“But there’s still a chance.”
“There’s always a chance.”
“So take it.”
“You don’t get it.
“Try me,” he growled. “This isn’t you, this scared little girl. It’s not you.”
“Oh, and you know me so well.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, this isn’t your style, Sergio, you don’t worry about people in hospitals. You freaking put them there!”
“You don’t know shit!” His voice rose.
“I know you don’t care!” I fired back. “So why start now?”
His eyes filled with tears. What the hell was wrong with him? “It’s stupid, not to take a chance, regardless of how slim that chance, at life.”
“What? So now you’re preaching to me about living when a few days ago you wanted to put a bullet in my head?”
His eyes were shuttered again, no emotion showing through. “Not everyone gets the chance you’re getting.”
“Why can’t you let me die happy?”
“So that’s it? You’re going to selfishly let yourself die when you could live, because you’re afraid of something not working? So what? It doesn’t work, then you still die, Andi. At least you tried. Not everyone who has cancer has options. You do.”
“I’ve made my choice.”
“Like I said…” He rose from the bed. “Coward.”
“Get out!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
“Like I would stay!” He basically stomped out of my room.
It wasn’t more than three seconds before Nixon was in my doorway.
I glanced at him guiltily. “You heard?”
“Pretty sure the whole floor heard.” He winced. “Kinda harsh, Andi.”
“Not you too.” I was too weak to argue more than I already had. “He doesn’t get it.”
“I think you’d be surprised what he does and doesn’t get, especially when it comes to cancer.”
My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Look…” Nixon sat on the edge of my bed. “…I’m only telling you this so you don’t hate him more than you already do, or more than he already hates himself. His mom died of cancer. In this hospital. On this floor.”
My stomach sunk.
“It was aggressive, so aggressive she literally had no options. It was like, one day she was fine and the next the doctors were telling the family she had weeks to live.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
“So…” Nixon stood, his movements jerky. I could tell he wasn’t used to talking about himself or about anything personal. Nixon was a lot like Sergio in that way; he kept pieces of himself hidden. “…Sergio was here every damn day. And in the end, when his mom died, he took the blame.”
“But…” I shivered and pulled up the blankets. “..It’s not his fault she got cancer.”
Nixon let out a bitter chuckle. “His father thought otherwise… had Sergio been a better son, his mom wouldn’t have been stressed, and the cancer wouldn’t have been able to spread so quickly. Had Sergio watched his mother more carefully while his father was away doing business, they would have caught it in time. Really, take your pick. It was all Sergio’s fault. What’s worse? I think a part of Sergio believed him—Hell, I think he still believes him. His dad was a real piece of work. My father despised him, and that’s really saying something, since my father considered torturing me an extracurricular activity.”
“Nixon…” I blinked back tears. “…get my husband and send him back in here?”
“No.” Nixon shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve your pity, just like you don’t deserve his. He hates it. He’ll know I told you. And I didn’t tell you so that you’d feel sorry for him. I told you so you’d understand why he’s so pissed at you.”
“It’s my choice.”
“Right.” Nixon nodded. “And I get that, believe me, but sometimes our choices aren’t just about us — but the people that love us, the people that have to stand by and watch us suffer.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
Nixon said nothing.
I squinted, waiting for him to agree with me.
Instead he shrugged and walked out.
Well, that was helpful.
Two hours went by.
And then three.
Around eight that night, Sergio finally returned. He held two small cups in his hand.
No words were exchanged. Instead, he put both cups on the tray and moved it to where I could reach then sat in the chair.
He handed me a spoon.
And dug into his own cup.
Ice cream.
I vaguely remembered him promising me ice cream.
Guilt slammed into me as I grabbed my spoon and then my cup and started eating.
The hum of the TV and the beeping heart monitor were the only sounds emitting from the room. It may as well have been nails on a chalk board.
“So,” I said finishing my ice cream. “You were gone a while.”
“Yup.” He eyed the TV.
“Thanks for the ice cream.”
“I keep my promises.” His gaze still didn’t leave the TV.
“Look.” I took a deep breath.
Sergio held up his hand, finally turning toward me. “Let’s not do this.”
“But—”