Page 96 of Misery and Ecstasy

It’s not a word I’ve heard before.

But it’s one that will define my life as I know it.

Draven and I don’t speak again until it’s time for my MRI. It’s as though we both needed to let the information sink in. But the moment the x-ray tech tells me it’s time to go, I find my voice again.

“Can he come with me?” I motion to Draven. “I can’t do this on my own.”

I don’t catch the truth before it leaves me. It’s a trace of the fear I feel, unintentionally slipping from my lips.

“Yes, of course. He can’t be in the room while the test is in progress, but there is an adjacent room he can wait in so he’s still close by.”

I look at Draven, finally, and he looks like he’s about to tell the tech he’ll go wherever I do regardless of what the rules are.

* * *

I’m finished with my MRI and back in my room within the hour.

During the two hours that have passed since then, Draven and I haven’t said much to one another. He behaved himself by listening to the tech the entire time we were downstairs. I wonder how many coffees and pieces of gum he went through. I half expected to see him in there when they pulled me out of the machine, but he’d lost a little of his bad boy,I do what I wantedge by the time I was finished.

It’s probably due to the internal fight I’m guessing he’s having with himself. Since Dr. Reeves gave me the news, there’s a quiet fury and dread emanating from him. I doubt he’d ever admit it to me, but I can see it in his eyes. They glow with determined light that’s rimmed in a darkness swirling with pain, worry, and regret.

I know he feels partly responsible for not insisting I go see my doctor sooner—or for not throwing me into his car and taking me there himself. But it wasn’t his duty to get me there.

Even weeks ago, the tumor would have been present. If we’d gone then, I don’t know that the outcome would have been any different.

I had a lot of time to think while I was stuck in that noisy fucking tube. We can’t go back and change anything we did or didn’t do in the past. I don’t know what the next days, weeks, months, or years will look like for me. But I’m going to do whatever it takes to fight this fucker.

There are teams of people out there dedicated to eradicating diseases just like this one. That has to mean something, right? At the very least, it should mean that there are steps I can take to try to beat this thing.

The first hurdle to get over is wrapping my head around the fact that I’ll need to let these doctors drill into my head to remove it.

Fuck.

That’s … a huge hurdle.

I inhale loudly, catching Draven’s attention.

“Are you okay?” Leaning forward in his chair, he delicately places his hand on my arm.

“Yeah. I just needed to catch my breath. It’s … a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Kins. I know I’ve been quiet. I’m trying so hard to?—”

“Stop.” I’m firm with him, almost to the point of barking at him. “I won’t have you apologizing for anything. None of this, Draven. Nothing about this is your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

“I know that, but I need you to understand something.” He stands before taking a seat on the edge of my hospital bed. Linking his fingers through mine, he brushes my knuckles with his lips. “I’ve gotten used to being able to take people out when they pose a threat to my family… To those I love. I can’t do that this time, and it’s fucking tearing me apart. Knowing that there is not one fucking thing on this earth I can do to make you better is obliterating me.”

It’s the first time he’s outright admitted to having killed someone before. It’s different from the last time we talked about what happened to Delilah’s father and his role in it. But … like then, I’m not shocked to hear it.

If anything, I’m just as fucking pissed about it as he is.

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment. Trust me, if there was something you could do about it, I wouldn’t think twice about letting you.”

Our conversation is cut short by a knock on my door. We look over to see Dr. Reeves walk in with a bleak expression on her face that fills me with a renewed sense of foreboding.

Draven squeezes my hand as we brace ourselves for news that’s worse than being told I have terminal brain cancer.

Not bothering with pleasantries this time, she gets straight to the point. “The MRI results conclude that your tumor is inoperable.”

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