It gets worse as you age, especially when you partake in a lot of strenuous activities that pump the lungs. I guess all of my stressing, working two jobs at one point, and keeping up with Tessa, had finally caught up to me.
I loathe this disease. No, I hate it—hate it so much for ruining my life. Without a lung transplant, there is an 8% survival rate. And it can’t just be any kind of lung. Besides matching blood types, there is a certain section of the lung that has to be taken in order for it to be replaced. We are on a long waiting list. It’s been months. I’ve given up hope.
A knock sounds on the door and Leah, my day nurse, walks in, singing “Good morning!” as she makes her way for the window. She draws the curtains open dramatically, like the moms do in all the teenage movies, and then sighs as the sunlight hits her face.
Leah is perfect and so highly underestimated as a nurse. They all take her for granted but when it comes down to me staying at the hospital, she is the woman I want taking care of me. Not Vickie, not Ronda, but Leah. She’s almost like a sister, and she actually cares about my sanity, happiness, and health. There are no cat fights or arguing included, like Tessa and I tend to do.
“Why are you still trying to sleep in on this glorious day?” she asks, spinning around to look at me. “All that rain last night… you should be happy we have this. Are you hungry?”
I sit up groggily. “Hell no. I feel like I’m about to throw up already.”
She rushes for the purple bucket beside the bed. “Here,” she places it on my lap. “Take it out on the Fuck-It Bucket.”
I shake my head, laughing a little. “I think I’m okay. Some water would be nice, though.”
Her head nods and she goes for the pitcher on the table, carrying it to the door. “I’ll go get you some.” She takes a look around the room as if something is missing. When it finally registers to her, she asks, “Where’s John?”
“I convinced him to go back to work for a few hours.”
Her brown eyes expand, the sunlight highlighting her brown skin. The shade of her skin reminds me of my dad’s.
“Are you serious? He actually listened?” She props a hand on her hip with a smug smile.
“Well,” I shrug, “I told him he has to live before I stop living. He can’t keep putting his life on hold for someone that won’t make it.”
Leah’s smile evaporates. “You know I hate when you talk like that, Shannon.”
I shrug. “It’s the truth.”
She grips the door handle a little tighter. “I’ll go get the water.” She’s out of the door in less than a second.
I sigh.
Leah and I are close, so she knows I hate it when she tries to coddle me or show sympathy. That’s why she walked out.
To me, sympathy equals pity.
This is my life—what I’ve been served—and I’ve finally accepted it. Although it hasn’t been a very long life, I’ve tried making the most I can out of it, though there are some things I wish I’d done and places I wish I’d gone before ending up on my deathbed.
My phone buzzes on the table next to me. I look over and spot Max’s name again. He’s calling this time. I don’t answer.
Leah walks in again with the pitcher, pouring me a cup of water as she nears me. That moment of sadness we shared less than two minutes ago has passed because a full smile is on her lips again, contagious enough to make anyone’s day.
“Let’s get some food in that belly of yours,” she chimes.
And I nod.
This is the way it has to be.
SIX
Past
“Fine.” I stepped up to Max, one eyebrow raised, and a hand on my hip. I slammed the other hand down on the counter.
He turned my way, adjusting himself on the barstool, his warm, manly scent making me slightly weak in the knees. He never wore too much cologne. It was always just enough. Subtle and tempting, making a girl wish she could move in closer for a deeper smell.
“What’s that now?” He put on a smug grin, eyes widening as he lowered his cellphone.
I narrowed my eyes, stepping closer to him. I was almost between his legs, but I kept a good, safe distance. Showing any sign of weakness while around him was not an option. “I will give you one night, but only one,” I said, holding up a single finger. “And we have to go to a place that I really want to go to.”
“Alright.” He ran a hand over the top of his head. His hair was wavy, like ocean waves at night. “You name the time and place.”