Page 36 of Forbidden Obsessions

“Shall we get started?” he asks, the mood turning somber in the blink of an eye.

“Just tell me, Dr. Roberts.” I brace myself for the worst and hope for the best.

“The lesions are not responding to chemotherapy. They’ve spread throughout the lungs. We anticipate you will need oxygen at best, to be trached and vented at worst. We don’t have to decide now, but we need to start thinking about interventions and power of attorney,” he tells us gently. I wonder if they already knew. What the fuck does it matter?

My mom is the first to speak. “I know what I want to do. I want to stop treatment,” Mom says carefully, but with dignity. I get it. She wants to go out on her own terms. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I was wrong. I can’t handle this,” I mutter, bursting through the hospital door.

There’s no air in my lungs. No strength in my muscles. I’m useless. I’ve failed as a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend—everything. I talk all this bullshit about being strong, hyping myself up, and I can’t be there for people when they need me the most. I didn’t even know my mom had a fucking feeding tube placed.

Mia was right. I talk a big game with all this wise advice about her and Matt and Lex and everyone, but when push comes to shove, I can’t even take care of myself. Tomas was right there the whole goddamn week, and I couldn’t bring myself to call himonce. I never once considered his feelings—how scared he must have been, how sad he was about me declining his proposal, and how sorry he was about my mom. I’m so goddamn selfish.

I feel the panic and darkness threatening to swallow me whole. Just as it does, Tomas walks in and presses himself against me, pulling us both to the ground.

“Are you real or am I dreaming?”

“Real,” he says. I trail my fingers through his beard as proof.

“Why are you here?” He doesn’t have to be here if he doesn’t want to. From the sounds of things before I left, he, in fact, did not want to.

“Because I’m an ass, Olivia,” he declares, “and because your mom is dying.”

“Don’t stay on account of pity, Tomas. If you feel like you’d be better without me, please go,” I tell him earnestly.

“That’s not the problem, Olivia. The problem is, I’m fucked up. I’ve abused my power on multiple occasions. I love you with all of my heart, Olivia, but you have a whole life ahead of you. You deserve someone with a better moral compass than me. You deserve someone your own age.” He takes my hand.

“I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

“Someday you’ll look back and thank me for leaving.”

I pull myself off of Tomas’ lap and stand. My legs wobble, and my stomach is still a bit queasy. All I see is red. Like a petulant child, I hurl a chair toward the yellow wall. Then another. And another. Until Dad emerges with Doctor Roberts in tow. Security trails. Everyone watches with pity. I look around with shame.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say before bolting.

Tomas chases me. “Olivia, wait.” But I don’t want to. I can’t stand to look at the pitying expressions and pinched eyebrows and tears.

“Stop it, Olivia.” Tomas’ demanding voice stops me in my tracks.

“You want the truth, Olivia? Everyone is walking on eggshells around you in order to protect you. You’re barely handling anything. Your mom needs you throughout this. We’re going to get you into therapy, and we’re going to get through this together. I need you to be brave, okay, Olivia?”

I nod. “Good girl,” he says, kissing my cheek.

I realizetogetheris all I need.

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

“Can I come in?” I ask sheepishly.

Mom pats the mattress next to her, ecstatic to see me. That easily, some of my fear, shame, and sorrow dissipate. “I was hoping you’d come back today.” I sit, cozying up to the crook of her arm.

‘‘I’m so sorry, Mom. You deserve a better daughter.” A daughter who can stomach and tackle problems instead of running from them.

“Nonsense. You feel how you feel, and cope however that may be, as long as it isn’t self-destructive.” How she knows exactly what I need to hear, when I need to hear it, is beyond me. Mother’s intuition, I guess.

“Are you sure about stopping treatment, Mom? I don’t know how to live without you. I’m scared. You must be, too.”

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