been by my phone much with my parents here.”

  “I understand. It’s just unusual that I haven’t heard from you. You sure you’re okay? You sound sad.”

  I blink tears away. My chest hurts. I want to talk to him. To tell him. I hate that I’m withholding this from him. “I’m okay. I promise. As soon as my parents leave I’ll call you, okay? We can go out, or I can come over?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Of course. Just … please text me. I don’t like worrying.”

  “I will. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll talk to you soon?”

  “Of course.”

  After hanging up, I drop the phone next to me.

  My dad calls Dr. Olson to get a refill on my pain medication and to ask if what I’m experiencing is normal. Just moving my arms feels as if my bones are breaking. She confirms that it’s the drugs. If need be, the next round in two weeks can get adjusted, but in the meantime I’m given a stronger pain medication, Dilaudid, along with more muscle relaxers.

  By the third night, I lie awake in my bed from the tingling that has come back to my hands and feet. The pain has gotten a little better thanks to the medication, though now I’m considering taking something to help me sleep.

  Reaching into my nightstand, I get a pain pill and swallow it down with water.

  I picking up my phone and see that it’s 2:00 am. Still, I know Jean will answer. She always does.

  “Dre? You okay?” She picks up on the second ring.

  I haven’t cried from the pain yet, even though I’ve come close ma
ny times. I let a sniffle out into the phone, and I hear the rustling of sheets as she makes herself more comfortable in bed. “Talk to me. I’m here.”

  “I …” I try to speak, but the lump in my throat stops all words from coming out.

  “Shh.” Her voice is calming on the other end. She’s the only person I don’t get upset at for trying to calm me down. I think it’s because she’s the only one who really understands what I’m going through. I don’t want to be comforted. I want to let out my frustrations without someone taking it personally and running off to cry.

  She won’t baby me.

  She won’t tell me everything will be okay.

  She listens. She never judges and I love her for that.

  I try to get the words out, but tears fall instead. I gulp down air as the pain in my chest releases. The sobs form, becoming stronger, and I don’t hold them back. I let the tears soak my pillow as I cry hard into the phone.

  “I just want it to stop. All of it. The pain. The suffering. The fucking cancer. I want it gone. I need it gone, Jean. It’s tearing me apart inside. God, I hate this. Even all the lying I’m doing to Parker. It’s breaking my heart.”

  I can hear the muffled cries on the other end of the line, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. If this next round doesn’t take … if the transplant doesn’t work … I’m done, Jean. I’m so fucking done with it. I can’t do it. My damn body can’t do it! I can’t even take a shower alone, the pain is so bad.” I pause, bringing my voice to a very low whisper. “When is it enough?”

  I cry hard into the phone along with her. I let the tears fall and I’m not ashamed. I need them out.

  Tomorrow is a different day.

  Tomorrow will be better.

  It can only get better.

  My alarm is set to go off at eight, but my body disagrees. The sun is barely up, and my mind is already running a marathon. I stayed up with Jean until three crying into the phone. When I was done, I said goodbye and tried to get some sleep. I know that when I talk to her next, last night won’t get brought up, and I love her for that.