My mind goes to Brock, my king. He bought me a first-class ticket and took me to the airport. Not an argument or a derogatory comment to be heard. He was worried about Simon, too. He’s a good guy.
God, I love him.
The kind man next to me takes my hand in his. “I’ll hold your hand while you sleep,” he whispers.
I smile softly, my faith in the human race restored. “Thank you.”
I pull up my blanket, close my eyes, and with the warmth of a stranger’s hand against mine, I drift towards my nightmares.
“He’s in room two-one-six.” The kind nurse smiles.
I walk up and peer through the window in the door.
Simon is in bed, his father is by the window, and his mother is sitting beside him in a chair. They look so sombre.
I close my eyes as I try to prepare myself. You can do this.
I slowly walk into the room. Simon’s face lights up and I smile. “Hi, Si.”
His mother and father stand and rush to me, holding me tight. I can feel their fear through their embrace.
“Hi.” I smile, despite my tears.
I walk over to Simon, bend, and take him into my arms. He looks so sick and feels so weak, and all the pep talks I gave myself about being strong are thrown out of the window. I sob out loud. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper.
We cling to each other for an extended time. The horror before us way too real.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I turn to them.
“He’s having blood transfusions as we try to get his blood count up,” his mother says softly. “He’s very tired.”
I nod. “Okay.” I take his hand in mine and stare down at him.
“Lie with me, Tull,” he whispers.
The lump in my throat is so big, I don’t think I can stop myself from sobbing out loud again. I nod, scared to speak. I kick off my shoes and I climb onto the bed beside him, holding him tight.
“We’ll give you some time alone,” his mother says.
“I’ll stay with him tonight,” I tell them.
They glance at each other.
“Mum, go to the hotel and get some sleep,” Simon says. “Tully’s here now, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” he whispers, his eyes stay fixed on my face.
His parents eventually leave, and we lie in the dimly lit room, face to face, just like we have so many times before. I run my fingers through his hair as I try to will him to sleep. He’s too weak to talk for too long.
“I love you, Tully,” he whispers so softly that I can barely hear him.
“I love you, Si.” I cup his face, and in this moment, I do love Simon. For everything that we’ve been through together and everything that we taught each other. “You’re my best friend.” I smile softly.
“Kiss me,” he whispers through tears, and I know his time with me may be coming to an end.
The tears break free from my eyes, and I lean forward and tenderly kiss him as I hold his face in my hands. Our wet faces scrunch up against each other’s in pain.
He smiles, closes his eyes, and the two of us lie still for a few moments…
Until he seems too still.
“Si,” I whisper in a panic. “Simon,” I hiss as I try desperately to wake him up.
“Simon,” I say louder. “No. Don’t you leave me.” I sob. “Simon. No. Don’t you leave me,” I cry. “Please, no, Si… please?”
I jump up and press the buzzer. The nurses come running in and take over at once. I stand back with my hands over my mouth, frozen with fear.
The nurse turns to me. “Call his parents.”
I take out my phone with frantic shaky hands, and I dial the number.
“What’s wrong?” she answers.
“You have to come quickly. Something is happening,” I whisper in a panic. “Hurry.”
Two days later, I lie next to Simon on his bed. It’s late at night, and a thin stream of light is drifting through the crack in the bathroom door.
I smile. “Remember the time we wanted McDonald’s so we took your mother’s car when your parents were out, and when we got back we left the hand brake off and the car rolled into a telegraph pole?”
He smiles. “How old were we?”
“Like, fifteen.”
“Mac attack.” He chuckles. “Remember Dad’s face when he found out?”
I giggle. “What about the time we tried weed?”
“We were hardcore,” he whispers.
I smile. “We smoked joints in the park and fell asleep on a rug. Our parents called the police frantic because we didn’t come home all night.”
Simon looks over at me. “Remember how many mosquito bites we had?”
I laugh. We were covered head to toe. “That was hell, and we were grounded for forever.” We fall silent again. “Remember when you kissed me?” I whisper.
He smiles and nods. “I paid my friend to dare me to kiss you in that game of spin the bottle, just so you would go along with it.”
I run my hand down his face and cup his jaw. “I would have kissed you without the dare.”
His eyes search mine and we fall silent again. “I’m sorry.”
I frown in question. “What for?”
“I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispers. “That I didn’t try harder to make you happy.”
My eyes fill with tears. How could he possibly think that this is his fault.
“You did make me happy, Si. Every day you made me happy.”
He stares at me, and I know he wants to know why I left when there was so much good between us.
“I don’t know why,” I whisper. “If I knew the answer as to why I had to leave, I would never have left. I would have stayed and fixed it.” I put my head on his shoulder and we lie in silence for a while. I feel him smile above me, as if remembering something.
“Remember the time you made me put spray tan on you and I got it in your eye.” He smiles.
“I had to go to the emergency room over that.” I giggle.
“And only one side of your face was brown.” He chuckles. “And your mother was screaming at me for rubbing it on your face.”
I burst out laughing as I remember the commotion in the hospital that day.
We lie sleepily for a long time, and then his regulated breathing tells me he’s drifted off to sleep.
So many good times together. Too many to remember them all.
The hospital room is silent, and I sit on the chair next to Simon’s bed. I haven’t left his side in six days.
The silence is suffocating, as if our sadness has stolen all of the sound. The birds have stopped chirping and the children have stopped playing. He’s declining, and I feel like the world is about to end.
Simon is asleep, too weak to stay awake now.
Three days ago, the chaplain came in to bless him into the afterlife, and we’ve been told to make peace with his illness. They can’t get his blood count back up no matter how hard they try. The care he has been receiving has been remarkable, but it’s just not enough.
How is peace possible?
How can I make peace with an insidious disease that is threatening to take him from me forever?
Brocks’ been calling me non-stop, but it doesn’t feel right speaking to him when things are so dark over here. I’ve been giving him short texts as replies. I want to speak to him today, though. My phone lights up, and the name Brock lights up the screen. I know I need to take this.
I slowly walk down the corridor and answer. “Brock?” I whisper.
“Oh, thank God.” He sighs. “I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. Are you okay?” he asks in a rush.
I shake my head and feel the tears begin to build again. “No,” I whisper. “They don’t think he’s going to make it.”
He stays silent.
“I can’t help him, Brock.”
“I’m at the hotel.”
I frown. “What?”
“When I couldn’t get you on the phone, I was frantic, so I came to London.”
“You’re here.” I smile sadly, but somehow feeling full of hope at once.
“Yeah, baby, I should have come with you in the first place. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
The tears fall free. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the Intercontinental. Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t been back to my hotel since I got here.”
“Where have you been sleeping?” he asks.
“On the chair.”
“Babe.” He sighs.
“I’ll come soon, okay?”
“Okay, I love you.” He hangs up.