Page 34 of Ms. Lead

“Oliver, why are you so upset?” She lays a hand gently on my back, and it feels like a branding iron searing through my flesh. Every sensation is overloading; sight, sound, touch, and emotion. Especially emotion. I flinch away from her without even thinking, anxious to get out of her reach. “What did I—”

Something inside me breaks under this constant pressure. The stoicism and restraint I have maintained for the past year come apart.

I whirl on her, forcing her to take a step away from me.

“I have MS. Multiple Sclerosis, alright?” I snap. The bitter words pour out of me without thought, and they come out with all the rage and hurt accompanying them. These feelings have been bottled up and fermenting for a year, and their taste is like acid in my mouth as I spat them out. “I will not be having children. Regardless of how ‘good I am with them,’ or how much I would ever want them. That no longer matters.” I take a step toward her, and she shrinks from me and my jagged words, her eyes wide, and I hate that too. I hate myself for doing this. For doing this to her. “I will not be having relationships either. But I’ve already told you that. Regardless of how much I care for someone, I absolutely refuse to be a burden on anyone. I will not drag anybody down with me on this descent into hell that my life has become. Especially someone I love.”

“But—” She stands straighter, setting her shoulders and lifting her chin to face me, but I’m not done. She needs to understand how genuinely hopeless this all is.

“Do you see this, Bianca?” I point to the scrapes still marring my forehead, but I don’t wait for a response. I see her gaze flash briefly up, then back to my eyes. I at least have her full attention. “This is fucking nothing. This is just from my lower leg and foot growing heavy while walking on a flat god-damned surface. That was days ago, and I still can’t feel the front of my calf, even after being pumped full of steroids. Did you know that before I even came here, I ended up in hospital with a sprained ankle and was laid up for weeks after missing one step in front of my flat? One step. Imagine what would happen if I missed two or three.”

“Oliver—”

“I’m not done.” Her mouth clamps shut, but she defiantly crosses her arms over her chest. “I already know what you’re going to say because I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard it from my doctors, agent, and family, but you know what? None of you are me. None of you know what this is like for me. You don’t have the slightest clue what I’m losing day by day of myself. And what I’ve already lost because I choose, now hear that word clearly, I choose to go this alone without burdening a single soul but my own. You can’t possibly know what this is like. So would you please, I beg you, please stop talking about children?”

I’m shaking. My hands are in my hair, grabbing it in fistfuls, and I tilt slightly with dizziness. Suddenly, I feel weak all over, as if releasing these pent-up emotions has left me physically empty.

Bianca moves quickly to guide me to sit on the edge of the bed, and the next thing I know, my head is on her shoulder, and I’m wrapped in her arms. Her fingers slowly comb through my hair as she kisses my forehead gently.

She doesn’t say a word and just holds me until the shaking subsides, and my breathing returns to normal. The sensation of her arms around me is so soothing it makes me feel even worse for the outburst I just displayed.

She didn’t deserve any of that rage.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it, but I feel completely hollowed out.

Every bit of self-loathing that kept me together has been scattered in my explosion, leaving me bereft. I don’t know what to do with myself now that I’ve exposed my raw nerves to the open air like this.

The pain of what I’ve just done hasn’t even begun, and regret doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling toward Bianca. She should be running away right now, not holding me together. I don’t deserve this kindness. I just exposed to her my darkest side, a side that nobody has seen, not even Darcie, and she’s still here.

I sit up and look at her, trying to read what she might feel after all this. Surprisingly, I don’t see judgment, anger, or any negative emotion I thought I would find. What I do see is hurt. A lot of hurt. Of course, I’ve hurt her. How could any of that not?

Wasn’t that oddly my goal? To hurt and push her away? I’ve got the inflicting pain part down pat, but why on earth isn’t she running away?

Chapter Twenty

BIANCA

THE WAY DOWN

There it is. The reason why Oliver has been so hard to read this whole time. Multiple Sclerosis? I don’t know a damned thing about it, but I sure as hell am going to learn everything I can. I don’t think it’s a fatal disease, but I know absolutely nothing about it.

What I do know is that Oliver is in pain, and I will do whatever it takes to help him through it. Yes, his words hurt me, but I will survive. I need to make sure he does too.

My heart is breaking for this man, looking at me as if he is so lost he’ll never find his way again. He must be dealing with so much and doing so on his own. It’s not fair. Nobody should have to go through something like this alone.

Yes, he says he chose this path, but it’s got to be out of some sort of self-punishment, not out of reason. And as I think about it, it’s a very self-centered thing to do.

“Well, I think you’re being pretty god-damned selfish about the whole thing.” I let go of him and stand up, my bare feet moving soundlessly as I start to pace.

His head jerks up at me, shocked.

“Excuse me?” He’s incredulous that I would take this sort of stance with him. I admit I’m a little surprised myself.

I stop in front of him, hands on my hips.

“You say you chose to face this alone, but do you know what that does?”

He shakes his head, dumbfounded.

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