Life, Interrupted

Roxanne’s eyes were open too, staring back at me, brimming over with lust. And maybe, just maybe, something more.

It was then that I remembered what it felt like to be alive.

It was also then that I remembered that I was in my apartment, in Jersey, making out with a girl who I found about to get. . . well, shall we say, “creeped-on” by some homeless creeper. I knew I’d been forgetting something.

My eyes drifted shut again, so close to letting the lust overtake my usually-rational mind, but, unfortunately, I knew better.

I sighed, opening my eyes again, to see her’s closed under slightly scrunched-up eyebrows. So we’re on the same page, I thought. But we’d reached the bottom of our imaginary page, and we had to turn to the next one. And apparently, that next page is the one on which Roxanne starts crying. Shit.

Roxanne’s POV

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks, which of course only made me feel worse. Here I was, making out with this beautiful stranger, who, miraculously, seemed to think that I was at least somewhat beautiful as well. Or he just wanted to have sex with me. But it didn’t matter; here was someone who, for whatever reason, seemed to want me, and here I was, crying over something I couldn’t change and what that meant I’d never have. Oh, sure, as they unwillingly told me, it’s not impossible to recover at this stage; it’s just astronomically improbable. Leading to my confident use of the word “never.”

To my dismay, a low sob escaped my now-somber lips.

“Aw. . . Shit, sorry. . .” Gerard told me, obviously feeling horrible over something. “I know we just met and all. . . God, I’m such an asshole,” he muttered, quickly leaning back, getting up, and starting to walk away.

I couldn’t have that. “No!” I sniffed. “It’s not you. . . it’s not your fault, I’m just, like. . . really fucked up right now, to put it gently.”

“Yeah?” he asked gently. “Why? What’s going on? If you don’t mind me asking of course. . . I mean you really don’t even know me. . .” he started rambling.

“No! I mean, no, I actually do want to talk to someone,” I confessed. I hated showing weakness. But this man doesn’t know how strong I really am, so nothing I do with him can make me look comparatively weak. I’ve got nothing to lose.

“Okay.” He was cautious, now that he could see how much this upset me.

“Okay. Well, um. . . it’s kind of a really long story, ‘cause it’s basically my whole life, but the worst part is probably the cancer.” I was determined not to beat around the bush. If it was going to scare him off, it might as well happen before I got too attached.

He didn’t say anything.

“Small-cell lung cancer, to be precise, but whatever. . .” I muttered. It amazed even me how little I seemed to care.

Gerard snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in. “Oh,” he said softly.

That was it. Not ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible, you know, I had an uncle who had pancreatic cancer, blah blah blah.’ Because while sympathy is nice, knowing someone who was dying was different than doing it yourself. I found myself grateful for his lack of empathy.

“How long?”

It was impossible to not know what he meant. “You can never be sure. It could be a year. It could be four months,” I stated.

Gerard nodded, never taking his brown-flecked eyes off of me. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, and shut it again.

“What?” I asked.

“I. . .” His lower lip was between his teeth again. “I. . . don’t want to say I know how you feel, because I don’t, and I probably never truly will; but know that I at least have some idea,” he finally said.

I was suspicious now. “What do you mean?” I pressed.

The boy’s eyebrows were furrowed now as he backed up and collapsed down into an old kitchen chair that had been moved to sit at my impromptu bedside. His gem-shards gaze was fixed on his denim-clad lap. “Well,” he said, after what felt like a lifetime or two. “I don’t plan on bein’ around for more than a year or so more either,” He admitted.

I couldn’t believe this. And to think he’d once seemed nice. “Yeah, because I totally have my tragic, disease-induced death all planned out. I can’t wait!” My sarcasm was a razor to his fragile discretion.

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all! I just meant, like—” he was pleading, when I cut him off.

“And what, you do have it planned? What the fuck?!” I was seriously pissed off now. I pushed myself up from my horizontal position on the couch, bracing myself with my hands as I glared at him.

He was biting his lip again. And still looking down. I came to a realization; his position was that of someone ashamed, something so rare in our society these days that at first I hadn’t even recognized it. Wait, if he was ashamed of it, then it must be. . . “Fuck.” I didn’t realize I had said that last part aloud.

Gerard’s now shining eyes flashed up to mine again. His eyebrows were again drawn together slightly, as he silently plead with me not to judge him. He knew I’d figured it out. His eyes weren’t just shining now; they were glistening with moisture. But I was too caught up in my realization to notice right away.

“Just. . . why?” was all I could get out.

He was looking down at his lap yet again. I just barely stopped myself before wondering what was down there that could be so interesting.

So absorbed in controlling my wayward thoughts was I that I didn’t pick up on his change of emotion until a drop of liquid fell down, leaving a small, darkened circle on the black denim of his pants.

Oh, I thought. Tears. Gerard’s crying.

He sniffed a little, and I realized how ridiculously harsh I was being. I may have been dying, but he actually wanted to die. That had to suck.

I pushed myself out of the worn couch cushions, taking the single step towards his chair without thinking. It was in the same manner that, without my consent, my hands went down, gently cupping his face between them, and tilting it up so I could see his expression.

Our eyes met again, and the look I saw in his hit my heart with an excruciating force; I didn’t doubt that the impact made cracks there. It was like that of someone looking out from a tomb, yearning desperately, yet agonizingly unable to join the world of the living once more.

“Gee,” I whispered.

Another tear streaked down his cheek as he stood up and wrapped his lean, strong arms around me. He buried his face in my hair as he clung to me desperately. I couldn’t resist returning the gesture, and gently rubbed small circles in his back as I hid my face in his chest, feeling my own tears slide down my cheeks.

“Oh, God, Roxy,” he murmured against my hair.

I agreed. We were doomed, broken, and hurting, but for now, at least, we were no longer alone.