May 2
Dear Diary,
I can’t stop coughing. Blood-stained washcloths keep piling beside my bed. I hate seeing them—such a horrible reminder that I’m shutting down. For days now, my stomach has felt like it’s been eating itself from the inside. When I open my eyes, everything blurs together in a fuzzy haze.
I don’t go downstairs for dinner anymore; everyone joins me in my room for meals now. It’s kinda nice, them sitting around me. Though, it’s impossible to miss the grief creeping in with them and settling on the edge of my bed. If they could leave it at the door, that’d be fine with me.
My favorite part of the day is when Damian crawls in bed next to me and pulls me into his arms. There, I can forget. There, I’m not sick.
Damian’s birthday is in two days. He’ll be eighteen. I want to find the perfect gift, but what do you get the person you love more than anything to say good-bye?
~*~
We sat in my room eating dinner. Mom had cooked something that smelled spectacular. I tried to eat a few pieces of the penne, but it was hard to chew and harder to swallow. Giving up, I sipped on the chicken broth Damian had made from scratch, insisting the canned junk wasn’t nearly good enough.
“He didn’t understand why he had to pay the deductible when it was clearly the deer’s fault,” Dad said, recounting some work incident. “He said the deer is the state’s property, so the government can pay for it.”
Mom laughed, gently touching his arm. After twenty-one years of marriage, she still gazed at him in the same way she did in their wedding photos. Dad kissed her cheek.
Yeah, they’d be okay.
Damian took my hand. “You sure you can’t eat more?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He bit his lip. “Try. Please.”
I stared at the plate of food. Wanting to please him, I picked up my fork and poked at a tomato. My hand shook, so I dropped the fork.
“I can’t.”
I couldn’t look at him. The pain clouding his irises would make my heart ache more than it already did.
“That’s okay, honey,” I heard my mom say. She swept the plate off the tray in front of me.
Dad cleared his throat. “Well, we’d better clean up the kitchen, Marcy. Katie needs her rest, and I’m sure Damian’s got homework.”
I heard the utensils clink against the plates as Dad stacked them in his hands. Mom bent over and kissed my forehead. Dad did the same, and I lifted my eyes to see them walk out, closing the door behind them.
Damian sighed then crawled in next to me. He draped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me close.
We sat in silence, listening to each other breathe. His heartbeat soothed me; I loved hearing it pound against my ear.
He kissed my temple, pressing his lips against me and allowing them to linger. I wanted to freeze that moment in time. Encase it in gold for eternity.
Then I started to cough. Damian rubbed my back and held a clean washcloth to my mouth. Scarlet liquid glared back at us when I’d finished.
“Katie,” Damian whispered. “I’m scared.”
Breathing heavily, I grasped his arm, pinning it to my chest. “It’ll…be…okay,” I gasped out.
The pain in my stomach imploded, making me cry out and double over. Somewhere in the distance, I heard Damian calling my name. Over and over again, his voice pierced into my heart. He seemed miles away.
I screamed again. Then crumpled over onto the bed.
~*~
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Heart rate is eight-five.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Blood pressure is seventy over fifty.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Liver functioning at fifteen percent.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Kidneys at twenty-five percent.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
~*~
“Pneumonia.” Dr. Lowell’s voice sounded weak.
My mother’s high-pitched sobs echoed in my ears.
It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.
I imagined my dad holding her as she cried on his shoulder.
“Now what?” Damian’s voice was barely audible.
Silence.
~*~
“How long?” my father asked.
“Maybe a week,” Dr. Lowell responded.
“Any hope of a transplant?” Damian’s voice was raspy.
“If a donor can be found, she’ll need more than bone marrow now. Both kidneys are failing and her liver’s damaged.” He paused. “The best we can do is keep her comfortable.”
~*~
I opened my eyes, blinking until they adjusted. Damian sat in a chair with his head lying on my stomach. The scene was all too familiar—I hated it.
The pain was gone. In fact, I felt warm and fuzzy all over. A morphine drip hung over the side of my bed.
Smiling at him, I rolled my fingers over a lock of chestnut hair. He reminded me of a sleeping toddler. So beautiful. So content.
I’d watched him before, noticed the subtleties that made my heart race. With a twist in my gut, I realized I’d never let them sink in. My gaze drifted from one feature to the next, memorizing each detail of him—allowing his face to etch into my mind.
No lines graced his forehead; only a stray tendril of hair fell across the smooth skin. Full eyebrows that knitted together once in awhile as he slept made me wonder what images framed his dreams: Good? Bad? Me? Liam?
His eyes, blue as the ocean when they were open, were just as breathtaking closed. Long dark lashes flowed from his lids like thick wisps of Makura grass. Even his nose was stunning. The way it sunk between his brows and widened at the tip in a square. His high cheek bones were tinted red tonight. A small scar settled under his left eye and two moles under his right. The deep dimples on both cheeks depressed each time he swallowed.
My eyes wandered to his lips as they had many times before. Pink and soft, they looked as wonderful as they felt. I traced a fingertip over them, remembering the first time he’d kissed me, crouched in a hospital bathroom. Even in my state, a small shiver raced up my spine at the thought.
He had a small cleft in his chin that was most visible when he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. I glided my fingers over his jaw line, for the first time noticing the mole just under his left ear. Adorable.
As I touched the diamond stud in his earlobe, he flinched. I pulled my hand back, afraid to wake him. He sighed, shifted in his seat and relaxed, his breathing returning to a steady rhythm.
I wished I could watch him sleep forever. When the sun began to rise outside the hospital window, I raised my face to feel the rays that crept through the blinds. If only the window was open so I could see the full magnificence of the sunrise.
~*~
The next time I awoke, Damian was sitting in the same place, eating a sandwich.
“Hey, baby,” he said, grinning through red eyes.
When he reached out to caress my cheek, I noticed a cotton ball taped to his inner elbow.
“What’s that?” I asked, panic filling my voice. Images of the night I’d found him passed out in his own vomit flashed through my mind.
“Oh, no. It’s not…” He glanced at his arm. “Remember when I said if I won our round of golf, you’d have to grant a wish of mine?”
I swallowed, washing down the burn stinging my throat. “I remember.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask first, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Uh, huh.”
He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, the cleft in his chin materializing. “My wish was that you’d let me get my blood tested to see if I’d be a match for you.”
My breath caught. “No—”
Damian interrupted me.
“I know it’s a long shot. And I had to clean up first, but I’m eighteen today, and that’s what I wanted to do.”
I studied the floor, letting his words sink in. It was too late to say “no” anyway. “Thank you.”
“How about you?” he asked. “What’s your third wish?”
I smiled, meeting his gaze. “Remember when we’d sit together at the window in my room watching the sunrise?”
“I’ll never forget.”
“I wanna see the sun rise with you every morning for the rest of my life.”
What felt like minutes passed before he answered. His voice cracked when he did. “That’s a whole lot of sunrises. Are you sure you can put up with me for that long?”
“That long and longer.” I touched his face, wiping away a tear. “For always.”
He buried his face in my neck. “Always isn’t long enough.”