This Old Heart of Mine

by A. J. Compton

  This Old Heart of Mine

  Copyright © 2016 A.J. Compton

  www.ajcompton.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9933309-2-6

  Cover Design by Clarise Tan at CT Cover Creations

  Editing by Peggy Frese at Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Part 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part 3

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part 4

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Part 5

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by A.J. Compton

  This book is for all the people, alive and not, whose pieces I carry with me in my heart wherever I go.

  “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.”

  — Zelda Fitzgerald

  Someone is weeping.

  Someone is whispering.

  Someone is dying.

  Too weak to open my eyes, I focus on the voices while I try to gather my strength. When I hear what they’re saying, I almost wish I’d stayed asleep.

  “I can’t believe after all we’ve been through, this is the end,” my mother says to someone in between anguished sobs. “I’m going to have to bury my baby. She’s the one who should be saying good-bye to me. It should be me.”

  “There, there,” the person murmurs. Warm water prickles my eyelids at the sound of my mother’s cries. The pressure builds until the dam bursts. Unable to hold them in any longer, tears slip out of my closed eyes, tickling my cheeks.

  “If I could switch places with her, I would. I’d give her my heart. My life. Without her, both of those things will be pointless anyway. I’ll die when she does.”

  “Shh. Don’t say that. She needs you to be strong for her,” the voice I now recognize as belonging to my Uncle Aidan says.

  He’s not really my uncle; he’s our next-door neighbor. And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with my mom. But she’s only had eyes for me and my well-being, so she can’t see what’s right in front of her. Maybe one good thing will come out of my death.

  “But who’s going to be strong for me? She is my strength. That girl means everything to me, Aidan.”

  “I know. It’s okay, Maggie. I’ll be your strength.”

  The sound of her sobbing increases, drowning out the noise of the machine keeping me alive. I continue faking sleep and let them have this moment. I want my mom to see she has someone else in this world other than me.

  It’s always been just the two of us. Her parents died when she was a teenager, and my father walked out on us when I was just a baby. He left a large pile of money to pay for my healthcare and walked away without a backward glance. In his own words, he didn’t want to fall in love with someone he would have to say good-bye to. His heart wasn’t strong enough to cope with that.

  The irony would be hilarious if it wasn’t so heart-breaking. I don’t need to have met him to know we’re better off. Mom and I have struggled, but we’ve survived twenty-two years together. And survival is the only “s” word that counts in the end. It’s just a shame this is the end, at least for me.

  I was born with severe congenital heart disease and placed on the organ transplant list the moment I took my first, stilted breath. Given a life expectancy of just six years at best, the odds and the Gods have never been on my side.

  But I proved them wrong. That’s something I take comfort in, even as I surrender. They may have won the war, but I’ve given them a damn good fight.

  A knock sounds against the hospital room door. Aidan says something to my mom that I don’t quite catch, but whatever it is makes her sobs reduce to sniffles.

  “Morning, Finley sweetheart. She’s sleeping at the moment, but you’re welcome to sit and join us,” my mom whispers to my best and only friend.

  “Thanks, Ms. M. Hey, Aidan.”

  “Finn, how are you doing?” Aidan asks him.

  “I’m…” Finn blows out a breath and I imagine him shaking his head.

  No one says anything in response, because what is there to say? The silence stretches. I resist the seductive pull of sleep, knowing I don’t have many moments left with the people in this room. I don’t want to miss any of them.

  “I’ll watch over her. Why don’t you guys go and grab a coffee or something to eat?” Finn suggests.

  “Oh, I don’t—” my mom protests.

  “Come on, Maggie. You need to eat,” Aidan tells her.

  “But—”

  “Finn has our numbers. I’m sure he’ll call us if anything happens.”

  “Of course I will,” Finn reassures my mom.

  “Um, okay. Just a quick coffee. You’ll call me?”

  “I promise,” Finn says.

  “Even if it’s just the smallest thing.”

  “You have my word, Ms. M.”

  “Let’s go, Mags. Thanks, Finn,” Aidan says before the door clicks shut.

  “Okay, faker. They’re gone. You can open your eyes.”

  Squinting at the light, I pry open one eyelid, then the other. “What gave it away?” I wince at the weakness of my voice, but Finn pretends it’s as strong as usual. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Good point.” My mouth turns up in a faint smile, knowing we can’t hide from each other.

  “You’re looking good, Ave.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been told my complexion is to die for.”

  Finn laughs. “There’s my girl.” He leans down to give me a kiss on the forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asks, bringing the chair in the corner over to my bedside.

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  “I feel like I’m dying.”

  Smile fading, he grabs my hand. I have no energy to return his squeeze, so I try to convey the love I feel for him through my eyes. We both exhale emotion for several minutes until Finn bends his head to rest on my thighs.

  From the spot where his face is pressed against my legs, water begins to seep through my thin hospital blanket and gown. Summoning all my strength, I raise my hand just enough to stroke my fingers through his curly brown hair.

  We stay like that for what feels like a lifetime. But lifetimes are different for everyone. Mine is twenty-two years long. I can only hope Finn’s is several times that amount.

  We met as dying children. Spending my whole life in and out of hospital rooms left very little time for
making friends. And being home-schooled by an overprotective mother, worried about me catching infections from other children, didn’t help.

  The few friends I did make over the years were other sick kids like me. Our friendships began in hospital wards, and ended there as well, one way or another.

  Then came Finn. From the moment we met on a pediatric ward at twelve years old, we had so much in common. He also needed a transplant, although his was for his dying lungs. And just like me, he had an overprotective single mother. His dad had died several years before of the same condition Finn had, which only made his mom more scared.

  We called ourselves the cotton wool kids because we were so wrapped up in the stuff. We weren’t allowed to go out. Weren’t allowed to have fun. Weren’t allowed to live, even though we were dying. It wasn’t long before he became my person, and I became the same for him.

  When Finn has composed himself, he raises his head and smiles at me with reddened eyes. “You ever tell anyone about this, and I’ll deny it.”

  My chapped lips twist up. “Who am I going to tell?”

  We fall silent at the uncomfortable truth. Regretting my question, I try and think of something that will dissolve the sadness in the air. “Oh! I found a silver lining to this situation.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve looked for the shining ray of light in the dark.

  “You did?”

  “Yep. I was thinking earlier that maybe when I’m gone, something can finally happen between my mom and Aidan.”

  Finn thinks about this for a moment, then nods. “You’re right. Although, I’d like to think your mom would have noticed sooner or later, even with you still being sick.”

  “I guess we’ll never know.”

  Finn shakes his head before looking around. “Have I got the right room? I came to visit my best friend, Ava Malone, not Debbie Downer.”

  I start to laugh, but my chest constricts to the point of agony. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I just thought of another silver lining,” Finn says with a wink.

  I eye the water on my bedside table, just out of reach. Following the movement, Finn leans over to grab it for me and adjusts the straw so I can take small sips. The cool liquid soothes my arid throat.

  “What is it?” I ask, once I can speak again.

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “At least you won’t die a virgin.”

  I choke on the water. Each spluttering cough feels like a stab to the chest.

  “Crap. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Finn rushes to clean up the spilled liquid. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I reassure him, ignoring the intense pain radiating through my body.

  “Sorry, doll face.”

  “No, you’re not.” I smile.

  “You know me so well. I’m not sorry for making you laugh, but I am sorry you’re in pain.” He takes my hand, his face becoming serious. “If I could take it away, I would.”

  “I know.” Finn leans over and wipes away a stray tear on my cheek before sitting back down. I clear my throat. “You were saying, about the silver lining?”

  His cheeky grin springs back into place. “Oh, yeah. Don’t you think it’s a silver lining? A thank you wouldn’t hurt.”

  Trying not to laugh, I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Finn.”

  Four years ago, when we were eighteen, we made a pact. Finn was given a year left to live if he didn’t get a lung transplant. And no one knew how I was still alive. But although we weren’t allowed to experience most of the things normal teenagers do like dating, partying, or getting a job, we could do one thing.

  I lost my virginity to a person I love more than life, my best friend in the world. It was quick, uncomfortable, and messy, but it was special, safe, and beautiful. We only did it that one time, but it represented a rare moment of freedom over our choices and bodies. An illusion of normalcy.

  Six months later, Finn received a lung transplant. But unlike all the other kids who disappeared after becoming healthy, he stayed by my side. I guess our story is still ending in a hospital, though, just like all the rest. Only this time, I’m the one leaving him.

  “You’re welcome,” he jokes before sobering. “I’m going to miss you, kid.” Eyes brimming with water, he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

  Emotion crushes my chest. I take shallow, staggered breaths in between words. “Me, too. I wish I could stay.”

  “I wish I could go with you.”

  Tears spill down my face, as I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”

  I can’t bear the raw pain on his face when his hand falls away. “What am I going to do without you? Why does it have to be you? There are so many evil people out there getting to live and enjoy life. You’re such a good person, Ave. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s not fair. Why you?” He drops my hand and fists the blanket.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t asked myself the same question many times over the years. Managing a slight lift of my shoulders, I share the only conclusion I’ve reached with Finn.

  “Why not me?”

  Seeing his frown, I sigh. Sleep is pulling at me, but I fight it. “The only certainty in life is that it’s unfair. So why not me? Why should I be the good person that escapes the bad when so many don’t? We’ve seen it before, think of all the friends we lost growing up. They were just innocent kids, Finn.

  “For every lucky person like you, there are thousands of people like me, still needing a transplant, and there are millions more in cemeteries who never received one. Why should I be special? Why should I be the daughter or friend who is thrown a lifeline, when so many other daughters and friends don’t, you know? If you’re going to ask, ‘why me?’ you also have to ask ‘why not me?’”

  The whispered speech exhausts me. I’m losing the battle with my heavy eyelids, which are desperate to close.

  Finn rubs at his eyes with clenched fists. “I hate life.”

  I smile. “No, you don’t. You love it. Don’t let this change that. I want you to live for both of us. Promise me you will.”

  “I can’t. You’re a big part of the reason why I love life so much, Ave. Without you, I—” he chokes and looks down at his lap.

  “Hey.” His head raises at the sound of my voice. “If the roles were reversed, if it was you in this bed and me in that chair, what would you say to me?”

  Anguish swims in his ocean blue eyes as he contemplates my question. “But it’s not me in that bed, is it? Not anymore, anyway. I get to walk out of this room, while you—” he rises from the chair and buries his damp face in my neck. He’s careful to avoid putting any pressure on my chest.

  We both cry together, sharing sadness like we’ve shared years of love and laughter. When he pulls away, I sweep away his tears with my thumb while he collects mine with his fingertips.

  “What would you tell me, Finn?” I push.

  Sitting on the side of my bed, his chest expands on a deep breath. “I’d tell you to live your life to the fullest, and to live for me as well; to live twice. I’d want you to allow yourself to cry when you remember me, but to make sure that one day, my memory also makes you smile and laugh.”

  His words bring a fresh round of tears to my eyes. I nod. “What else?”

  He looks down at our joined hands. “I guess I’d tell you to go after your dreams and have fun finding yourself. See the world and do all the other things we dreamed of doing together. And I’d tell you to fall in love with a great guy who loves and appreciates how amazing you are, otherwise I’d come back and haunt his ass.” My laughter turns into a wheezing cough.

  Finn offers me another sip of water before finishing his speech in a hoarse voice. “But most of all, I think I’d make you promise me that you’ll be happy. Because that’s the only way I’d die at peace.”

  It takes me a few seconds to compose myself. When I do speak, my words are drenched in emotion. “Exactly. I want you to do all of that and more.”

  “You want me to find a great guy? They�
��re not my type, Ave.”

  I smile into my yawn. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  Losing the battle with sleep, I see Finn’s tortured face as my eyelids flutter shut. “Love you. Live twice, Finn.”

  His lips are wet as he kisses each of my closed eyes. One kiss for each life he now has to live. “Love you, too, Ave. Live forever.”

  I wake to quiet crying again. With the pale moonlight seeping through the blinds, I can make out the silhouette of my mother as she sits by my head.

  “Hey, Ma,” I whisper into the darkness.

  She sniffles and blows her nose. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. You should rest.”

  If Finn were here, I’d joke that I’ll sleep when I’m dead, but I know my mom wouldn’t appreciate my sarcastic humor right now. “It’s okay. I want to spend some time with you.” It takes me forever to get the words out. Funny the things I once took for granted, like speaking with ease.

  My mom cups the side of my face. “How are you feeling? Can I turn on the night light?” I nod, wincing when the room flares with warm, weak light. “There’s my beautiful girl. How am I going to live without seeing your face every day?”

  “You’ll have pictures.”

  “It’s not the same. Photographs don’t capture your laughter or your light. They’re just a piece of paper, and I don’t want that. I want you. I want my daughter.” Like Finn did earlier, she hides her face in my neck and sobs. Careful of my IV, I wrap my thin arm around her shaking body.

  My soul absorbs her tears. I draw strength from being her strength. She’s been there for me for my whole life, I’m happy I can repay the favor.

  “I don’t want to say good-bye.” Her warm breath heats my neck as she echoes my biggest fear.

  “Me, neither.”

  “But we don’t have a choice.”

  “I know.”

  She leans back. “I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. Parents are supposed to move heaven and earth for their children. They’re supposed to make everything better. But I can’t heal your heart, and I can’t protect you from life. Or death. I feel like I’ve failed.”