Page 24 of His Heart

8

Sebastian

October. Age twenty.

The leaves crunchedbeneath my feet, the crisp fall air refreshing. I’d had to spend a few days in the hospital—again—so it was good to be outside. Students walked past, hoisting heavy backpacks over their shoulders, making their way to classes, or their dorms, or jobs. I just put one foot in front of the other, keeping my pace measured so I didn’t tire too quickly.

I’d made it through my freshman year at U of I, and my grades had been decent. Considering I’d missed a lot of school due to a hospital stay in the spring, I was proud of how well I’d done. Proud I’d managed to finish the year at all.

Summer had been spent at home, trying not to go crazy with boredom. My dad owned several car dealerships, and I’d always worked summers there. This year, I’d barely been able to handle part-time hours.

I hadn’t seen my friends very often, either. They’d all been busy doing their own thing, and I hadn’t hung out with them in months anyway. Cami had been back in Waverly for the summer too, so we’d spent a lot of weekends together—mostly at my parents’ place because I still didn’t have a lot of energy.

Once again, my parents had tried to talk me out of going back to school in the fall. The doctors had put me on immunosuppressant drugs, hoping that would calm the inflammation in my heart tissue. It made me more susceptible to getting sick, and when I did get sick, it was hard to get better, hence a few hospital stays over the last year. It was a bitch, knowing that if I got a cold, I’d probably wind up with pneumonia.

But I’d been determined to go back to school. Cami would be there, and I’d hated the idea of living two hours away from her. It had been hard enough to keep our relationship going since I’d been sick. I hadn’t wanted to put any more obstacles in our path.

Plus, if I quit school and moved home, my illness would win. That wasn’t going to happen.

Charlie and I lived in a rental house his grandparents owned, not far from campus. I think having Charlie around had helped my parents feel better about me going back to school. My mom thought I didn’t know, but she texted Charlie a few times a week to ask how I was doing. I pretended like I didn’t notice.

The new semester was kicking my ass, though. My classes were tough. I’d missed a test last week when I’d been hospitalized, and I was scrambling to make up all the work. Thankfully today was Friday, so I’d have the weekend to recuperate and hopefully get caught up.

The walk from the bus stop to my place wasn’t long, but I was winded by the time I got there. I was used to it, now. It had been twenty months since my heart had failed. I’d lost more weight and my energy level was still low—partly because of the medications I took, and partly because my heart was weakening.

I knew that was the truth of it. My parents, Charlie, Cami… they all tried to stay optimistic. They blamed my fatigue on the pills I took, not on the heart that didn’t seem to want to heal. But I knew. I wasn’t sure what it was going to mean long term, but it was clear to me that I should have been getting better. And the fact that I wasn’t was a problem.

For now, I’d keep doing what I’d been doing. Go to class. Study. Eat well. Take my pills, and all the vitamins and supplements I took to help keep myself as healthy as possible. Rely on my mental strength to get me through the bad days, and hope my heart held out long enough for us to figure out a long-term solution.

A solution that didn’t involve me dying. I wasn’t ready for that.

I got home and put my bag down, glad that I was feeling pretty decent, even after a full day of classes. I was tired, but that was normal. At least I didn’t feel like I needed to go to bed at four in the afternoon. I was taking Cami to dinner later and I didn’t want to cancel on her. I’d been doing that too much, especially lately. She had her friends, and that was good for her, but I wanted to make sure I could still date her properly. She’d stuck by me through everything. The least I could do was take her out—especially tonight. It was our third anniversary.

“You home, Seb?” Charlie called from his bedroom.

“Yeah.”

“You good?” he asked.

Charlie did keep tabs on me, but for the most part, he kept it simple. You good? I was mostly honest with him. If I’d had a shitty day or thought something was wrong, I’d tell him—at least if it seemed serious, like last week when I’d had pneumonia again. But he didn’t treat me like I was weak or fragile, the way so many other people did. I appreciated it.

“Yep, good day,” I said.

I tossed my coat on a chair and went into the kitchen. I wasn’t very hungry, but I thought I should probably eat. I didn’t have much of an appetite most days, but a lack of food would only make me weaker.

Charlie came out in a Hawkeyes wrestling t-shirt and sweats. He looked me up and down, his brow furrowed. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“We should go get pizza or something,” he said. “You need to put some meat back on.”

“I don’t think pizza is going to help.”

“Won’t hurt,” he said.

I rubbed my stomach. My once rock-hard abs were softer now. I exercised a little, but my body couldn’t tolerate much. For a guy who’d been doing sports since he was three, being this out of shape was tremendously shitty. I was already used to following a strict diet for wrestling, and I’d kept up with it so I wouldn’t get both fat and out of shape. But that only went so far.

“You can’t eat that shit, anyway.” I made a show of looking him up and down, as if I’d find a flaw. “You’re looking a little soft around the middle this year, Chuck.”

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