Bent not Broken

by Lisa De Jong

  He swallows. “There’s nothing more they can do for me. I have leukemia and I’ve tried everything they’ve suggested, but nothing seems to work.”

  “You can at least try, can’t you? Did you get a second opinion? There has to be something they can do.”

  “I’ve tried everything, Kate. All they do is make me sick and prolong the inevitable. I went into the city yesterday to try a new drug and look what it did to me. I don’t want to live like this . . .”

  “But what if one of those treatments could cure you? I need you, Asher,” I cry, placing my palms on the edge of his hospital bed to hold myself up.

  “Do you think I want to leave you? I want to live the life I have left . . . with you. I don’t want to spend it here.” He rests his hand on top of mine and I look up to see tears streaming down his face.

  “How long have you known?”

  He glances to the window and then back to me. “Almost a year,” he says hesitantly.

  If he said anything after that, I didn’t hear it. I thought I knew what pain was, but nothing has ever felt like this. This is excruciating, mind-numbing, heart-aching type of torture. It vibrates through my body, taking anger and confusion right along with it.

  He’s known for almost a year, and I only met him a few months ago. He let me fall for him when he knew he was dying. He let me fall for him when he knew he wasn’t going to be my forever. Why would he do that? Why would he let me fall in love with him if he knew he would be leaving me soon?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I cry, placing my hand over my mouth.

  “What did you want me to say? Hi, my name is Asher and I have cancer. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. Then I got to know you, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I didn’t want to see you looking at me like you are right now,” he says, his voice trailing off to hide the emotion that seems to be bubbling up inside of him.

  I’m so lost right now. I’m torn between yelling at him and comforting him. I hate this! Once again my world has been flipped upside down, and this time there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. This is too much for me right now. It’s selfish for me to be thinking about myself, but I can’t help it. Asher knew, and he’d kept it from me. I run to the door and leave the room without saying a word. I can’t look back. I just can’t. I stop the first nurse I see by stepping toward her as she walks down the hall.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask, all but hyperventilating.

  “Go to the end of the hall and take a right.”

  I cover my mouth and try navigating the halls through my blurry eyes. “Are you okay?” I hear a nurse ask, but I keep moving until I’m shut inside the bathroom and the door is locked behind me. I crouch down in front of the toilet, emptying my stomach over and over again. Maybe this is just a bad dream that I’ll wake up from soon. I can’t lose him. I just can’t. I’m scared of what life will be like without him.

  When I’m done, I scoot so that my back is against the wall and fold my knees into my chest. There’s an insistent squeeze compressing my heart. My head hurts so bad that it’s blinding me.

  Cancer. Asher has cancer. I never wanted to hear anyone I love say that word. And Asher . . . he’s too young. He has so much left to accomplish, but he’s not going to get the chance. Maybe if I pray for a miracle one will come. Maybe if I close my eyes this will all be over.

  It’s the worst type of nightmare.

  The initial shock is starting to wear off, and I know Asher’s going to need me. He’s been there for me over and over again, helping me escape a lot of my fears. Cancer is a scary thing to face, but death . . . I can’t even imagine.

  I wipe my eyes and stand up, bracing myself against the wall. I use a long piece of toilet paper to wipe around my eyes, and then rinse my mouth out with water from the faucet. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, all I see is the sad, lost girl I’ve suddenly become again. I thought I had my life all figured out until just a few minutes ago when the words Asher and dying were used in the same sentence. I spent the past few months building this tower out of blocks only to have cancer come and knock it down.

  Why?

  Why Asher?

  I can’t believe this is happening. Not now. Not to him.

  I blot around my mouth with a paper towel and pull the door open. I have no idea how long I was in there, and I feel like a zombie as I walk back to Asher’s room. Someone says something to me, but I ignore them. I just want to get back to him; feel his skin on my skin and his heart beating against my palm.

  I place my hand on the door handle and take a few deep breaths before opening the door to Asher’s room. I’m trying hard not to cry, but when I open the door I can’t control it. He’s facing the window with tears glistening on the sides of his cheeks. I can’t get a hold of myself, not that I even want to try at this point. My anger has all been replaced with heartache, which is the most painful emotion to deal with.

  I clasp his right hand between my hands and stare down at the guy who I thought would be my forever. Now I know that he might not even get a chance at forever, and that’s the biggest lump I’ve ever had to swallow.

  He wipes his tears before looking up at me. He cringes as he takes in my red splotchy face. “Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

  “Is it okay if I touch you?” I ask, trying to see where all the tubes are connected. I don’t know why but I need to touch him, to make sure he still exists the way I remember him.

  “Everything hurts, but you’re the only one who can make it better,” he says, moving to the side of the bed and patting the space beside him. “Don’t be scared. The only place I have anything is my arm.” He lifts it up, showing me the IV that’s inserted in the top of his hand.

  I cautiously sit on the edge of the bed, lifting one leg at a time and moving back to rest my head next to his on the pillow. I’m reluctant to get too close, but there isn’t one thing on this planet that could keep me away from him right now.

  “Why did they admit you today?” I ask. I didn’t think about it before, but he’s been sick for months. Why are they just putting him in the hospital now?

  “I was dehydrated. They want me here for twenty-four hours of observation and to get some fluids back into my system. I have a morphine supply. How can I go wrong with that?” I lift my head and glare at him; I hate that he’s trying to make a joke out of it. There isn’t anything about this whole situation that makes me want to smile, let alone laugh.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask, skimming my fingertips over his gown covered chest and stomach.

  “It’s been hurting. It hurt way before I even knew I was sick,” he states. There’s an ache in my throat as I listen to him. He’s been dealing with this the whole time he was walking me through my problems. I must have seemed so selfish because I didn’t even notice that anything was wrong with him.

  “I wish you would have told me sooner.”

  He pulls me closer with his free arm and kisses the top of my head. “This is my punishment for letting Megan die. Some days, I feel like I deserve it.”

  I snap my head up and look down at his somber eyes. “Listen to me,” I demand, holding his cheeks in my hands. “You didn’t let Megan die. She made a choice that night too, Asher, and you have to let it go.”

  He pinches his eyes closed and shakes his head the best he can with his face cradled in my hands. “You don’t deserve this. Nobody ever deserves this. Do you hear me?” I ask, trying to bury my frustration.

  “If it’s not my fault, then whose fault is it? There’s a reason for everything, and I’m the reason she’s not at college right now,” he cries. I want to wipe away all his tears and guilt. He’s an amazing man who shouldn’t have to carry this around with him.

  “You need to stop blaming yourself. It will eat you up inside, and it won’t bring her back.”

  “You don’t think I know that? It doesn’t make it any easier, though,” he says, l
ooking up at the ceiling.

  “Asher, you saved me. Every day I’ve been with you, you’ve shown me a new piece of myself that I thought I lost. You can’t forget that,” I beg, moving my face closer to his.

  “You’re stronger than you think,” he says, pulling my forehead down to his.

  “It’s because of you,” I whisper.

  He’s having trouble keeping his eyes open and soon, I hear his breathing even out, and feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  I try to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t want to waste a single second with him. They say everything happens for a reason. I don’t see any reason for this. I don’t want to think about what happens when he’s gone. I grip his gown in my fist and bury my nose close to his neck, trying to smell him through the bleached out hospital scent.

  I can’t.

  That’s all it takes for the tears to prick my eyes again.

  ****

  When Asher’s father came back to the hospital that night I learned about the cancer, Asher was still sleeping. I had a few questions I don’t feel comfortable asking Asher, so I pulled a small notebook and pen out of my purse and quickly jotted down the question that was bothering me the most.

  How much longer does he have?

  I passed it to Daniel and watched as his eyes closed tight after reading it. When he opened them again, he looked at me with one of the saddest sets of eyes I’d ever seen. He took the pen from my hand and jotted something down before handing it back to me.

  Not 100% sure. Probably a few weeks. The cancer has replaced the normal blood cells making him very weak.

  I stared at his handwriting, reading the message over and over again. For what reason, I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, but the more I read it, the more I realized that I had no other choice.

  ****

  I know there is always hope, but after the last few days I’m not that optimistic. They let him come home late the next day, but he is so weak that we’ve spent the last two days lying in his bed, alternating between sleeping and watching movies. Neither of us has mentioned anything about his sickness, or what is going to happen in the future. It’s nice to pretend for a while.

  I’ve talked to my boss about having a few weeks off, and he groaned until I told him why. Not only do I want to spend time with Asher, but if I went to work, I probably wouldn’t be very useful. There are too many things going through my head.

  This morning when I woke up in Asher’s bed, he wasn’t beside me. I start to panic because he rarely ever gets out of bed without a little assistance from me or his dad. I check the bathroom first, but it’s dark and the door is wide open. I hear music coming from the front of the house, and as I round the corner I see Asher sitting with the guitar on his lap. I remember all the times he has played for me and it brings tears to my eyes. I never want to give this up. His voice is soothing and beautiful . . . I can’t imagine a day when I don’t hear it.

  He notices me and immediately stops playing.

  “Don’t stop for me, I love when you play.”

  “Did I wake you?” he asks, setting his guitar down against the couch.

  “No, you weren’t there when I woke up, so I came looking for you,” I reply, sitting down next to him. I lace my fingers with his and rest my head against his shoulder.

  “Do you want to do something today? I don’t think I can spend another day lying in that bed.” He wraps his arm behind my back and pulls me close. His arms aren’t quite as strong as they used to be because he has lost so much weight and spent most of his days stuck in bed.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask, resting my head against his shoulder.

  “Dance with me,” he whispers, brushing his fingers through my hair.

  “Here?” I ask, lifting my head to face him. He looks very serious.

  “It’s something we’ve never had the chance to do together and all I can think about is doing everything with you.” For the first time in a few days, I’m reminded that we may not have much time left together. There are so many things Asher will never get to experience, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach every time I think about it. There are bad people in this world that get to live a whole life and Asher, a man filled with so much good, is having his cut far too short. Life just doesn’t make sense; it’s maddening. Everyone should get to experience a life filled with love, marriage and kids. Everyone should get to choose a career and live out their dream.

  “I would do anything you ask me to right now. Anything,” I say, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. This will probably be the only time I ever get to dance with Asher Hunt. I can’t decide if it’s better to know that or not.

  He slowly stands, reaching out for my hand. “Kate, may I have this dance?”

  I place my hand in his, and he leads me back into his bedroom, stopping to turn on his iPod. I take several cleansing breaths, trying to calm the nervous energy that’s flowing through my body.

  Cross That Line by Joshua Radin starts to play as Asher spins around to face me. He has a soft expression on his face when he reaches his hand to touch my face and skims his thumb over my cheekbone. I tilt my head to kiss the palm of his hand, then close my eyes and lose myself in the soft feel of his fingertips as they lightly skim my jawline. When he wraps his arms around my lower back, it feels like the most natural thing in the world as we sway back and forth. I follow his lead and wrap my arms around his neck, resting my cheek against his chest.

  My body is completely in tune to Asher’s as I listen to the beautiful lyrics sink into my soul. This has to be one of the single most memorable moments of my life. It’s serene. It’s as if we’re the only two people on the planet and nothing can hurt us. It’s like the whole world is spinning in slow motion.

  When I was a little girl, I believed in fairy tales and one of the dreams I had was someday dancing alongside my prince. Asher’s that guy for me. He’s my dream and my wish come true. He’s my prince.

  “I love this song.”

  “It’s one of my favorites,” he admits, tightening his grip on me a little more.

  The song switches to 18th Floor Balcony by Blue October, and I lift my head to look in his eyes. There’s so much sadness, adoration and pain within them. I want to kiss it all away, but this illness is one thing that love can’t fix.

  “What are you thinking right now?” I ask.

  He cups my face in his hands. “That I wish we could freeze time and stay in this moment forever. You?”

  “I was thinking that this is the best first dance I’ve ever had.”

  “You mean everything in this world to me. You know that right?” he says softly against my lips.

  I nod, closing the little bit of distance between us to press my lips to his. I let them linger there, pressed as tightly to his as I can manage. When I break away, I rest my forehead against his and continue to dance until the song ends. It was probably the best dance I’ve ever shared, but it was probably our last too.

  Chapter 21

  The last few weeks I’ve thought a lot about what my life will be like without Asher around. It’s a mirror that I never want to have to look into . . . I’m not ready to lose him. It’s not something I even want to contemplate, so how am I going to deal with the reality of it all? I feel like I’m in a constant state of sadness, which isn’t how I want to remember the time we have left together.

  The worst part is that I think Asher senses it. I’ve thought a lot about what I’d want right now if the roles were reversed and it’s almost impossible to get a clear picture. That picture should never even be painted for someone so young. I’m struggling to keep a positive outlook, but I don’t want his last days to be all about what’s going to happen; I want it to be about today. I think we both need that.

  It’s time for us to make memories worth keeping.

  We spend time putting up the Christmas tree since the holiday is a week from tomorrow. Asher seems to be getting weaker by the day, so he si
ts on the floor and hands me ornaments. I’m just happy to spend time with him.

  “I hate that you have to do it all yourself,” he says sadly, handing me a bright red glass ornament.

  I grab it from him and hang it toward the top of the tree. “All that matters to me is that we’re together. This is actually the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time. I can’t remember the last time my mom and I even took the time to put up the tree and decorate it.” I smile, standing back to admire it.

  “This has been the best Christmas for me too . . . even with everything that’s happening,” he says, returning my smile.

  We end our decorating project by putting popcorn on a string to wrap around the tree. It’s something my mom and I always did when I was a kid because we didn’t have money to go buy all the fancy decorations. I remember doing that more than I remember any gift I received.

  And I want to have that memory with Asher.

  After we’re finished, we watch one of his favorite comedies on Netflix, laughing harder than either of us has in weeks. Laughter really is the best medicine; it makes us both forget the things that have been bringing us down; at least temporarily.

  Now, we’re both lying in bed listening to Asher’s iPod playing softly through the speakers. The small lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room with a soft orange light. We’re just talking, but I like spending every second I’m not sleeping, looking at him. I want to engrave everything about him into my mind: the feel of his lips, the unique shade of his eyes, and the silky texture of his hair when it slips between my fingers. I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and I won’t be able to remember him.

  “Where do you think we would be five years from now?” he asks, slipping his hand under my shirt to run his fingers over my bare stomach.

  I jerk my head back on the pillow to get a better look at him. He looks completely serious, but I’m not sure I want to play this game. “What?”

  “Just for tonight, I want to pretend that we’re a normal couple making plans for our future. That’s what normal couples do isn’t it?” he asks, letting a small smile touch his lips.