She sounds like this is already over. Like Taylor is going to die.
Fuck that. Fuck her and everyone.
It’s not over.
I won’t let it be over.
I won’t let Taylor just kill herself.
“I need to see her.”
“I’ll take you,” Dr. March says.
“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Eddie says to me.
“We’re here for you, man.” Cam gives my shoulder one last squeeze before letting go.
I follow Dr. March down a corridor and through a set of double doors.
She finally comes to a stop outside a door near the end of the corridor. “Taylor is in here. Now, please try not to upset her. Any stress—”
“I won’t upset her.”
Dr. March nods and then walks away.
I take a strengthening breath, and then I slowly push the door open. It doesn’t make a sound.
The room is dark, except for the light on by the bed. She’s lying on her back, pillows propping her up, her face turned away from me, staring out the window at the night sky.
Just the sight of her hurts me.
She looks so small, the bed swallowing her up. Her hair is spread over the pillow, the light highlighting the pink in it. Her skin looks smooth with a golden glow.
She looks beautiful.
She doesn’t look sick.
She doesn’t look like she’s…dying.
Agony crushes its fist into my chest.
Letting the door go, I move further into the room on quiet feet. “Taylor…” I gently say her name as I near the bed.
Her body stiffens, and then her head slowly turns on the pillow, her eyes meeting mine.
The look in them terrifies me. She looks closed off. The only other time Taylor has looked at me like this was last night…when she told me that she didn’t love me.
Taking a breath, I force myself to speak, “I spoke to the doctor.” My words are quiet with meaning.
I stop at the end of the bed, my hands gripping ahold of the footboard where her medical chart hangs.
I stare at her face, willing her to tell me it’s not true. That the doctor has got it wrong.
“She told you?” Her voice sounds dry, croaky.
“About the tumor? Or that you’re letting yourself die?”
Guilt floods her eyes, and she looks away.
I have my answer.
And, fuck, does it hurt.
I grip the bed harder to keep upright. “I don’t understand,” I say, my voice broken.
“I don’t expect you to.” Her voice is soft, but the words incense me, like she just yelled them at me.
“Maybe you don’t. But what I expect is a fucking explanation. Hell, I deserve an explanation. Because you don’t get to just do this, Taylor. You don’t get to just decide that you’re going to die, and that’s it.” My voice is lifting with the desperation I feel inside me.
Her eyes slowly come back to mine. “Yes, I do. It’s my life, Liam. My decision.”
“But I fucking love you.” I slam my hand against my chest. “Doesn’t that mean I at least get a say? Or do you have to love me back for that to be the case?”
She closes her eyes, as though the words are painful for her to hear.
Good.
I want emotion from her. I don’t want this dead-in-the-eyes look that she has at the moment.
Because she’s not dead.
And she never will be if I have anything to do with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes opening back up.
“Don’t be sorry!” I cry. “Just don’t fucking do this.”
She turns her face away from me, like she’s dismissing me, and that sets me off again.
“Jesus Christ, Taylor! What is happening here? Why would you do this to yourself?”
She presses her lips together in a tight line, telling me that I’m further losing her.
I need to calm down.
I pull in a few breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. “Please,” I say gently. “Please just talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her voice is stone cold.
“I’ll beg if I have to. If that’s what you need to change your mind. I’ll get down on my fucking knees and beg.” I move around the bed, forcing her to look at me. “I’m not asking to be in your life. I’m not asking you to love me. I just want you to live. I could live a life without you, knowing that you were out there, breathing and alive and happy. Just don’t ask me to let you die.”
She stares down at her hands that are in her lap, fingers curling around the blanket covering her. “Liam…please don’t do this. I’ve made my decision. I made it a long time ago. Long before I met you.”
“But you did meet me. And we spent time together. I know you don’t love me, but I know you feel something for me. You can’t deny that. And it has to count for something.”
Her head is shaking, slow and steady. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t say it differently to the other times she’s said sorry. But something is there this time that tells me there is no changing her mind.
I’ve lost her.
Or maybe I never had her at all.
I stand here, numb, just staring at her. My feelings for her and all the confusion and hurt and frustration I feel builds inside me like a monster.
And I let him out.
“I won’t watch you die.” My voice is as bitter and harsh as my words are meant to be.
She looks up at me. Clear eyes meet mine. “I would never ask you to do that.”
I don’t recognize her in this moment. Her eyes are completely empty of emotion. Blank and glassy.