Page 14 of Enchanted

I watched, numb, as a tall, handsome blond got out of the driver’s seat. I could hear his voice perfectly, but I couldn’t process his words, not when I was too busy focusing on the relief flashing in Ethan’s eyes. How readily he opened his arms for a hug. The tension that leeched out of his muscles as his boyfriend held him close.

Held him in a way I’d never be able to.

He’s happy, I told myself firmly. Ethan is happy, and that’s what I want for him.

Even if it wasn’t with me.

My very soul screamed at me, but I forced myself to turn away from the embracing pair. I’d done the right thing; I knew that.

But flying away from the man destined to be mine but in a relationship with someone else, felt anything but right.

Chapter 4

Ethan

Istill hadn’t worked out how a nosebleed had ended up caking my hair in blood. I’d had to shower twice to get it all out. But after checking myself over, I’d had to accept that that’s all it was.

Either that, or something else had happened and I’d hallucinated the nosebleed. There was an odd…feeling surrounding the memory. Like there was something important I was forgetting. That I needed to remember.

I pushed it to the back of my mind. Chemo fucked with your body in so many ways that I’d long since stopped trying to figure out what was wrong. It was either the chemo or the cancer. And if it actually was being caused by something else, it didn’t really matter.

I was dead either way.

The next few days dragged on as they always did post treatment. With the steroids working their magic, I always felt fairly normal. But it never lasted. Once I stopped taking them, the side effects would sweep in. I could never enjoy the brief, peaceful lull, not knowing the hellscape that was waiting just around the corner.

But this time, it never came.

Every morning after I finished the steroids, I woke up and waited for the nausea. The headaches. The exhaustion. The pain.

But there was…nothing.

Instead, I felt oddly okay. Fine. Better than fine, even. I had more energy than I’d had in years. My appetite had returned with a vengeance. My muscles didn’t protest with every movement. My head didn’t spin if I stood up too fast.

I felt…healthy.

If anything, this caused more anxiety. There was no relief in my lack of symptoms. I’d read about this phenomenon in people who were close to death. They suddenly had a surge of energy, making their loved ones believe the end wasn’t as close as they’d thought. Really, it was just a final hurrah before death swept in. A chance for you to enjoy life one last time, before meeting your eternal end.

Which would explain why I didn’t use any of my newfound energy. No, I spent my days in bed, fucking terrified to move, unable to think about anything other than my impending end.

What if the cancer’s spread faster than they thought?

What if your body can’t cope with the chemo?

What if you don’t have months?

What if it’s weeks?

What if it’s days?

It was stupid. If I did only have days left, was this really how I wanted to be spending them? Alone in bed? With the lights off and the curtains closed?

No. It wasn’t.

But I couldn’t bring myself to get up.

It was like my symptoms had been replaced with this crushing, desolate melancholy. A feeling that I wasn’t where I was meant to be.

Maybe that was what happened when you got closer to death. Like women towards the end of pregnancy, when it’d make them so uncomfortable that they’d start to long for labour instead of fearing it. Perhaps this was nature’s way of helping you accept what was coming.