Someone was shaking my shoulder, and I resisted, trying not to wake up. I’d been sleeping soundly and peacefully, dreaming something nice that I couldn’t remember anymore. All I knew was that I wanted to get back to that dream. I hadn’t been sleeping very well lately, let alone having nice dreams. But the shaking didn’t stop.

“Ducky. Wake up, Ducky.”

“Mmph. What time is it?”

“Half past one.”

“In the afternoon?” My eyes snapped open in horror.

“In the morning.”

“God, let me sleep, then,” I groaned, burying my head in my pillow.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he whispered. “It’s totally clear, and it’s warm enough that you don’t need a jacket.”

“And you want me to get up in the middle of the night for that?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Danny… You really are a lunatic.”

“I know that,” he replied quietly. “I’ve never claimed otherwise. Are you getting up or what?”

I rose to my feet, tugged one of Danny’s sweatshirts over my head, and put on my sneakers. Grumpily, I followed him into the yard, knowing he wouldn’t let me rest until I did. Leika joyfully hopped along after us. Danny had spread a blanket out on the grass, and now he stretched out on it, folding his arms behind his head and gazing up at the stars.

How often did he do this?

It really was an unusually mild night for mid-October. I laid my head on his stomach, and we sat there staring out into the night sky in silence: Danny lost in thought, me trying not to fall asleep.

“I have to tell you something…” he began. I straightened up. Danny sat up, as well, pulling me in between his knees. He wrapped his arms around me and laid his chin on my shoulder.

“What?” My stomach cramped up. Involuntarily, I drew my bare legs in to my chest.

“The car accident didn’t…just…happen,” he admitted in a whisper. Subconsciously, I’d known as much for a long time.

“What really happened?”

Danny took a deep breath. “Something happened to me. From one moment to the next.”

“What? Oh, God! Like how?” Was this exactly what I’d feared?

“It was like something broke inside my head, like the string on a bow. And I was paralyzed for minutes afterward. I was completely aware the whole time, I saw my car go off the road and felt it flip, but I couldn’t react. My whole body was just frozen.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Danny, that might have something to do with your disease.” Ironically, we never called it by its name. There was no “AIDS”—there was only “your disease.”

He held me tighter. “Ducky, I know it has something to do with that. I know my body, and something’s very, very wrong with it. That’s why I didn’t want to go to America with you. I was afraid we’d be out in the middle of nowhere, and it would happen again, maybe even worse next time. And then you’d be totally alone on an unfamiliar continent.”

“You should have told me that right away at the hospital!”

He nodded. “I know, but you had your exams coming up. Not exactly a convenient time for such an awful diagnosis. I just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t be distracted.”

“Excuse me? You risked your life because of my stupid exams? What planet are you on?”

Danny remained completely calm. “Jessica, I’m as good as dead. You’re all that matters now.”

“Stop that!” I shouted. “It could have been something totally harmless. A stroke, for example.”

He scoffed derisively. “So we’re at the point where having a stroke at the age of twenty-two sounds like something to be happy about?”

“Don’t keep assuming the worst. It could have been a coincidence.” I knew it was a weak argument as soon as I said it. Where were all the straws when I needed to grasp at them?

“It wasn’t a coincidence. My T-cell count went down fast between February and August.”

“Back at the hospital, you told me it was okay. Were you lying?”

“They were okay, but they were a lot lower than normal. They went from over 500 to around 250. In such a short time.”

“Because of Christina,” I murmured. “It’s because of Christina.”

“Who are we kidding?” he blurted out. “It’s finally happening. There’s no denying it anymore.”

Deep down, of course, I knew he was right. His body had always been his greatest asset, in every respect. He knew himself, and he knew when something was off. If he hadn’t been absolutely sure about what was happening, he would never have done heroin…and I never would have let him.

We were world champions at pushing things out of our minds, and now we were battling for time. For each month, each week. Someday, we’d be fighting for each day.

“You need to go to the hospital,” I said. “Get yourself all checked out, start HAART therapy.“

“I have a photoshoot next week. The money’s too good to cancel. I’ll go in after that.”

“A photoshoot? That’s not important! Go in on Monday!”

“I’ll go next week. A couple days either way won’t matter. I’ll just do this one last job, and then I’ll quit.”

“Why do you have to quit?”

“Because I’m a druggie with AIDS, and eventually they’ll see that. Anyway, I don’t feel like doing it anymore. I have too much money as it is. I mean, I bought a new car even though I’m about to die. Tina doesn’t need an apartment anymore, and there’s more than enough there for you. So why should I?” His voice was sad, but he didn’t seem frustrated.

“I don’t like it when you get in this mood,” I said petulantly.

“I’m just being realistic, Ducky!”

“Go to the goddamn hospital and get the goddamn therapy instead of sitting around here whining!” I shrieked at him yet again, knowing full well that this was a long way from whining. He was being completely levelheaded about the whole thing, resigned to the inevitable in a way that frightened me.

“I will,” he assured me. “At the end of next week.”

“Monday!”

“End of next week.”

I smacked him furiously. “How about you think about me a little bit once in a while?”

Danny got angry then. Really angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen him get at me. He rose to his feet as well, eyes glittering. I’d never thought of his eyes as cold or icy, but at that moment, they were. “You’re actually asking why I’m not thinking of you?”

“Yes, goddammit!” My voice sounded hysterical. Leika fled into the house. “Go to the hospital! Stop being so goddamn egotistical!”

He stepped up to me and laid his index finger against my chest, the way Christina had once done. “You’re all I think about,” he said dryly. “For a long time now, everything I’ve done has been about you only. You’re the only reason I’m even still here!”

“If you want to go back to Atlanta, then be my guest. I won’t stop you!” I bit down on my lips until they began to bleed. Why were we fighting again?

“You’re the reason I’m still breathing!”

“Leave me alone!” I wailed.

Danny spun on his heel and stalked off into the apartment. I knew he was going to go do more heroin. It had been two weeks since the first time, but he’d done it again last week. I sank down onto the grass in despair. It was too warm out for me to hope that I could just freeze to death right here.

After a while, Danny came out again and sat down beside where I was lying. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking my hair affectionately. “I didn’t say anything for so long because I didn’t want you to fail your exams. I don’t want you screwing up your life because of me.”

I pretended to be asleep, trying to ignore the burning in my throat that came from holding back tears. All those weeks, he’d been alone with this terrible secret, alone with his fear, just because of my stupid test. I felt horrible—I wanted to curl up and die right there.

After a few moments, Danny lifted me in his arms and carried me inside.

 

***

 

Danny had his primary care doctor arrange for him to be admitted to the hospital, and we set off six days later, bags packed, in miserable moods. They scheduled CT and MRI scans, as well as X-rays of his head and his broken ribs, which were still causing him pain. They also arranged for several blood samples to be taken and sent off to a large external laboratory. Basically, they were going to check him from head to toe, until they figured out what had caused his episode in August.

They also decided to start him on HAART therapy. In the best-case scenario, it would fight off the virus so well that his HIV-related symptoms would go away and his immune system would stabilize long-term. Danny thought the therapy was unnecessary, since he didn’t have any symptoms, and he didn’t expect the therapy to do anything for him besides cause side effects. His primary care doctor had recommended the therapy solely because his T-cell count had dropped below 250—they always decided to start therapy based on lab counts, not on how the patient felt, which Danny argued was ridiculous. But I insisted he go along with it, firmly convinced that it would stop the disease. At least one of us had to keep the hope alive.

We went to his room and unpacked his things together, still not saying anything. Danny was in luck: the other bed in his room was empty.

“I hate it here,” he grouched, breaking our silence.

“You’re doing this, and I don’t want to hear another word about it!” I was hell-bent on getting my way this time. If he didn’t want another argument on his hands, he’d have to stay here.

Danny stuck his tongue out in between his teeth, crossed his eyes, and imitated me. I picked up one of the bananas lying on the table and chucked it at him. To my relief, he caught it effortlessly in mid-air—he still had his old reflexes. I was used to being able to throw anything at him without worrying that it would hit him, but now I realized I should probably be more careful about that.

“Great,” he moaned. “Now you’re throwing monkey food at me. What next? You got a little bow tie for me to wear? Maybe a collar and leash? I’m already being used for lab experiments.” He’d always had a dark sense of humor, but it had been a lot less cynical before.

They took countless blood samples that day. Urine samples, too—it was probably standard procedure to drug-test HIV patients. Even though Danny hadn’t done any heroin in days, and he’d only ever injected it under his skin, they found traces of it anyway. I was almost glad they did, because he’d never have told them of his own accord, and I thought it might be important for them to know when treating him. They were planning on starting HAART therapy that very evening, and while he was in the hospital, the medications would all be administered intravenously to make them more tolerable.

A nurse came in and introduced herself as Regina. She was tall and slender, with long, dark hair, no more than five years older than Danny. He seemed to like her immediately, which gave me hope. He had to get through all of this one way or another, as much as he hated it.

I stayed with him all day. At one point, Nurse Regina returned to insert his IV. She automatically used his left arm, though that was the one Danny probably needed more. He didn’t say anything.

I knew safety came first, but it still hurt my soul to see her put on disposable gloves before inserting the needle into Danny’s vein.

They’re all acting like he’s contaminated...

He is contaminated, my inner voice shot back.

“That’ll stay in for as long as you’re here,” she told him. “If it starts to hurt, just tell me, and we’ll switch arms.” That would never happen. Danny would grit his teeth and take it all without ever complaining. Nurse Regina hung the IV bag on the hook above his bed before removing her gloves and stroking Danny’s forearm tenderly, a friendly gesture that stayed in my memory—probably because it was one of the few instances of human kindness I witnessed in the hospital staff. Everyone besides Nurse Regina treated him like an object they were studying, not like a human being desperate for help.

Later on, the doctor came into the room. He greeted us, flipped through Danny’s file, and shook his head. “Heroin addict,” he remarked dryly. “Well, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

I drew in a sharp, angry breath, but Danny shot me a warning look, and I held my tongue. I don’t know whether he liked the doctor’s version better, or if he just assumed nobody would believe his story. Out of respect for his wishes, I wrapped myself in a cloak of silence, furiously biting my lip.

“If you experience any withdrawal symptoms, let us know right away and we’ll put you on methadone.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Danny replied politely. “I’m not addicted to it, I’ve only done it a couple times.”

“Of course!” the doctor agreed with a patronizing smile. “All addicts say that. That’s the problem with addiction.”

Danny sighed, capitulating. “If I need anything, I’ll let you know.” I didn’t like the way he was just accepting whatever these people assumed. Where had his stubbornness gone?

“We’ll X-ray your ribs tomorrow, and then we can do the CT scan after that, and your MRI appointment is scheduled for next Friday.”

“Thanks,” Danny said, and the doctor wished us a good evening without any real friendliness behind it and left the room.

“You can do this,” I told Danny, sitting down on his bed. He was chewing his fingernails and looking at me helplessly.

“What happened?” he asked. “My numbers were all great for years, everything was okay, and then all of a sudden everything went to hell. Why?”

Tina!

“Maybe it would always have seemed that way to us. Even if this hadn’t happened for another eight years, we would have felt like it had been sudden.”

“It’s because of Tina,” he said. He’d known too, of course. “Losing her threw me for such a loop that the disease found a foothold. My body was too busy grieving to keep up its defenses.”

I nodded, pursing my lips. People were prone to developing physical illnesses after becoming psychologically unstable. Even harmless little colds were more likely after highly stressful situations. When people were spiritually in balance and happy with their lives, they had much better chances of staying healthy.

Danny took my hand and drew me close. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t do this on purpose. I wish so much that I could have stayed with you longer.”

 

***

 

“How are you doing?” I asked when I came to the hospital on Wednesday. Danny had adjusted the bed to a sitting position and was staring out the window.

“Wonderful. Puking is a whole new way to start the day. I’m sure it’s a lot more effective than working out.”

“Be patient, Danny,” I said. “As soon as you’ve gotten used to the medication, that will stop.” I sat down beside him and leaned in to give him a kiss, but he turned away. He’d never done that before in all the time I’d known him.

“My ribs still aren’t healed,” he said. “One still has a big crack in it. The doctors say it might stay that way. My body’s too busy dealing with the therapy and can’t be bothered with unimportant things like ribs.” He shrugged his free shoulder. “Whatever, who needs intact bones?”

“Danny, stop,” I warned him.

“Oh, right, and my numbers got worse, of course. My T-cell count’s nearly down to two hundred. Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head. I wanted to run out of the room screaming, but instead, I focused on trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. I couldn’t, though—it was too big.

“That means I’ll probably develop full-blown AIDS any day now. The opportunistic infections should be just around the corner. Isn’t that great?” He raised the arm without the IV in the air and did a fist pump. “AIDS at twenty-two! I did it! Isn’t life wonderful?”

“Danny, stop,” I said weakly.

“Stop what?” He raised his hands questioningly.

“Just stop. Stop being so cynical!” I wanted to yell at him, but I was completely drained, and it came out in a whine.

“But you haven’t heard the best part yet!”

“What else?” I tried in vain to brace myself, swallowing the lump in my throat over and over. But it never went away. Ever. Years later, I went to several different doctors about it and had my thyroid, tonsils, and cervical spine examined, only to discover that it was psychological.

Abruptly, his mood changed. His cynical rage vanished, and he seemed to collapse into himself, burying his face in his hands. I immediately wished he’d go back to being cynical. “The CT scan found something.”

“What?” I couldn’t get anything else out—my voice simply failed.

“They don’t know yet. The MRI on Friday will tell us more. In the meantime, they want to do a viral analysis of my spinal fluid. They think it’s probably an infection.”

“Okay.” I forced myself to breathe. “Don’t panic. We’ll just wait for the MRI. If it’s an infection, that’s not bad. Infections are treatable.”

He nodded.

“Did the doctors say it was bad?” Was I screeching? Why was I screeching?

“They just said I’d have to wait for the results. They don’t have any idea.”

Great. Now we were going to sit around wondering for two days. How were we supposed to take all this waiting? “Okay. I’ll be here. And Jörg is coming over later. I’ll tell him to be here, too.”

He nodded again, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes. “This isn’t the way I pictured it,” he whispered. “I’ve gone through all the different ways to die in my head. Lung infection, tuberculosis…hell, even the flu. My biggest fear was getting that Kaposi sarcoma. If other people could see I was sick, that would be more than I could take. But now it’s all turning out way different. I’m going to die of a brain tumor.”

“Who said anything about a tumor?” I cried. “They were talking about an infection! They can treat infections.”

Danny scoffed. “Jessica.” He took my hands and gazed at me with a pleading expression. “I’m so scared of what’s going to happen. I’m completely freaking out!”

So am I! Trust me, so am I!

“You’re not alone.” I squeezed his hand, scooting closer. “We’ll get through this together. Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you. You’re not alone.”

Danny began to sob. He drew his knees up to his chest, laid his head against them, and cried, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Helpless, I stroked his back, his hair, but he just didn’t stop.

Neither of us heard the knock, so Jörg simply let himself in. He blinked in alarm when he saw us. “The CT scan found something,” I explained quietly.

“Shit.”

Danny stared silently at his hands.

“The MRI is Friday. They won’t know any more until then.” Please come, I mouthed silently.

Jörg nodded to me as he sat down on Danny’s bed and put his arms around him. The show of affection only made Danny cry harder. He was gasping for air, nearly hyperventilating. “I’ll call a nurse,” Jörg decided. “They should give him something to calm him down.”

“That’s stupid,” Danny spat. “I don’t need anything to calm me down. I’m already dying! Don’t I get to at least cry about it?”

Jörg grabbed his shoulder and gave him a penetrating look. “You can cry,” he said. “As much as you want, for as long as you want. But when you’re done crying, you pull yourself together and continue this fight. Got it?”

“What for?”

Jörg shook him almost roughly. “I asked if you got it.”

“Yeah, got it,” Danny sniffled. Yet again, I was amazed at how well Jörg was able to handle him.

Just then, the hospital telephone on the nightstand rang. Danny shook his head, indicating that he didn’t want to take the call, so Jörg answered it. “Hello?” he said. “Just a moment, I’ll ask him.” He hit mute, took a deep breath, and turned to Danny. “It’s your father.”

“What the fuck?” Danny wailed. “How does he know I’m here?”

“Your mom probably told him,” Jörg pointed out.

“Uh-huh. And how does she know where I am?”

“She’s your mother, Danny,” Jörg said. “I had to tell her. She should be given a chance to visit you.”

“She won’t come anyway!” Danny scoffed again. His eyelashes were wet with tears, his eyes bloodshot. “And what does he want with me?” He gestured at the phone in disgust.

“He says he wants to talk to you.”

Danny stretched out his hand and waggled his fingers. Jörg handed him the receiver and unmuted the call.

“What?” Danny snarled into the receiver. After a while, he added, “I’ll see you in hell, you fucking asshole!” Then he threw the phone down.

 

***

 

Somehow, I managed to survive until Friday. I was floating around in a kind of trance, spending every free moment with Danny, secretly sleeping in his bed at night.

One night, my parents invited me out to dinner to celebrate my exam results. They waited for me for almost two hours and tried to call several times, but I was at the hospital with my phone off and had completely forgotten about them.

“What on Earth is wrong with you?” It was a question I had gotten used to hearing from my mother.

I gave the same answer as always: “Nothing.” What was I supposed to say?

My boyfriend, whom you guys love so much, has AIDS and is in the hospital. He’ll probably die soon, just like his drug addict of a best friend did at the beginning of the year. Oh yeah, he’s started doing heroin, too, but that’s not how he got HIV. His father gave it to him. There was nothing he could do about it.

They’d never believe a word. I hadn’t taken him to my parents’ house since Christina died. My parents assumed I was so out of it because he and I were fighting all the time, breaking up and getting back together. I let them keep on thinking that. It was better than the truth.

Contrary to all expectations, Marina came to visit Danny on Thursday evening. Ricky was there, too, and he and I went out to the hall to let the two of them be alone. She talked about Liam nonstop, but at least she came.

 

***

 

Jörg, Ricky, and I waited in Danny’s hospital room while they did the MRI. It took forever. A radiologist had come in all the way from Stuttgart to look at his X-rays, which we found very alarming.

“Why is this taking so long?” I asked for the fifth time, chewing my thumbnail.

“I don’t know,” Jörg replied nervously. He’d been pacing up and down the room for over an hour now, and it was driving me crazy. Ricky kept going out to smoke one cigarette after another, something he usually only did when he was out clubbing.

After what felt like a thousand years, Nurse Regina wheeled Danny’s bed into the room. She squeezed his hand briefly and patted his shoulder. “The doctors will be right in to talk about everything with you.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” Danny said.

“Danny!” My voice was shaking. “How was it?”

“A breathtaking experience. Claustrophobia makes it even better. Really gives you an idea of how you’ll feel later on, in the coffin.”

Why can’t you just stop that?

A group of five doctors came in then, four men and a woman. The mere sight of them was enough to make us all panic. All but one were wearing the blue coats that marked them as chief physicians. They positioned themselves around Danny’s bed, stacks of files and photos in their hands. Danny sat up straight as a board, watching them tensely and trying to keep calm. I just hoped he wouldn’t flip out.

“Mr. Taylor,” one of them said. “We have your results.”

“Yeah?” Even in that one word, I could hear his voice trembling.

The doctor’s gaze wandered from me to Ricky, and then to Jörg. “Is it okay to discuss this in their presence?”

“Otherwise they wouldn’t be here,” Danny growled.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, we were fortunate to have the support of our colleague from Stuttgart. The images weren’t easy to interpret. HIV-related leukoencephalopathy can be difficult to identify for sure, but we’re fairly sure that what we’re dealing with here is progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy, brought on by your underlying condition.

“PML is very rare, and almost always occurs in people with immunodeficiencies, such as HIV or multiple sclerosis.” He peered at Danny, who was sitting silently, arms pressed against his body. “The strange thing is that your T-cell count is still quite good. PML normally doesn’t develop until a patient’s immune system is already weakened. That’s not the case with you, which is why you haven’t had any HIV-related symptoms. But just because something is highly unusual doesn’t mean we can rule it out. Nothing is impossible in medicine,” he added.

“Great,” Danny said. “So what does that mean for me?” He was outwardly calm, but his posture was stiff, and his fingernails were digging into his bare arms. His black T-shirt emphasized how pale he’d gotten as well.

“We don’t expect you to experience any more episodes like you had in August, but we still strongly recommend that you stop driving. Other symptoms will likely begin in the near future, but they will come on very gradually.”

“What symptoms?”

“There are different types,” one of the other doctors explained. “Some people experience language deficits, memory loss, or blindness. In others, it affects the peripheral nervous system, resulting in weakness, tremors, muscle twitches, or loss of motor skills. Personality changes and panic attacks can occur as well. Based on your episode in August, Mr. Taylor, we assume that your nervous system is affected, but that’s pure speculation.”

“Sounds like a great time either way,” Danny remarked dryly, shrugging. “Who cares? You take what you get.”

“Is it operable?” I asked.

The doctor gave me a sympathetic look. “This is an infection, there’s no way of operating. We could try to push a few of the lesions back, but that would involve a great deal of risk. The surgery would cause irreparable brain damage. And the patient might fall into a coma, or might never wake up from the surgery at all.”

“So then what happens now?” Jörg asked.

“As different as the two types of PML are, they generally end the same. Dementia, hallucinations, seizures, possibly total paralysis. Eventually, most patients end up in a persistent vegetative state or need to be put into a medically induced coma, and then they don’t wake up. Some die before that as a result of a stroke or a brain hemorrhage, or because their respiratory system becomes paralyzed.”

Jump out the window, Jessica! You’re on the sixth floor, you’d have a good shot at dying immediately!

“How will you treat him?” Through the fog in my brain, I heard that Jörg’s voice was breaking as well. Someone took my hand. It was Ricky.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of options.” It was a doctor who had remained silent up until that point. “We’ll have to hope that the HAART therapy works and his T-cell count remains stable. That’s the only way we’ll be able to slow the progression of the disease.”

“How long do I have?” Danny asked.

The doctor ignored his question. “We’ll also start him on risperidone and camptothecin,” he told Jörg. “They can cause very serious side effects, though, so he’ll have to remain in the hospital for the duration of the treatment. But together with the other medications he’s already on, they could help.”

“Could?” Jörg looked like he might punch the doctor. “Could help?”

“Nobody knows for sure. There haven’t been any large-scale or long-term studies. We could also try putting him on topotecan, but that would be highly experimental, and also controversial. It may have even resulted in some deaths.”

“How long?” Danny repeated, looking impatient. He kept running his hand through his hair.

“Mr. Taylor, may I introduce Dr. Ohrnberger? He’s our psychologist, he’ll be helping you during all this.”

Danny scoffed. “Oh my God, I don’t need a shrink. What I need is a miracle.”

“Think it over,” the doctor advised him. “He’ll be available any time you need to talk.”

“How long?” Danny asked for the third time. He was about to lose all patience.

“Three to fifteen months.”

Silence…

“What if the treatment works?” Jörg’s voice sounded like it was coming from another planet.

Three months…

Jump, Jessica! Jump out the goddamn window! Do it now!

“Then it’ll be fifteen months. That’s the best prognosis we can expect at this time,” was the doctor’s monotone reply.

My brain twisted up in knots and then, with computer-like objectivity, determined that fifteen months was more than three.

“Good God,” Jörg said. Ricky released my hand and walked to the window. Did he want to jump, too?

Danny’s going to die!

Suddenly, my throat closed up. I stormed over to Danny’s bed and threw myself across it, grabbing Danny and clinging to him tightly. I felt him pull me close, felt his fingers clenching my sweater.

What am I even doing here?

“Bring the girl out,” one of the doctors said.

The girl? Do they mean me? Who am I, anyway?

“She’s in shock, bring her out with you.”

Had I been screaming?

Someone tugged on my arm. I clung to Danny even more tightly, and Danny held me close. “Let go of her, goddammit!”

Two of the doctors started pulling me away. Suddenly, Ricky was there, unhooking me from Danny. “I’ll take her with me,” he said quietly, and Danny let go.

“Out!” Danny suddenly cried into the silence. “Everyone out!”

Ricky led me past the window.

Jump already!

“I said, everyone out!” Danny snapped. He threw his blanket on the floor and pointed to the door. “I don’t have time to say everything three times!”

Is he making jokes? Like always?

Someone had thrown a water glass at the wall. It could only have been Danny.

Three months! I’ll be alone! Alone. Alone! Alone…

“Get out, all of you!” Danny screamed. “Out!”

 

***

 

They gave me something to help me sleep and kept me there overnight. Jörg told me the next day that I’d thrown myself to the ground, screaming. I didn’t remember any of it.

I tried desperately to go back and see Danny, but they wouldn’t allow it. He’d flown into a rage and spent the entire day throwing any and all hospital staff out of his room. They refused to allow me in there, and they never took their eyes off of me for a second. They probably didn’t want to risk having two crazies in the same room.

Jörg wanted to drive me home—to my parents’ house—but I didn’t have the strength to explain to them where I’d left my car, so he took me to Danny’s apartment instead. Jörg stayed the whole night, catching a few hours of sleep on the couch. What would I have done without him? Danny’d been right when he’d said Jörg was the best thing that could ever have happened to him. Even though Danny hadn’t needed a legal guardian for years, even though he wasn’t being paid to do any of this and it actually wasn’t his problem at all, Jörg was there. I was so glad he was—without him, I knew, Danny and I would be completely alone in the world. Without Jörg, I would have gone crazy that night: alone in the apartment I had once been so happy in. Back when it was still filled with laughter and life. With optimism and excitement. With Christina and Danny.

I tried to call Danny about once every minute, but he didn’t answer. The nurses told me they’d given him something to help him sleep. They’d sedated him.

They didn’t let me visit until the next afternoon. Jörg had dropped me off at the hospital in the morning on his way to work, promising to return in the evening. I spent hours pacing up and down the hallways, waiting. I didn’t even manage to let go of my car keys—I needed something to hold on to. By the time they finally let me into the room, I was nearly out of my mind.

Danny was sitting on the bed, arms crossed despite the IV, staring out the window as always. A Nurse Angela was with him, trying to reassure him.

Where’s Nurse Regina?

I would have much rather had her there than this other nurse, to whom neither of us really felt a connection.

“Oh, come on, Danny,” she said, smiling at him tenderly. “It’s not that bad here. We’ll all try our very best, but you’ll need to put yourself in our hands and do as we say!”

Oh, no! My inner voice sounded the alarm immediately. Wrong choice of words, and completely the wrong tone.

Danny was practically hysterical as it was—I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle this much intrusiveness. Giving up control like this.

The nurse cheerfully winked at him and left the room. Danny still didn’t say anything, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. He gritted his teeth.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Danny,” I said quietly.

As if on command, he threw the blanket back, swung his legs out of the bed, and yanked the IV needle out of his arm, pressing his pillow against the crook of his elbow for a few moments to stop the bleeding.

I let out a groan and reached for his wrist, but he raised his arms defensively. “Let me be, please.”

I obeyed. In moments like these, I just had to leave him alone. There would be no getting through to him anyway. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t talk to me now.

Moving quickly, he stuffed his things into his bag, pulled on a hoodie, and slipped into his sneakers. Then he left the room and headed toward the stairs. I trudged along behind him in resignation. At the end of the hallway, he walked straight into Nurse Angela’s arms.

“Mr. Taylor, where are you going? You need to stay in bed!”

“I’m going home. Give me the letter that says I’m discharging myself against doctor recommendations. I’ll sign it.”

Nurse Angela gave him a friendly but firm smile. “No, no. You’re not going anywhere. I won’t allow it.”

“Try and stop me.”

She promptly grabbed his arm. Danny simply shook her off and began walking again, but Angela wouldn’t give up that easily. She ran to catch up with him and grabbed him from behind, wrapping her arms around him. Frantically, she shouted to another nurse to call the chief physician.

“Let me go!” Danny shouted, but she remained stubborn. I could see his expression changing, his rage gradually turning to panic. He felt like a trapped wild animal, I knew. Suddenly, I felt completely sorry for him, and I reached for the nurse’s wrist.

“Leave him alone, goddammit!” I cried, roughly yanking Angela away from him. Danny shot me a brief look of extreme gratitude before taking the car keys from my hand and running for the stairs.

“Aren’t you his wife?” Nurse Angela snapped.

“I am.” The less explaining I had to do, the better. This little white lie would help us out of here.

“Then why are you letting him leave?” She furrowed her brow, energetically stomping the floor with her Birkenstock. “This is his only chance. He’ll die otherwise.”

“He’s going to die either way!” I shouted at her. I had to restrain myself back from hitting her. “And if he’d rather do it outside of this pathetic hospital, that’s his choice!”

The chief physician arrived, but I fled down the steps as well, trying to catch up to Danny. But when I got to the parking lot, my car had already disappeared.

Dammit, Danny!

Fortunately, I managed to hail a taxi immediately, and I frantically gave the driver Danny’s address. Back at the apartment, my car was still nowhere in sight, so I went inside, grabbed Danny’s car keys, and took his car. I knew where I’d find him. My intuition always led me back to him. He’d never had trouble finding me, either. Sometimes it felt like he could read my mind.

I was right: the Mercedes was parked at the old mill, near the paddock. I left Danny’s BMW beside it.

He was sitting cross-legged underneath the big linden tree in the meadow. His pony was lying next to him, letting him scratch her ears. As I approached, she stood up and trotted contentedly back to her stall.

Danny began picking daisies so that he wouldn’t have to look me in the eye. Slowly, I sank down onto the grass. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied tonelessly, not looking up.

The evening sky was fading to red. We sat across from one another in silence. After the devastating diagnosis we’d gotten two days ago, what was left to say?

All of Danny’s attention was devoted to plucking the petals off one of the daisies.

“You’re not planning on going back to the hospital?” I asked. I already knew the answer—I just wanted to break the silence.

“I don’t think it makes sense.”

I nodded. “I thought you might say that.”

“What good would it do?” He turned his reddened eyes to mine. I couldn’t remember them being any other way anymore.

“It would be a chance, at least,” I said, not sure I believed it myself. Would fifteen months in a hospital really be better than a couple months at home?

We lapsed into silence again for a while, until suddenly he announced with total conviction, “I can’t do it, Jessica!”

A chill ran down my spine. “Can’t do what?”

He gazed into my eyes. “Hand myself over to strangers in the hospital. Eventually, I won’t be able to do anything on my own. They’ll be feeding me, washing me, dressing me. You know? I’ll be at their mercy. I can’t stand the thought of that.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re afraid the things your dad did to you might happen again?”

“Yeah, that too.”

I understood his worries, unfounded as they were. “That won’t happen,” I assured him. “They’re hospital staff, they don’t do things like that.”

“It was my father,” he said quietly, plucking his next daisy. “Fathers don’t do things like that, either.”

I winced and laid my hand on his arm. “It won’t happen again. I’ll watch out for you and make sure of it. I promise.”

“Okay,” he said. “Supposing I accept that. I go back and let them treat me. Where will it end? Sooner or later—probably sooner, you heard them—I’ll need full-time care. I won’t be able to get out of bed, might not be able to talk or think. Ducky, you know me. I love sports, movement, action. What good would living like that do me?”

“Maybe it won’t end up like that.”

“Oh, come on.” Danny laughed quietly. “Who are you kidding? What do you think is going to happen? Do you think Jesus Christ himself is going to waltz into the hospital and miraculously heal me, and then I’ll just stroll on home, perfectly healthy?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

“One more time for the record: I’m going to end up needing full-time care.”

I wanted to contradict him, but he was right. Who was I kidding, apart from myself? “Okay, then, that’s how it is.” I tried to sound composed.

“Do you really want that? Do you want to come to the ICU day after day, read aloud to me, change my IV? Then go home and darn a couple of socks, and do it all over again the next day? Do you, at twenty years old, really want to watch your life partner die? Is that what you want?”

Was that what I wanted?

“Who can guarantee that I’ll even die quickly?” he went on. “I’m not very lucky in things like that—otherwise I’d have died in that car crash, like I should have. But no, I had to survive. My guardian angel probably would have been a lot more useful to someone else, but as usual, nobody asked me. With my luck, it’ll be drawn out for years. Do you really want to do that to yourself?”

“Danny. I made my decision. Door number two, you remember? It will always be door number two!”

His eyes found mine, held them. “I won’t let you. My life has already been ruined. I’m not going to ruin yours as well.” Then his gaze shifted to the setting sun off in the distance. “I always wanted children. A son I could be close to. A daughter that looks like you. We would have given our children everything. Whenever they were worried or upset, they’d be able to snuggle up in bed with me, without ever having to worry that I would touch them inappropriately.” Danny’s voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. “We would have been really great parents.”

“Yeah, we would have,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears.

“I never had a chance in hell,” he suddenly blurted out. “A lot of people claim that everyone is responsible for their own lives, but is that really true? I’ve accomplished so much in my life, and if I’d had time, I would have been able to accomplish a whole lot more. But I don’t have time. Fate didn’t give me anything like the chance to start a family. My dad destroyed my future and my life when he started climbing into bed with me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve. “But your life isn’t ruined, Jessica.” He looked at me intently. “I want you to have everything you want. A little house in the country, a husband, children… You’ll have wonderful children. I’m not letting you waste your life on terminal care.”

“Danny, I—”

He put his finger against my lips. His eyes glowed with determination. “I’m. Not. Letting. You. Just because you fell in love with the wrong guy once in your life and made the wrong choice.”

“I didn’t make the wrong choice!”

He ignored my protest. “Please, promise me that you’ll never stand at my grave and cry over me. I want the same agreement with you as I had with Christina. Be happy without me.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Make a big bonfire. Burn everything you got from me. Find a nice, caring man and be happy with him. Forget you and I were ever together. Promise me you’ll go right on living as if I had never existed!”

“Danny—”

“Promise me.” He hypnotized me with his inhumanly blue eyes. Suddenly, he knew how to do that again.

“I promise.”

“Good!” He gave me a kiss on the lips, looking satisfied, and thought for a moment. “I’m going to die,” he said. “I accepted that a long time ago. I’m just so sorry that I dragged you into it. But I’m also infinitely grateful that you stayed at my side. I never dreamed I’d have that.” He laid his hand on my cheek. “Thank you for that.”

I pressed my face against his hand. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’ve never lived so intensely as I did these past three years. I’ve learned so much about life. This will shape me forever.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, and withdrew his hand. I sensed that he wanted to say something else.

“Danny? Why are we having this conversation in the dark at the stables? Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to say goodbye?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve accepted the fact that I have to die. I’ve been resigned to my fate for a while. And I’m not afraid of death, either. What I’m afraid of is forgetting who I am, who you are. I want to carry you in my heart when I die.”

My throat closed up even more, and my stomach twisted.

“I don’t want you to watch me waste away from this miserable disease and have those images haunting you forever. I want you to remember me the way I am now, not the way I’ll be on my deathbed. When you think about me years from now, I want you to picture me the way I’ve always been.”

I nodded earnestly. “Okay.”

Smiling, he said, “I’m not going to risk it happening any other way.”

“What do you mean?”

Danny took my hands in his, holding them tightly. Through his long lashes, he let his gaze travel up my body. “The whole time we’ve been together, I’ve never asked you for anything, and I didn’t plan on ever doing it. But today, I have a request.”

“Yes?” I didn’t want to hear it. Whatever it was, if he was prefacing it like this, it couldn’t be anything good. I wanted to pull my hands away and use them to cover my ears, but he held them fast. “My request is that you accept my decision.”

“Which is?” I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to leave, to get some air and space, but he didn’t let me budge an inch.

“I want to make my own decisions about when and how I die.”

“What?”

He unleashed the full, overwhelming power of his gaze and put all his desperation and pain into this one word: “Please!”

No. No! No, no, no. No, my inner voice shrieked when the words sank in. No! Never. No!

“Please, he repeated.

No!

“Okay,” I said tonelessly. What else was I supposed to say?

“Thank you,” he whispered, finally releasing me. Immediately, I pulled my hands back and jumped up, dropping back down into the grass a few feet away. It was starting to get cold, and the grass was already damp, but that wasn’t why I was shaking. The chill came from the inside—I’d have been freezing in the heat of summer. Even though it was pitch-dark by now, I could still see Danny sitting in the meadow, looking up at the stars.

I don’t know how long we sat there in that paddock, together but each of us alone with their pain.

 

I’m not running any longer. There’s no point anymore. I’m standing beside the ocean. It’s dark blue, and though the waves are very tall, its gentle color draws me in. The beach is covered with large, sharp stones, but I know I have to cross it. The sky is gray, heavy as lead. I know that my life is over, know it with an absolute certainty that keeps me from being frightened. I am going to die now, and that’s okay. I just have to walk into the ocean and drown.

I set off without giving it a second thought. As I walk, the path behind me crumbles away. There’s no going back. It doesn’t matter, though. I wouldn’t have turned around anyway. Death draws me in, like a galloping wild horse I can’t get off of. I reach the shore and throw myself into the waves. Immediately, the current pulls me down into the ever-darkening blue. Even though I always knew what awaited me, I am suddenly terrified, and I start to scream. No sound comes out of my mouth. The water is too dense, too blue. I can’t get any air. The blue blurs into pitch-black. I scream and scream and scream…

 

“Jessica?” Someone was holding me tightly, pressing me close to them. I recognized Danny by his scent. I couldn’t see anything, because I still had my eyes squeezed shut, wildly determined to drown. “Jessica, wake up, you’re having a nightmare!” He shook me gently, and I sat up, confused.

“Where am I?”

“With me,” Danny said. “In bed. You fell asleep in the meadow, so I brought you home.”

“Was I that fast asleep?” I hadn’t been aware of moving at all.

“Apparently. It was a long day.”

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty. You have to get up soon,” Danny said. “You’ve got work. And sometime this evening we’ll have to go get my car.”

Work? Was today really Monday? Friday afternoon was burned so deeply into my memory that I couldn’t believe it had already been several days since then.

Then I remembered our conversation at the paddock, and I thought I was going to be sick.

“How are you?” he asked.

I scoffed, annoyed. I should have been the one asking him that question. “I feel nauseous. I’ll call the office later and tell them I’m sick. I can’t go in like this.”

Danny nodded. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to concentrate on something as banal as work ever again. Resigned, I laid back down, only to realize I couldn’t fall asleep again. Danny seemed to be feeling the same—he stayed sitting up in bed, his eyes once again fixed on that point only he could see. I gazed at him for a long time. He was so unbelievably gorgeous, nobody would have ever suspected that he was deathly ill and taking hard drugs. Would I ever get tired of looking at him? Most likely not. The time we had left together would never be long enough for that.

I scooted closer and began to undress him.

As we made love, he looked into my eyes and said, “Marry me.”

“What?” Completely perplexed, I pushed him a little ways off me, and he stopped moving.

“Marry me!” he whispered into my ear.

My heart was threatening to explode. I loved this man more than anything, and I wanted more than anything in the world to marry him. But what future would we have? The idea of being a widow at twenty terrified me. My silence went on too long. He guessed what I was thinking, and he didn’t say anything else.

 

Yes, I’d wanted to say. Of course I’ll marry you! But I hadn’t been able to get the words out.

Danny was curled up beside me, asleep again. Cautiously, I touched his shoulder. It was almost eight—unusual for him to still be asleep at this hour. “Danny.” He woke up immediately and turned over onto his back. I rested my chin on his bare chest. “I’m sorry about earlier. Of course I’ll marry you.”

He folded his arms behind his head and looked at the ceiling contemplatively. “No, you’re right. I don’t want you to be a widow at your age. And you’re supposed to live as though you’d never met me once I die, and you can’t do that if you have my last name.” Carefully, he nudged me away. “Anyway, I don’t know if it would work.”

“If what would work?”

“As a way of you inheriting my stuff. I think you have to be married at least three years for that to work. I’ll look it up and figure out a way to transfer everything to you.”

“Danny, I don’t want your stuff. Stop saying goodbye to me all the time! I want you to stay with me!”

He gave me a gentle smile. “I’ll stay as long as I can. After that, you’ll get it all. Tina… The money for her apartment, take that also, as a down payment on a house for you and your family. Sell the car to help pay for it, too. The papers are all in the glove compartment as promised. You should get almost as much for it as it was worth new.”

“I would never sell your car.”

“Sell it,” he ordered. “You’ll just drive it into a wall anyway.”

“Hang on. Which of us totaled the last car?”

Danny didn’t take the bait. “I’ll leave you Maya, too. I know you’d rather have a horse you can really ride, though. Use some of the money to buy yourself one. Maya can stay at the old mill—the children’s home will pay for the upkeep, and the girls will take care of her. But I want her to belong to you, so that you can make those decisions.”

“You’ve already arranged all of that?”

“Yeah.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“I actually wanted to give you an apartment, the way I’d been planning to do for Tina, but I don’t think it would be a good idea. You’re choosy, and I know you want a house. There’s not enough there for that, but it should cover half. Find yourself a smart guy who loves you and will pay the rest.”

“Stop planning my life for me already.”

“You need to be taken care of after I’m not around anymore.”

“But you are around!” I suddenly screamed at him. “I don’t want to hear any more about it! Stop telling me goodbye over and over again!” Full of despair, I left the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Why wouldn’t he leave me at least a glimmer of my illusion that everything was okay?

“I’m just going to do it!” he called after me. “If you don’t want to hear about it, then I’ll do what I think is right!”