Rachel Dyken: Toxic

I also missed Princess.

I didn’t want my choosing Princess to make it so that Saylor left me. How selfish could I be? I wanted both? Did I even deserve both? I knew I didn’t, but that didn’t make me want her any less. It didn’t make the cravings for her kiss, for her touch, go away.

“Damn.” I wiped my face again, stripped off my soaked clothes, and jumped into the shower. I’d only gotten six hours of sleep, but at least I’d slept.

Today was the day I had to decide whether or not to call hospice, and I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do.

After my shower, I walked numbly across the cold slate floors that led into the kitchen.

The sun was just starting to peek over the city.

It was beautiful — I wished Saylor could be there to watch the sunrise with me. I wished so badly that I was whole for her.

Just as I was getting ready to turn on the coffee pot, the doorbell rang. Curious, I walked over and prepared myself for some low-life reporter who’d somehow discovered my secret house.

I opened the door.

It wasn’t a reporter.

Saylor stood smiling at me. And Princess was with her, all cuddled up in her chair with blankets spread over her, an oxygen mask on her face.

A pretty woman in scrubs stood behind Princess, beaming.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, after finally discovering my voice again.

“I came here to bring Princess home.” Saylor smiled.

“Home!” Princess shouted then started coughing. “Ashton, it’s my home. From the picture!” She coughed some more as her chest rattled.

I knelt down on to meet her face to face. “Do you like it?”

She nodded. “Because you know why?”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s a castle,” she whispered.

“Fit for a princess.” Saylor finished.

I couldn’t talk even if I wanted to. Without saying anything else, I opened the door wider and helped them pull the chair into the living room.

“The doctor’s okay with this?” I asked.

“Well…” Saylor chewed her lower lip. “Let’s just say Wes had to do his fair share of throwing his weight around and even then the only way they’d release her was if your signature was on the paperwork.”

“So?” I crossed my arms. “How’d you do that?”

“Martha signed.” Saylor cracked a smile. “She’s pretty good at doing your signature too by the way. Oh, and she said if you fire her she’ll hunt you down.”

“Ha.” I wiped my face with my hands. “She’s the best head nurse we have. I’d never fire her.”

“Good.” Saylor’s smile was wide and happy.

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

A throat cleared. I glanced to the right. The nurse was folding her arms over her chest, looking between the two of us with interest.

“Oh, and I almost forgot! This is the nurse who’s going to be taking care of Princess, and even if you call hospice she won’t leave.”

The nurse tilted her head and held out her hand. “I’m Tara.”

Saylor went and stood next to the lady then wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “Gabe, meet my mom.”

Stunned, I could only stare and then hold out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

She nodded and politely took my hand. “Where would you like me to put Princess?”

“Ahh…” I sighed and looked around the house, momentarily confused as to which direction to take them. “Guest rooms are down here, let’s go.”

It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I realized Princess hadn’t called me Parker — Ashton. She called me Ashton.

How was it possible for a heart to be so full of dread and excitement at the same time?

I paused in the hallway.

“Gabe?” Saylor turned. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Sorry.”

Watching someone you love… die? There are no words for how broken that makes a person. It’s like waking up from a bad dream only to find out that it’s you reality, it’s like watching sunlight fade from the sky, like watching death suck the one you love dry, and being powerless to stop it. You may as well try to stop the waves from rolling in, or the sun from rising. In the end, the waves will roll, the sun will set, and death will come. The only thing you have a choice in? How you deal with it…when it does. —Wes M.

Saylor

Two days later, I was sitting next to Gabe while he read to Princess. She was still failing so he’d called hospice in. One of the nurses from the main hospice team came a few times a day to check on things, but since my mom was constantly around they didn’t stay. It wasn’t normal for hospice to approve of something like this, but in the end, it was about the patient. And Gabe was high profile so they didn’t mind. Besides, my mom wasn’t just any nurse. She was amazing, the best at what she did.

Eric called at least thirty times a day — he was staying with his best friend and thought it was the coolest thing in the world that he could spend the night on school nights for the entire week.

And I was stressed.

Not because of the situation.

But because I couldn’t focus on anything, not even my music. It was like, the passion that had once been there, the passion that Gabe had introduced me to, had been sucked dry. I literally had nothing to offer, nothing to give.

That evening, I walked into the piano room — the one littered with pictures of Gabe and Kimmy — and sat at the piano.

My fingertips grazed a few of the notes, but nothing. I felt nothing.

“Sometimes,” Gabe’s voice said from behind me. “It’s not passion that brings forth the music, but desperation.”

“I feel desperate,” I whimpered. “I also feel a bit lost.”

“Hmm.” His hands moved to my shoulders. “Play it out.”

“I can’t even find the beginning, let alone the ending, Gabe.”

“So?” He pushed down on my shoulders. “There’s gotta be a middle in there somewhere. Find that.”

I slammed my hands down onto the piano.

“Good,” he encouraged.

I slammed them again.

“Better.”

I lifted my hands to slam them a third time, then cracked as my hands fell gracefully across the keys, playing a song I didn’t even remember practicing.

My hands flew across the piano as I played.

Body overheated, sweat started to pool at my temples, threatening to drip down my face.

By the time I was finished, my chest was heaving, like I’d just run for hours without stopping.

“Beautiful.” Gabe took a seat on the bench and faced me. “Thank you, for what you did, for what you’re still doing.”

I looked away. “I feel helpless.”

“Don’t we all?” He sighed. “Sometimes, there’s really nothing to do but sit and stare at a wall… and wait for the inevitable.”

“Stupid wall,” I grumbled.

Gabe cracked a smile. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. I wasn’t avoiding him, but I was giving him space. Allowing him time to grieve, allowing him moments with her.

“I need you,” he whispered. “Even when I’m with her, my thoughts are with you, my heart was never fully given back to me, but the pieces I still had, were stolen the minute I kissed you. The minute our lips met. So don’t for a second think I don’t need you. Don’t think I don’t want you. Because I do. I. Need. You.” His mouth met mine, gently at first, and then with more urgency as his hands dug into my hair and tugged. “So beautiful.”

“I think I love you,” I blurted. “I’m so sorry.” I collapsed against his chest. “I’m so sorry I love you. I’m sorry.” I trembled. “I can’t help it.”