Elsie

Multiple sclerosis. The phrase runs over and over in my head as I try to understand the gravity of the words the doctor said to me.

Taking the last Kleenex from the box in my car, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose and drop it on the pile of used ones. I resume my tight grip on the steering wheel, even though the car is parked. I’ve been sitting in my car in Isabel’s parking lot for the past hour, trying to figure out what to do now.

I suppose I knew it was coming but part of me clung to the hope that it was nothing or something else and that’s why it took two years of testing to get an answer. It just wasn’t the answer I wanted.

Instead I’ve had my life and future ripped away from me.

Closing my eyes, I remember the feeling of Xander’s arms holding me in bed last night and it soothes me. We’ve spent the past two weeks in Isabel’s apartment, supposedly hiding from the paparazzi, but Xander’s interview shifted the focus to Luna and his father and the media lost interest in us last week. Neither of us wanted our hiding away from the media situation to end. We kept telling everyone that the paparazzi would reappear as soon as they learned where we were and that we had no choice but to stay hidden away, in our own little world of bliss.

And what a world it’s been. Our time together has been the best time of my life. When I first agreed to have pizza on the roof of the Good Rest Inn with him, I had no idea that things would end up the way they did. I never anticipated falling in love.

When I started having health problems, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let any man into my life, out of fairness to him.

And yet Xander walked into my life and left me powerless to lock my heart away.

I let out another massive sob, my body shaking in the car seat at the intensity. Out of Kleenex, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve.

Now I’ve lost two things today, my future and the man I love. Because I can’t sentence anyone else to the life I have to live.

If living is what you call it, more like suffering with no hope.

Though my heart weighs as much as a mountain, I know what I have to do. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve once more and open the car door. By the time I reach the apartment, my knees are weak and threaten to give out on me. My hand trembles as I put the key in the lock and open the door.

“Finally, I missed you,” Xander says, standing up from the couch.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” I say, trying to sound normal.

Xander’s eyes widen and he flies to my side and draws me tight against him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Where do I start? I told him I had to go meet Cynthia this morning instead of saying that I had a doctor’s appointment.

A doctor’s appointment to end my life.

Unable to stop myself, I break down against his chest. He holds me tight and kisses the top of my head. Though he’s trying to console me he’s making everything so much worse. I wish he hated me.

He will hate me after what I’m about to tell him.

In a minute.

I’ll tell him in a minute, I just want this last moment in his arms.

My final minutes as a normal person.

Xander kisses the top of my head and says, “You’re starting to freak me out. Is everything okay at work? What did Cynthia say?”

Work. Another problem I’ve been avoiding. Assuming I don’t get fired for my indiscretion, how long will the disease even allow me to work for?

My heart hammering against my ribs, I draw in a big gulp of air and say, “We need to sit down.”

I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye or gauge his reaction.

Without warning, Xander lifts me up and sits us down on the couch. He’s still holding me in his arms but I’ll never be able to get the words out like this so I shuffle as far away as the couch allows me to get.

I still can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Now you really are freaking me out. What’s going on? Were you fired? Did something else happen this morning?” Xander asks.

Unable to delay any longer, I pull my ostrich head out of the sand and say, “I was at the doctor’s, and I have bad news.”

“I thought you had a work meeting.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

“About what the doctor had to tell me.” I cling onto the arm of the couch with both hands and say, “Remember I had that test a couple of weeks ago? I got the results and they aren’t good.”

Xander slides across the couch and presses his body against mine. “What’s wrong? What did the doctor say?”

Closing my eyes, I swallow hard and say, “That I have multiple sclerosis.” It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud, an acknowledgement to myself as much as to him and I buckle over sobbing.

Xander pries my grip from the arm of the couch and pulls me into him. But now that I’ve said it out loud it’s become real and I can’t pretend. I can’t let him hold me like he can make everything or anything better.

I push myself away and force myself off the sofa. Managing to glance at his face my heart stops beating for a moment and then beats so fast that I struggle to breathe. I stumble back and end up sitting on the coffee table as if I meant to end up like this.

Xander flops against the back of the sofa, stretching each of his arms along the backrest. Stealing another glance at him, I catch him exhale sharply and throw his head back.

I’m not sure what to say, so I start rambling, “I started having problems over two years ago. My feet were clumsy when I tried to run down the stairs at work and then I started seeing spots. It took a while for my family doctor to take me seriously but a few months later my left hand curled in at the wrist and he sent me to a neurologist, by the time I got to the appointment my hand was fine again…”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? I told you everything about me and then some and you didn’t think this was worth mentioning?” Xander says, leaning forward as he speaks.

“Sorry, you have every right to be angry,” I swallow hard and say, “and hate me, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know where to start and I was hoping for a different diagnosis.”

“You could have slipped it in at some point, ‘hey Xander, now that I’ve listened to all your problems here’s one of mine,’” he says, his voice full of frustration.

Fresh tears stream down my cheeks and I muster all my strength to meet his eyes. Even though they’re wide underneath his narrowed brow, they suck me in and I want to get lost in them. But I can’t.

Shaking my head I say, “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve loved every minute with you but we can’t continue.” My voice cracks and I bury my face in my hands.