One Breath

The house was quiet. The low buzz of the television was the main source of sound. The quiz show was entertaining the female seated on the comfortable, squashy sofa. Although, she wasn't as absorbed in the show as she looked. The second the front door clicked open she jumped to her feet and raced into the hall to greet her son's after a lengthy time apart.

Pat was the first inside, breathing in the scent of home. He was quickly engulfed in a hug by his mother, he let her squeeze the air from his lungs, planting a kiss on his cheek. She smiled brightly at him before moving onto Tim. Pat was grateful that their mother directed all her questions at his brother, it allowed him to escape to his bedroom, where he'd finally get the privacy he'd longed for in the months he'd been cooped up in the van.

Leaving his things downstairs, he raced up the carpeted steps two at a time before flinging open his bedroom door. The room smelt fresher than it had when he'd left. A sure sign his mother had been secretly cleaning it in his absence. He looked around to see everything was still in the same place, but his discarded clothes had been neatly folded or objects were positioned on the chest of drawers, rather than carelessly strewn across the floor.

A crisp ivory coloured envelope placed neatly on his pillow caught his eye. Pat raised one eyebrow, closing the door behind him, he walked across to his bed and seated himself on the edge of it, carefully picking up the envelope as if it would break if he snatched it up.

His name was scribbled onto the front of it in blue ink. It was her handwriting. It had her written all over it. If the handwriting hadn't been a giveaway, the blue ink was. Pat knew she hated writing in black ink, claiming it made her scrawl look messy. He didn't understand it himself. It was about the content, not the colour.

Turning the envelope over, he ripped it open, slipping out a neatly folded sheet of paper. He discarded the envelope onto the floor, slowly unfolding the paper. His eyes scanned the page to see a long letter. He noticed something at the bottom of the page. The three 'x's she always ended anything addressed to him with, were smudged. Smudged with water. Water that had possibly leaked from her beautiful eyes.

Taking a deep breath he let his eyes wander back to the top of the page. He began to take in the words, trying to imagine her voice, wanting her to be reading this to him.

Dear Pat,

For once, I'm at a loss for words. I suppose you were expecting something witty, well I'm afraid this is going to be the exact opposite.

I went to see the doctor today. It's not good. She said I've only got a few weeks left, and I'll be lucky if it's any longer. My first instinct is to feel scared. I'm terrified at the thought of dying. I don't want to go and leave you all behind, you especially. I'm angry at myself for getting so close to others, it just makes this that much harder.

I wanted to tell you this myself, before you heard it from someone else. I was going to call you and tell you, but I didn't want to ruin everything for you, and besides I can barely think about it, never mind talk about it. My mum keeps asking me things about my funeral and I don't know what to say to her. So I thought if I can't say it, I'll write it.

I'm handing over a list to you. When I found out I was sick, I composed a list of things I wanted to do, before I went, and I haven't had chance to do it all, so I want you to carry it on for me. But, please, Pat, don't worry if you can't do it. I don't want you to commit your life to the list of a dead girl.

I hope I'm still here when you get back.

I'll love you forever and always, babe.

Erin,
xxx.

A lump had formed in Pat's throat, and guilt was creeping up on him, draping it's cape over his head and suffocating him. He despised himself for being so selfish. Three months ago he'd kissed Erin, given her a hug, told her to look after herself and left. He'd called her almost every day, waiting in queues at payphones when he hadn't managed to get a signal on his phone. Every time she'd tell him she was fine and that it was all okay.

He should've known better. Erin Bellamy was amazing at hiding how she really felt. Plastering on a bright smile to anyone who would give a damn. She rarely opened up and Pat knew that, and he hated himself for leaving when she needed him most.

Swallowing the lump and fighting back the tears he left the letter on his pillow, walking down the stairs and straight out of the front door.

The last of the summer sun was beating down on him as he dragged his heavy feet along the pavement. There was a huge weight on his shoulders, and it seemed to get heavier with each step he took.

Erin's house wasn't too far away and it felt like it had taken him hours to get there. When he finally arrived, he stood on the pavement, looking up at the house. The front window on the second floor held many memories. Mainly ones of Erin climbing out and trying to slide down the drain pipe without her parents knowing.

Pat pushed the creaking gate open and closed it behind him, walking up the path he knocked on the front door. At one time, he'd be standing on the porch, his heart racing, in fear of Erin's father opening up the door. Mr Bellamy was quite a scary man, so when he did open the door with tears escaping his eyes, Pat knew something was happening. Something he hoped would never happen.

Without a word, Mr Bellamy stepped aside and let Pat walk into the hall, slipping his shoes off and turning to the stairs, walking up them two at a time, fighting the weight on his shoulders.

The hall was dark, each bedroom door was closed, cutting off any sources of light. Pat walked towards Erin's bedroom door. He knocked quietly, before opening it slowly and stepping inside.

His eyes immediately locked with Erin's. She was sitting up in bed, looking more fragile than usual. Her bones stuck out at angles, trying to pierce through her thin skin. Her eyes still managed to sparkle with emotion when she saw him, though they were sunken in. Dark circles decorated the skin underneath her eyes and her skin was pale and sickly looking.

"You got my letter," her voice was raspy and weak.

He nodded, closing the door behind him. He walked over to her, not sure what he should say or do. He looked down at his feet, standing before her sitting up in bed.

Erin understood. She knew it was difficult. She was awful to look at and the fact he'd not seen her evolve into the cancerous monster she'd become was probably making this ordeal worse for him. "Sit, it's okay," she said, softly, patting a space on the bed.

He did as she asked and looked at her. Her breathing was uneven, changing pace quite often. The only thing that hadn't changed were those eyes. She was on the brink of death and yet they still held that sparkle. The same sparkle they had when they'd first got together. When no one knew she was sick. Back when things were normal.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I wish I'd been here, for you. I'm so sorry, Erin," he let out a heavy breath.

"Pat, it's fine. You're here now, and that's all I wanted, to see you one last time," she reached for his hand and squeezed it with every ounce of strength she possessed.

"So is this it, then?" He mentally slapped himself for asking such a thoughtless question. It had to be the end. She'd not say what she did if it wasn't.

Erin nodded slowly. "I only want you here, if your okay with that. I know it's difficult. It must be harder for you because you've not seen me change to this," she motioned to her weak and frail body concealed underneath the covers. Pain coursed through every fibre of her body and she closed her eyes, still holding onto Pat's hand. It was happening. Her body was shutting down.

"Erin, babe, please stay with me a little longer," Pat pleaded, softly. Tears were sparkling in his eyes, stinging them.

"Pat, the list, it's beside our picture. All I ask is that you promise to do the last one? I don't care about the others, that's your choice. Promise me now, please." Erin's eyelids were still closed, but her chest was still rising and falling slowly.

"Okay, I promise. Don't leave me just yet." The tears had escaped, it was all too much for him. He wasn't expecting this as a welcome home.

Erin forced her eyelids open and reached out, cupping Pat's face in her bony hand. "I love you, forever and always babe." Her hand dropped and her eyelids closed, her breathing becoming slower, almost stopping.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Pat leaned forward and pressed his lips to her own for one last time. She weakly kissed him back, desperately trying to feel it again. For a second their lips were connected, Pat felt like the situation had changed. They weren't in Erin's room anymore. They were at school, parting before a lesson. She'd pulled away and was walking off down the corridor, turning to shoot him a smile and a wave.

Pat opened his eyes, ready for reality to smack him in the face. He was met with Erin's closed eyelids. Her body heavy and weak. She breathed in one last breath before becoming still. Pat let out a sob, letting tears freely roll down his cheeks. She was gone, there was nothing left to hold on to, he couldn't bring her back.

Standing, he staggered across her room towards her chest of drawers. A framed photograph of the pair in better days stared back at him. More tears escaped his eyes at the memory of it all. He grabbed the neatly folded sheet of paper and unfolded it, staring at the ten things.

His eyes wandered down to the last one. He could barely make out the words for the salty tears obscuring his vision. The tears fell and he was able to make out the letters that formed words. The final sentence was the most important.

Fall in love.

There was a tick beside it. It was the only thing she'd accomplished, and she wanted him to follow in her footsteps. But that was impossible, since he'd already done it. Fall in love. Even though he'd never said it to her, he'd been hopelessly in love with Erin.

"I love you, Erin Bellamy," he whispered, glancing at her lifeless shell, before leaving the room, ready to begin the list.