Beyond The Roses

by Monica James

  Passing him the folder, I snatch it back quickly when he reaches for it. “Promise me something.”

  He huffs, annoyed. “Okay.” He gives me his full attention.

  “Promise me you will read through everything before you say a word.”

  “Lola,” he warns.

  “Promise me,” I press. “Promise me you’ll read this with an open mind.”

  His brows knit together, and he shakes his head, utterly baffled, but then he finally nods. He knows he has no choice but to agree if he wants to see what’s inside because my unyielding stance is final.

  Satisfied, I loosen my hold and pray that this doesn’t backfire.

  Before he opens it, I add, “And remember our wager. You have to do everything I say starting from now.” I need to lighten the mood.

  He frowns, not amused.

  This is it. I will my racing heart to calm down. It is the reason I’m here.

  Roman skims his palm across the front, deep in thought. Does he know the contents could change his life forever?

  “Whatever happens, remember I love you more than life itself. Everything I do…I do for you.”

  He peers up at me; he looks as lost as I feel. He nods before opening what I can only hope is his future.

  I can’t bear to watch, but I also can’t bear to look away. His expression is stoic. I know this is just the beginning of what’s to come. He reads the first page, his brows scrunching in confusion. It’s a lot to take in, and I know it’ll take a while to sink in.

  When he turns the next page and then the next, the color drains from his face, and he gasps. His eyes arrow upward, searching my face, begging me to tell him this is a joke. But it’s not.

  “W-what is this?” he demands heatedly, waving the papers in the air.

  “You know what it is,” I reply softly, my body trembling.

  “No, I really don’t, because what I’m reading makes no fucking sense!” He jumps up, completely livid. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I bite my lip but stand my ground. “No. I’m not.”

  “Have you gone mad?”

  “Roman, just listen…” I advance but quickly retreat.

  “No!” he shouts, hurling the papers onto the floor, unable to stomach the sight of them. “I will not. That”—he points at the fallen paperwork strewn all over the white carpet—“is not happening. Ever!” He curls his lip, appalled.

  “You promised you would read it with an open mind.”

  He sniggers. “I made that promise not knowing I was going to read the most horrifying thing you could ever propose. How can you think I would agree to that?”

  “Because it makes sense. It will work.” I’m trying to keep cool because he’s just gone from zero to ten billion in five seconds.

  “No, it doesn’t, and it won’t!” He treads forward, on the warpath. “None of this makes any sense.”

  I don’t back down. “I’ve done the research. I’ve consulted with Dr. Carter and the finest doctors in New York. They all said it will work. Please”—I crouch down, picking up the paperwork—“just read the rest.” I offer a fistful. He recoils as if I’ve just asked him to commit the ultimate sin.

  “No. Get that away from me!” He waves his hand, turning his head, unable to look my way.

  “Roman. Please. This will work.” I’m on my knees, begging for him to see reason, but he doesn’t.

  “You don’t get it!” He throws his arms out to the side. “I don’t care what the results say. It may work, we may be a match, but I won’t do it. How can I? How can you expect me to?”

  Tears sting my eyes. This has gone much worse than I expected.

  “B-because I want you to live,” I cry, gathering the folder and its contents, needing to do something other than look at the mess I’ve made.

  “Lola…I can’t.” The fire in his tone abates. “I would do anything for you…anything…but there is no fucking way I would ever agree to that.”

  My fingers fumble, and tears cloud my vision. This was my final plea. This was the only way I knew how to save him. But he doesn’t want it. A strangled sob escapes me, but I cover my mouth, not wanting to break down. I failed. I can’t believe how terribly so.

  “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I press, still on my knees.

  He’s silent, the anger slowly subsiding. But the undercurrent still has the capacity to drag us under. “Look at me.”

  But I can’t. I’m afraid of what I’ll say or do.

  “Please.” He lowers himself before me on both knees.

  I lift my eyes, a tear sliding down my cheek. He wipes it away, stroking my jaw.

  “This isn’t a solution. It’s a tragedy. How can I do this? How can I walk around every day knowing what I did?” His voice breaks.

  Surrendering, I declare the only thing that makes any sense. In this tumultuous blackness, this is the only light I can find. Placing my hand over his strong heart, I lose myself in the rhythm.

  “Because…you gave me your heart…and now…it’s time I gave you mine.” And I mean that in every literal sense.

  Roman closes his eyes, shaking his head, pained.

  The paperwork confronting Roman was notes detailing that I was a suitable donor. My heart would beat inside him. It would give him life. By ending my life, I could breathe new life into him. I did the tests, and my heart is healthy. The medication has left it unscathed.

  “This is the only way.”

  He hisses, the truth burning him. “This is where you were today?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Because I knew you’d react this way! You gave me no other choice. You said that this was the only way. That a heart transplant would save your life.” Reaching for his hand, I place it over my chest. “Well, I have a heart. Take mine. I don’t need it.” Searching his face, I beg him to see reason. “It’s breaking every day anyway, knowing that you’re dying. I can do something to help save you. Please. Take it.”

  He pulls his palm away, shaking it frantically. “I can’t! Don’t you see why I can’t?”

  “No. All I see is your pigheadedness standing in the way.” We’re silent, both glaring at the other.

  “Even if I did this, how could I live with myself? How could I live knowing I’m alive because you’re dead? I can’t.” The fight in him begins to fizzle, and all that’s left is utter grief.

  “If the tables were turned, would you do the same for me?”

  His jaw clenches. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Answer me,” I demand. “Would you?” When he turns his cheek, I force him to look at me by gripping his chin.

  “Lola…” His blue-gray eyes swarm with grief.

  “Tell me!”

  “Yes!” he roars, his anger laced with devotion. “Of course, I would. I would happily end my life to save yours! I will fight for your life with my last dying breath.” He shoots up, pacing, yanking at his hair. The hard resolve of his stance reveals that regardless of what he confessed, it doesn’t make a lick of difference.

  “So that’s it then? You won’t even discuss this with me?”

  “No. There’s nothing to discuss. I’m furious at you! How could you even think I’d be okay with this? And not only that, you went behind my back.” He continues pacing, resembling a caged tiger.

  “No one but Dr. Carter knows it’s you.”

  “That’s not the point!” I’ve never seen him this angry. It’s evident he wants some time alone as he turns his back. “No. The answer is no.”

  Standing, I whisper, “If this is goodbye, then you say it first.” My voice trembles. I can’t believe it has come to this.

  The scattered paperwork strewn on the floor is like a ticker tape parade highlighting my failure.

  “It’ll never be goodbye,” he declares hollowly.

  Holding back my tears, I turn to leave but then sto
p. “You’re a hypocrite, Dr. Archibald. You were so adamant that I was to live, but the truth is…you’re so afraid of living.” I close the door behind me.

  Only when I enter the elevator do I allow the tears to fall. I sob ugly tears, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop. I went behind Roman’s back, knowing full well that it would end this way. But I had to try.

  It’s better to be scared while dying instead of being scared of trying.

  I catch a cab home.

  Slipping off my ballet flats, I stagger to my room, silent sobs robbing me of breath. I want to shake sense into Roman. He’s so angry because he knows I’m right. He knows this is the only way, but to gain back his life, I have to lose mine.

  Slumping onto the end of my bed, I cradle my face, sobbing into my palms. A small part of me thought that maybe, just maybe Roman would see reason, and although it’s not something I expected him to accept right away, he’d eventually come around.

  But I thought wrong.

  Three Days Later

  I slept a lot, unable to face the world because Roman hasn’t called.

  By suggesting what I did, I never expected to push him away. In some naïve way, I thought it would bring us closer together.

  It’s now daylight; I know this because my mother has just given me my marching orders to get out of bed and shower. I really need to revoke her spare key.

  After I’m showered and dressed, I feel semi-human, but a gaping hole has been punched through my chest. I miss Roman. So much. Even though I stand by my convictions, I never wanted things to turn out this way.

  “Lola? Can you come out here?” my mom calls from outside my bedroom door.

  Applying a coat of ChapStick, I don’t bother with shoes as I hobble down the hallway.

  My condition seems exacerbated since my fight with Roman. Could it be he was my magical potion all along?

  Once I turn the corner, I take a moment to catch my breath, but that breath is taken in vain.

  “Roman?” I wheeze. Surely, my vision has failed me. Actually, I’m certain it has.

  I rub my eyes under my lenses, expecting that when I remove them, this will all be my imagination playing a cruel trick.

  But it’s not. Here he stands, in my living room looking worse than I do. His beard is full, his hair is snarled, and I’m certain he looks skinnier than when I saw him last.

  “W-what are you doing here?” I clutch on to the top of the sofa, afraid I’m going to fall on my face.

  “I called him,” my mother says, carrying a silver tray as she enters the room. The smell of coffee follows her.

  “Why?”

  Roman winces, clearly hurt, but screw him.

  “Because I think it’s time you spoke.” She is so matter-of-fact. I can see where I get my stubbornness from.

  I purse my lips, purposely avoiding looking at him. “The last time we spoke, he didn’t have much to say.”

  “Because you did all the talking,” he counters lightly.

  “Well, I call it as I see it, and all I see”—I finally make eye contact, quashing down the happiness at seeing him here—“is someone giving up. And I don’t like quitters. A quality you apparently liked about me, Dr. Archibald.”

  Roman sighs, fisting his hair in frustration.

  “Oh, Lola, stop it. You know you’re happy to see him.” I turn to look at my mom, making big eyes her way. Just whose side is she on?

  He smirks, and just like that, I can breathe again.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. Go easy.”

  “I will,” Roman says, nodding his gratitude at my mom.

  But she shakes her head. “No, I was talking to my daughter.”

  I roll my eyes. “Goodbye, Mother.”

  She exits with a smile. Damn her meddling, but I can’t deny she’s done good this time.

  An uncomfortable silence fills the room. Not a common occurrence between Roman and I, but I guess things change.

  “Do you want any coffee?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  Silence.

  Well, this isn’t at all awkward.

  He stands by the mantel, watching me. I tug at my skirt, suddenly feeling like I’m on show.

  “Lola…” I wait, using the couch as my barricade. “I’m so sorry about the other day. I overreacted.”

  “You think?” I scoff.

  “I’m trying here,” he exclaims, obviously expecting a better reunion.

  Roman annoys the bejesus out of me because we’re both headstrong and stubborn, especially when it comes to the well-being of the other.

  “Did you think this was going to be easy? If you did, you thought wrong.”

  “No,” he sighs. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”

  “I don’t make apologies for who I am.”

  “And I don’t want you to. I love that about you.”

  The L-bomb. It’s nice to know he still cares. But the question is, does he care enough?

  He digs his hands into his pockets, his hair shrouding his face as he lowers his chin. “I read over the paperwork. Impressive. You’d make a good attorney.”

  “Maybe in another lifetime,” I reply, waiting for him to continue.

  “You’re right”—he meets my gaze—“this would work. But…I just can’t. It’s all I’ve thought about these past few days, but I just…I can’t. I would feel…”

  “Undeserving? Guilty?” I offer when he pauses.

  “Yes.”

  I know those feelings well. Wasn’t I the one who expressed the same concerns when Roman presented me with the opportunity to live again? I’m angry, disappointed, but most of all, I understand how he feels.

  On paper, this works, but morally, Roman couldn’t live with himself. “Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel if I proposed what you are?”

  Would I rather die than live the rest of my days with Roman’s heart beating soundly within my chest? Each beat a constant reminder of all that I’ve lost. A blanket of hopelessness swathes me, and I suddenly can’t breathe.

  “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but…”

  I can’t listen to another word.

  “Excuse me.” I make my way to my room.

  My world is turned upside down, because this is it. No matter how much I hate what Roman has decided, I understand. To save his life, I’d have to forfeit mine. Of course, I would wait until nature takes its course, but that doesn’t make a difference. At the end of the day, Roman would be alive and I wouldn’t. He can’t live with the guilt.

  “May I come in?”

  “I can’t stop you,” I reply despondently from the foot of my bed.

  Roman enters, closing the door behind him. He stands in the middle of the room, arms linked behind his back. “I don’t want to fight with you. I love you. I love that you would be willing to do this for me. You literally are offering me your heart.” He steps forward, kneeling at my feet. “Thank you. That’s what I should have said to you. Thank you for offering me life.”

  I gaze down at him, too afraid to speak. His stance is defeated. Before me kneels a broken man. “You’re w-welcome,” I whisper.

  With a tremor to his touch, he gently cups both hands around my calves. The moment he makes contact, goose bumps break out across my flesh. I’ve missed him so much. “I will stay with you for as long as I can.”

  His promise cements our fate. We’re both going to die. I never fully accepted that truth until now. My last shred of hope floats on the wind, leaving us raw and naked. There are no second chances. All that’s left to do is…live.

  I shut out the uncertainties we face and instead, focus on his touch. The tenderness of his caresses brings tears to my eyes. I will miss him…so much. How can someone bury themselves so deep within your core, you almost forget what it felt like before you met them? The answer is, before Roman, I was only half alive.

  Roman continues his strokes, appearing just as desperate for touch as I am.

  “I may be dying,�
�� I whisper, my eyes slipping to half-mast. “But I’ll die with a smile on my face because I loved, and I was loved in return.”

  “You will be loved until your last dying breath. That I promise you.”

  I blink past my sorrow, not wanting this moment to be a memory coated in tears. That’s all Roman and I have left—moments to make into memories. And I plan on making memories every second I have left.

  Reaching for the scruff of his shirt, I yank him upward, smashing my lips to his. He kisses me without a second thought, this deed between us as natural as the sun setting. This kiss isn’t gentle; it’s filled with desperation and longing.

  I taste salty kisses before long, but I don’t know if they’re my tears or Roman’s, but it doesn’t matter. My pain is his. He cups my neck, robbing me of breath as he dominates my mouth in the way only he knows how.

  His tongue explores every inch of me, igniting a fire deep within. With Carpe Diem as my motto, I crawl backward, falling onto the mattress and taking Roman with me. We’re frenzied, ripping at one another’s clothes, desperate to peel back all the layers, leaving us exposed and bare.

  Once I’m naked beneath him, Roman sits back on his heels, studying every inch of me. I would once shy away, but not today. There is nothing but complete worship behind his gaze, and I feel like the luckiest woman alive.

  He slides his hand in the valley of my chest, before circling over my galloping heart. No words are needed. I understand. I shudder when he cups one breast, then the other, awakening every inch of my flesh.

  His lips chase after his touch. He’s everywhere. His tongue swirls over my pearled buds, dipping downward to leave a wet trail along my quivering stomach. I arch upward, needing more. My legs fall open, welcoming him home.

  He worships not only my body, but my soul. He tells me how much he loves me, and that I’m his forever. We both know that our forever is timeless because our memories will never fade.

  He enters me slowly, savoring each second, each touch, because each moment is precious. I will never tire of feeling him rooted so deeply. Being connected as one is the closest I’ll get to our hearts beating as one.