March. Age twenty.

I hated hospitals.

Twenty-four days ago, I’d woken up here. The thing I’d feared for the past two years—that I’d have another ventricular fibrillation and my heart would stop—had happened. Fortunately for me, it had been at home and Charlie had been there. He’d reacted fast, calling 911, and the paramedics had arrived quickly enough to revive me.

I wasn’t even twenty-one years old, and I’d needed to have my heart shocked into beating again—twice.

This time, there weren’t any more drugs to give me. Over the past two years, they’d tried everything there was to try. I was on the maximum dosages, and the side effects had only gotten worse.

My only option had been open-heart surgery to implant what they called a VAD—a device that would shock my heart into working when I had fibrillations. Despite a lot of advances in medical technology, this thing seemed archaic. When they’d first told me I’d need it, I’d assumed it would be something small and entirely internal.

The reality was, I did have a device inside my chest, attached to my left ventricle. But I also had a port where a cable exited my body just below my ribs, and I would have to wear a battery pack and control unit all the time. While I recovered from the surgery, they sat next to me, but as soon as I went home, I’d have them strapped to me like a small backpack.

The worst part was, I’d had my chest cut wide open, and it wasn’t going to fix me. They’d only implanted the device because I needed something to keep me alive.

It was only March, but I’d already withdrawn from school. That pissed me off as much as anything. I was so close to finishing my sophomore year. Just a few more months, and I would have been able to go home for the summer, another semester complete. Now I’d had to drop my classes and I’d need to retake them when I got better.

If I got better.

I couldn’t keep saying when I got better. It was a big if. My heart had continued to weaken, and the doctors now considered me in a state of heart failure. Hearing that had nearly made my mom faint, and even my dad had turned white with shock.

The only option I had left for long term survival was a transplant. Three weeks ago, just before the surgery to implant the VAD, they’d officially put me on the list. Shit had gotten real.

I’d listened to the transplant coordinator with a strange sense of detachment. I’d heard things about blood and tissue types, numbers of candidates, chances of finding a match, conditions for acceptance. But all I’d been able to think was How can this be happening to me? How had I gotten so sick that I needed a new heart in order to live?

My incisions hurt and my chest felt heavy and sore. I could have more pain relievers if I wanted, but I didn’t. They left me feeling drugged and stupid. I hated it.

I hated a lot of things these days. Hated that I had to quit school and move home. Hated that my ex-girlfriend was dating one of the top wrestlers at U of I. Hated that I was on a first-name basis with most of the cardiology staff at the hospital. Hated that I’d have a huge scar running down the center of my chest from a procedure that was only meant to keep me going until they could cut me open again.

Mostly, I hated that I was dying.

Charlie came in, his coat wet from rain. “Hey, man. Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” I slowly sat forward, pulling myself up on the sides of the hospital bed so I didn’t put too much strain on my chest. It fucking hurt, but I didn’t do more than grunt. “Let’s get out of here.”

I’d been home—or at least, Charlie’s home; I wasn’t going to be able to live there anymore—three times for increasing durations. It was part of the recovery process. I had to learn how to live with the VAD. So I’d needed to complete practice runs away from the hospital before I’d been fully released.

Now I was ready to get the fuck out. I strapped on my battery pack and control unit and adjusted the straps so they were secure. Charlie helped me into my coat—an old one that was big on me now, but the size made getting in and out of it easier.

My parents had planned to pick me up from the hospital, especially since I was going to their house in Waverly for the time being. But they were getting a new hospital-style bed for me to use—because apparently that was my life now—so Charlie had offered to drive me home.

A nurse wheeled me out to Charlie’s car—it wasn’t his old pickup truck that he loved so much. He’d borrowed his parents’ sedan. I was glad; his truck was bumpy as hell and I was in enough pain as it was.

Everything looked different on the drive from Iowa City to Waverly. I’d been on this highway countless times, but I saw things through new eyes. Even my hometown seemed different now. The gray sky dimmed the light of the sun and washed out the landscape. Faded and dull, just like me.

I thought about my old friends, going on with their lives. They were training for their sports, studying for tests, fucking their girlfriends or hooking up with random girls they met at parties. Living the college life. I thought about Cami, who had moved on so quickly, she’d been dating someone new within days of breaking up with me.

She hadn’t loved me enough to watch me die.

I didn’t want to be bitter. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life—whether it would be measured in days, months, or years—being angry. But it was hard not to be.

My life was being cut short. I was still alive—for now—but I couldn’t actually live. I couldn’t go to school or work. Couldn’t hang out with friends. I was barely on the edge of adulthood and I was going to miss it. Miss falling in love—maybe for real this time. Miss having a family of my own.

I was starting to wonder why I was hanging on so tight. Letting go would be so much easier than fighting for every breath, every beat of my failing heart.

We pulled up to my parents’ house and Charlie went around to help me out of the car. I wasn’t too proud to accept the arm he offered me so I could stand—I needed it.

Inside, I slowly made my way up the stairs to my room. My parents were there, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to them. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. My chest was on fire, the pain radiating through my whole body.

Charlie followed me into my room and helped me get settled. I couldn’t lie flat, so he adjusted the bed so I was at an incline.

“So, I guess now we wait?” he asked.

“Now we wait,” I said.

And maybe that was the hardest part—knowing the outcome of my life was no longer within my control. It wouldn’t matter if I stayed mentally strong. My will wasn’t enough. This illness was taking me down and there was nothing left for me to do but wait.

Wait, and hope for a miracle.