“I don’t want to hurt you.” I can’t cope with the thought of it. “I can’t, Emmy.”
“I’m made of strong stuff,” she murmurs. “I’m strong enough to carry this with you, Ben. You don’t have to be alone. And I don’t believe that you want to be.”
No, I don’t want to be.
Nobody wants to walk toward death alone.
“Em.” I choke out her name as her arms wrap around me, strong and solid and sure. My arm wraps around her back as I bury my face in her neck, my body shaking.
“I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in fourteen months, I let myself cry. I let it all out, and Emmy takes every piece of my pain, holding it gently.
I should walk away.
But I’m not strong enough to do it twice.
And I’m not sure that there was ever a world in which I’d be strong enough to walk away from Emmy Marsters.
We end up moving from the couch into her bedroom, curling up under her bed covers and blocking the rest of the world out. Emmy’s back presses against my chest as I hold her. She turns until we’re facing each other, our noses almost brushing.
I repeat my thought from the first night we met. “Where did you come from?”
Her smile is impossibly sad. Impossibly beautiful, as I lean forward to kiss the corners of it. “I wish I’d met you sooner.”
I hold back my own words.
I wish I’d never met you at all.
If I hadn’t met her, I wouldn’t hurt her.
“You need to know what you’re signing up for,” I say roughly. “All of it, Em. Before you decide.”
“I’ve already decided.” Her lips brush mine, and I taste her tears. “But we should speak to your doctor anyway.”
I wince, and she scowls at me. “You haven’t spoken to them.”
“No,” I admit. “But… the pain is getting worse.”
It’s easier to admit that to her now. She sucks in a breath. “Then we’ll make an appointment. We’ll make a plan, Ben.”
A plan for my death.
15
Emmy
Doctors.
Discussions.
Forms.
Medication.
Pain. So much pain.
So much pain I wonder how we both don’t drown in it.
