Transpire

by Monica Cole

  Footsteps click across the hardwood floor and seconds later, the door swings open. I stumble inside, landing hard on my hands and knees. My head is bent so I keep it down, letting my hair form a curtain. I don’t want to look at Dr. Beckett. And I don’t want to look at Canyon. Yet at the same time I do. I want answers. I want an explanation. And even though I have a horrible feeling it’s going to kill me, I want the truth.

  Dr. Beckett walks around me, shutting the door as he leaves. The room is quiet. The kind of quiet that’s so empty, it’s almost loud. I want to scream and shatter it. But I can’t find my voice.

  “Elle…” There’s so much defeat when he speaks and the sound scrapes against my heart. I think of it as torture for the hell he’s about to unleash on it.

  The room falls silent again. I keep my head down. “I don’t want you to do it.”

  He hesitates. “Do what?”

  “Break my heart.”

  The room rings with silence.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Why is he being so quiet? Why won’t he just tell me?

  “Canyon, I need you to say something.” I lift my face. He hasn’t moved from his position at the end of the bed. His jaw is tense. So are his fists. And the warmth in his brown eyes. It’s non-existent.

  Pushing to my knees, I climb off the floor and stand in front of him. “Talk to me, Canyon.”

  Silence.

  I walk over and shove him in the chest. Over and over and over. He doesn’t fight me. In fact, he barely moves.

  “If you don’t tell me something, anything, I’m walking out the door and I’m not coming back,” I threaten. I’m a liar. And he knows it. I would come back. I’d come back because I couldn’t stand to be without him. Tears prick the back of my eyes and I don’t even try to keep them. For once, I want him to see me cry. I want him to see how much he’s hurting me.

  “You lied to me.” My voice breaks with the words. “You’re lying right now. We made a pact. You promised you’d always be honest. No bullshit.” I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head. “What’s so important that you had to hide it from me? I’ve told you everything. Things I’ve never told Parker or Whitney because you’ve seen a part of me neither of them has.”

  “I have told you everything, Elle.” His voice takes me off guard. He’s finally speaking. But it’s loud. Hostile. “Everything I’ve told you from the second we met was true. So don’t stand there and say otherwise. And as far as you telling me everything, it wasn’t right off the bat. You took your time opening up and I let you. I was patient because I cared enough to let you be.” He walks around me to the closet door and slams his fist against it so hard, I’m surprised when there’s not a hole in it.

  “I wanted to tell you, Elle. I still do.” He drops his head against the doorframe, his fist still plastered to the wood. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

  I swallow a fist sized lump of sadness in my throat, but wish I would have kept it there to stop me from saying what I say next. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still going to lose me if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  My words linger in the air. Thick and suffocating. You’re going to lose me.

  He turns around slowly and it’s like dying in slow motion. The look on his face rips me apart with insufficient fingers.

  “Elaine?”

  The door opens and Whitney pokes her head inside. When she sees that I’m crying, her eyes go wide. And then glares at Canyon.

  “What did you do?” She questions, storming across the room to my side.

  “Whitney, stop. It’s okay.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re up here bawling your eyes out and Canyon looks guilty as fuck.” She turns back to him. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Canyon still isn’t talking and I’m at the end of my rope. If he isn’t going to talk, fine. All that matters is that he lied. That’s enough reason for me to be angry. Enough reason for me to walk away.

  “You have five seconds.” I start, my eyes pleading with his. “To tell me the truth. Otherwise I’m walking out the door.”

  He opens his mouth and I hang on to the hope that he’s actually going to say something. He lets me down. I hate him.

  Whitney starts to drag me away but I jerk out of her grasp and walk over to Canyon. “Look at me.” I say firmly. He does. He looks at me. He sees me. I hate that he sees me. “You saved me, Canyon. A year ago today you saved my life and told me it was worth living.” His eyes are filled with tears but he holds them back. “But now you’re the one killing me. You mended my heart and ripped it out.” I shake my head and walk to the door where Whitney is waiting for me. I keep my back to him when I say, “You were the one to save me, Canyon. Just to take it all away.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I can’t stop thinking about the night Canyon and I broke up. It keeps cycling in my head. I hated that night. But I hate this one worse. I almost wish I could have the lie back because the truth isn’t what I thought I would be. It’s worse. Canyon is sick, and I still don’t know why. From what his dad said, it’s been a lifelong issue, but that doesn’t clear up my confusion. It doesn’t tell me if he’s going to be okay. If he’ll live or die. I curl onto my side and bury my face in the pillow. Since I left the studio I’ve been in my room. Crying. Thinking. Crying some more. I feel like I’m drowning in tears and thoughts. I want to shut them off but I can’t. I cry until I fall asleep. And then I dream about the night a boy broke my heart.

  “Canyon’s what?”

  Whitney is staring at me with wide eyes, mouth agape, burger lifted midair. We’re sitting in a booth at Alden Dairy Bar where I suggested we get dinner. Actually, I told her we need to talk. The food was just an added bonus. But now that I’m looking at the greasy burger and chili cheese fries, I’m starting to feel queasy.

  “He’s dying.” I repeat softly, but I can barely get the words out this time. It’s hard enough to think them. But saying them…

  “Elaine…I’m so lost. He’s dying? How do you know? What’s wrong with him?”

  She’s confused and for good reason. I’m throwing all of this out her without any real explanation but the problem is I don’t even know all the answers myself.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense.”

  “You’re making sense Elaine. I’m just confused how you know this. Did he tell you?”

  I shake my head, staring at the table. “No. Not technically. I overheard him and his dad in the studio. His dad was yelling at him about not going to his doctor appointment or taking his medication. I never knew he was on medication. I never knew he was sick. He said Canyon’s been going to the doctor since he was born. This isn’t something new. I think this is what he was keeping from me all this time.”

  Whitney drops her burger, wearing an expression of pure shock. “Oh, my God. Elaine. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe…” She trails off, at a loss for words. “He’s really dying?”

  I shut my eyes and nod my head. Tears drip onto my hands, falling at an impossibly fast rate. It’s a wonder I’m still able to cry. I haven’t stopped crying since I found out, but every morning I wake up with old tears and every night I cry new ones.

  We sit in silence for a long time. Whitney finally moves over to sit beside me, letting me cry on her shoulder, not saying anything but her silence says everything. When I’ve sobered up as much as I can, I wipe my eyes with a napkin and inhale.

  “Sorry. This was probably the worst place to have this conversation. I needed to get out of the house and food sounded good, but now I just feel sick and I’m pretty sure the waitress thinks I’m crying because I ordered all this food and now I can’t eat it.” I let out a shaky breath. “I probably look like a lunatic.”

  “You don’t look like a lunatic, Elaine. I don’t think anyone’s even paying attention.” She leans back in the seat, looping her arm around mine. Then she sighs. “I don’t know what to say. I wish I could make you feel better,
but I don’t think I can. I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that Canyon’s been hiding this from you. I mean, I get it. He didn’t want to hurt you, but this isn’t the type of thing you hide from someone.”

  “I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. Yeah, it’s devastating but we could’ve worked through this. There’s nothing in the world that would’ve made me not to be with Canyon. Why would he think otherwise?”

  “I don’t know.” She says. “But admitting that you’re sick isn’t an easy thing. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to tell someone you’re dying. Especially someone he loves as much as you. If you think about it, not telling you was probably just as heartbreaking as telling you. And I’m not justifying his actions, but I think he wanted to protect you.”

  “By breaking my heart?”

  She nods, giving my arm a squeeze. “It was going to break either way. He just did it the easiest way he could.”

  A week drags past and I don’t hear a word from Canyon. Not that I’m expecting to. He didn’t have the guts to explain things to me the first time and I’m certainly not expecting it now. I’ve barely left my room unless it’s to shower or get a drink or reassure Parker that I’m alive. He’s tried talking to me but I told him I’m fine and I’ll talk when I’m ready. If I’m ever ready. A few days ago it struck me that Parker might know something about Canyon’s sickness but as much as I want to know, I also kind of don’t. I’m scared of what he might tell me. That it’s bad. Fatal. That Canyon might die. I don’t want to face the truth again so I hide in my room. Under the covers where everyone knows bad things can’t touch you. But they do. They touch me every second of every day. Finally I can’t take it anymore. It’s 10:00 on a Thursday night when I climb out of bed. I throw on a t-shirt and shorts, then jump in mom’s car and drive the six miles to Canyon’s apartment. When I get to the parking lot I almost turn around and go back home. I walk away from the door three times before finally working up the nerve to knock. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I should be angry. I am angry. I’m a lot of things right now.

  The sound of the door unlocking draws me out of my thoughts. It slowly cracks open and he’s standing there, looking at me with sleepy brown eyes. I try not to stare when I notice he’s shirtless but my eyes are too accustomed to staring which makes it hard not to. I avert my gaze off his abs and back to his face. He’s gripping the doorframe above his head, no longer a trace of sleep left in his eyes.

  I knew this was a bad idea. I can’t focus around him and when he’s not wearing a shirt… I need to get out of here. I start to turn but stop myself halfway. As much as I want to leave and pretend this isn’t happening, I can’t. I want answers. Need answers. I need to do this.

  “We need to talk.” I tell him, working to keep my voice steady. Stern. I don’t want him thinking that by coming here I’ve forgiven him. That all depends on how tonight goes.

  He drops his hand from the door and rakes it through his hair. Our eyes meet and for a second, I’m not sure he’s going to invite me in. But then he opens the door wider and I step inside, my heart picking up speed when it shuts behind me. I turn around and he’s leaning against the door. His eyes look black and sad and defeated. His eyes cut right through me.

  “I hate you.” I whisper and its truest thing I’ve ever said. It’s also the most false.

  His face is heavy with every ounce of pain I’m feeling. “I know.” He says, and I can’t help but break. Tears stream down my cheeks and he just watches me.

  “You hurt me.” My voice is barely above a whisper but I know he hears me as clear as if I were screaming them. “Not just then, but now. You let me walk away without any explanation.” I shake my head. “Why do you keep letting me walk away?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Just continues staring.

  So still that he looks like a statue, face chiseled with immeasurable amounts of sorrow.

  “Are you sick?” I choke out. I need to know for sure. I need to hear it from him.

  He cradles the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s not cancer, if that’s what you mean.”

  I shake my head, irritated. “Don’t walk in circles with me Canyon. All I need is a yes or no.”

  He frowns. “Yes.”

  My heart throbs.

  “Are you dying?”

  He swallows, jaw tense.

  I look up at the ceiling, wishing these damn tears would stop falling. Then I look back at him. “Are you dying?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Fuck. Yes!” He shouts angrily but I know he’s anger isn’t directed at me. It’s at this completely screwed up situation. “Yes, I’m sick. And the odds aren’t looking too good for me right now.”

  The most god-awful sound escapes my throat. My throat is tight and my eyes sting. It takes me a minute until I’m able to speak again. “Why didn’t you tell me? That night in your room, why didn’t you just tell me what was going on?”

  “Because it’s not exactly easy to tell the person you love most in this world that might be dying.”

  “But it was easy to keep something like that a secret from me and then rip my heart out of my chest?” I shout. “You’re acting like you did me some favor by letting me walk away and not telling me. But what you really did was steal two years of my life, Canyon. You took away every single ounce of happiness I found after the wreck with Parker and made me into that same desolate, broken girl you first met.”

  His face morphs with regret so clear and sharp, it takes my breath away. “Not telling you wasn’t easy, Elle, and when I ripped your heart out, I took mine with it. I know it was my fault, but I lost you, too. So don’t stand there and act like these last two years were a fucking cake walk for me because this killed me the same way it did you. I’ve hurt every day since you left, but what makes it worse is that I had to live with knowing I was the reason you were gone.”

  I continue to stand there, crying. Every part of me aching.

  “I screwed up, Elle. I’m not saying what I did was right but it was the best way for me to handle it at the time. We were both young. I wanted you to go out and live your life without feeling tied down to me. I was never a guarantee and you deserved someone that could take care of you. Not the other way around.”

  He takes a step toward me and captures my face between his hands. I want to pull him closer and push him away. Instead I don’t do either.

  “I’m sorry, Elle.” He breathes, voice weak, the heat of his breath drying the tears to my face. His thumbs sweep under my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ll never be able to tell you that enough.”

  I’m shaking.

  More tears.

  And even though there’s so much left unsaid, I already know I forgive him.

  How could I not?

  He’s dying.

  And for some reason that expunges everything else. The past. The pain. The lie.

  “Can we sit down?” I ask softly.

  He nods and takes my hand, leading me to the couch. He takes a seat but when I try to sit beside him, he guides me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me in a way that makes it impossible to fight.

  “Canyon?” I lift my eyes. “Can you please tell me what’s going on? I feel like I’m going crazy not knowing.”

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  “It would be nice to know exactly what’s wrong. Why are you sick?”

  He’s quiet for a long second, finger tracing lazy patterns across my hand.

  “It’s my heart.” He finally says. “I have a congenital heart defect, which means I’ve had problems with my heart since I was born.”

  “So you’ve known about this your entire life.” It’s not a question. Just me trying to wrap my head around it.

  He nods. “It wasn’t anything to be worried about at the time. My parents took me in for frequent doctor visits. I didn’t have any serious problems until I was ten. That’s when it started getting bad. I had
to be put on medication and started seeing a doctor regularly every few months. After getting on the medication I was fine but when I started my sophomore year, I had a huge scare. My doctor told me my heart was having a hard time pumping oxygen to my lungs. He prescribed more medicine and told me that if things didn’t improve, I might need a transplant. That was really hard for me to hear, thinking that my heart could give out at any moment. Transplants aren’t easy to come by, which meant if I had ended up needing one, there was a good chance I was going to die if a donor wasn’t available.”

  He looks at me. “Remember the night on the cliff, when I told you I’d planned on committing suicide?”

  I nod. I’d only asked him about it once before. He’d given me such a vague answer and I didn’t question it because I didn’t want to push him. He told me life was hard and I understood that. Better than I understood anything. It justified his reason enough that I didn’t need to know all the details. Now it made sense.

  “I tried a few months after I found out about the potential transplant,” he explains. He drops his head against the back of the couch, working his jaw. “I was scared. Of dying. Of living with a condition that controlled my life. Dying seemed like the easy out. It took me an hour of standing on a bridge in the 20 degree weather to realize that I was too big of a coward to kill myself. But it made me realize that I was still clinging to something. That there was something worth living for, even though at the time I didn’t know what it was.”

  “So does that mean you never got the transplant?”

  He shakes his head. “The doctor said the medication was helping. Everything was good.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I ask, still confused. He’s alive. He didn’t need the transplant. What else could be wrong?

  “A few weeks after you left for college, I started having some issues. Pretty much the same ones I had before, only worse. I started seeing the doctor again but he told me I was most likely going to need a transplant. I was put on the transplant list at the beginning of this year but we haven’t found a donor.”