It hurt my heart to realize the pain he was in. I couldn’t see his eyes, but when I called his name, he lowered his hands, finally revealing them. He was a mess.
Seeing him like that, so pale and distressed, brought the tears right back out of me.
He stood and walked to the bed side. Taking the chair next to it, he leaned forward, a slow tear sliding down his cheek. He was trying to stay calm and, luckily, he wasn’t failing at it because I needed it. Like I’d said, he was my support system.
“I can’t believe this,” he murmured. “You. Not you. Why you? Why?” He asked why so many times that night, and I knew he wasn’t just talking to me. He was asking the big man upstairs.
That night, I knew John felt betrayed.
He was hurting. Angry. He didn’t want to accept the truth, so he made sure that as soon as we landed in North Carolina, I went straight into taking OPX treatments. No surgeries could be done without a donated lung and no one wanted to risk wasting one for a girl with a ten percent survival rate.
The disease took a toll on my body. My emotional wellbeing. My mind. My insecurities grew in size. I no longer felt like the free-spirited girl that was marrying the love of her life. I felt trapped in a glass box as many eyes showed sympathy that I didn’t want. Every person that I ever cared for seemed to be pressing or leaning on the glass, wanting to help, wanting to get closer and I always held up my hands to resist them.
I knew that if they kept pressing—kept pushing and closing in and telling me to fight—that the glass would break and I’d be cut and bruised, surrounded by shattered glass and bloody broken hearts.
And with a piece of that broken glass, the thought to use it and slit my own wrists was always at the forefront of my mind. It would make the process faster, easier. I’d do it so they wouldn’t keep waiting around for me to die.
But instead, I clung to what was left of my life.
I stayed alive for John.
For Tessa.
It was for them, because I knew they would never forgive me for giving up—for ending it and not giving them more time to prepare.
I loved them, and if staying alive for now was making them happy then so be it. I’d hang on just to see another smile on their faces. I’d fight just enough.
“I will be here with you,” John whispered during one of the first nights of my treatment, his breath warm as it ran over my ear. He was on the bed with me, my head on his chest and his arms wrapped around me. “I promise you, Shannon, while you fight, I will fight. I will be with you no matter what.”
“Even when I’m walking around looking like Dobby?” The thought of it made my body shudder with the sobs. No matter the situation, no matter how many tears I shed, I had to make the situation light and playful somehow.
He let out a small huff, holding me tighter. “That doesn’t matter to me, baby. None of that has ever mattered to me. You’re a beautiful woman inside and out.” He lifted my head, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I will never give up on you. You hear me?” His voice was stern, causing a tug in my chest. It was a good feeling. Hard to describe, but good.
“You won’t be fighting alone. You don’t have to pretend this isn’t happening. You don’t have to joke about it or even take this situation lightly. I know you’re scared. I know you’re hurting. You can cry with me. You can be angry, and if you need to lash out, do so with me. I’m angry too but we’re here together through thick and thin, for better or for worse. Always and forever.” He lowered his head, pressing his lips to mine, causing the furnace in my belly to blaze.
“Always and forever,” he whispered.
“Until the last breath,” I murmured.
He kissed the top of my head and sighed as he hugged me, but my smile had faded, and my face had stiffened as I remembered the last person who’d used the words I’d just used.
Max.
By this point, he knew I was sick, but he didn’t know where I was and had no clue that I’d progressed to such a horrible stage in such a short amount of time. I was losing this battle and he had no idea.
I told him white lies, like how the OPX was working—because at one point it was working, and I was beginning to feel so much better—but I didn’t tell him that after two months of it I began to feel worse than ever before.