Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“For the love of god, Darius, just give me your plate. I’m hungry.” I snatch it from him before he can fight me on it, thrusting mine in front of him. Despite his proclamation about not having an appetite, he falls on that steak fast enough, jamming two pieces into his mouth and chewing.
I happily cut his, which is every bit as rare as the one I just had, and I no doubt prefer it that way or even less cooked. Even after everything, I can still appreciate the work and skill that went into making this meal because I haven’t had one like it in years. Every bite is delicious. I even let out a little moan, which I’m embarrassed about, and try to cover up. “So, are we in agreement? Because if we are, I’m going to need it in writing. And I want half up front now and half later. You can forget the healthcare for my sister. I’ll cover that with the money, obviously.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?”
It’s not a rude question and not nosy. Just honestly curious. I suppose that maybe, if he’s going to be the one padding my bank account, and we’re going to have to spend the next six months together, there are a few things I can tell him.
Great. You’re already accepting this, as fucked up as it is. Do I have any other choice at this point? Did I before? It was either this or becoming homeless in a few months and watching my sister suffer without the treatments she needed.
“She has cancer.” His fork clatters to the table at my words, and yeah, I kind of feel like gagging on the delicious steak I just swallowed. “Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.”
He slowly folds his hands in his lap. His lips purse, and he says nothing. The way he looks at me though, it’s enough to stop my heart completely. It’s his eyes, always his eyes. They’ll probably haunt me for the rest of my life because they’re so beautiful, so calm, so understanding. No one has ever looked at me this way before. One who understands the depths of pain, fear, and helplessness of another.
Except, I’m no longer helpless. I have the power to give Heather everything she needs if I go through with this.
“I’m sorry.” The words are so soft that they cut deep into my tender skin, which suddenly feels way too exposed.
“She was diagnosed over a month ago, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get her the treatments she needs. The tests were expensive enough, and she doesn’t have health insurance. We were…well, young and healthy, and it was expensive. I have insurance through work, but Heather is a waitress, and she doesn’t. I’ve been trying to get her some kind of coverage, but of course, no one is biting now because she’s already been diagnosed. The only thing working in our favor right now is that it’s not super aggressive. My mom and I have been trying to save up some money for her to get treatment. We’re just waiting until we can even partially afford the first one because they’re regular after that. The doctors agreed we could wait a few weeks, but not much longer than that.”
“Christ.”
I can feel the goon tensing up in the corner of the room. I don’t even have to look at him because he’s radiating some seriously killer vibes over there, but I think it’s a sympathetic kind of energy if that makes sense.
“My mom is working three jobs right now. She took another one after we found out Heather was sick. I was working two. And…and oh my god. I need to…I called in sick tonight, but I’m going to have to call and officially quit. And obviously, my job working as Bradford’s assistant is over. I guess I don’t have to call in for that one.” Oh, look, tonight does have one small bonus.
“So she’ll need to get chemo for a few months.”
“Yes, and then they’ll reassess. She’ll probably have to take some other drugs after that, but they aren’t sure yet. They’re going to have to wait and see how she responds. We’re just incredibly lucky that Heather was always super healthy, so when she got sick, we knew something was seriously up, and we went to the doctor right away, so she was diagnosed early.” Just thinking about Heather getting the treatments she needs and getting better works out some of the knots in my stomach and shoulders. The tension eases up in my neck and throbbing temples. I reach up and smooth my hand down one of the wild strands of hair I still haven’t brushed. Sometime between getting drugged and now, the careful style Heather did for the wedding was wrecked.
When Heather was diagnosed, we stood in the bathroom and cried together. She wanted to shave her head before her hair had a chance to fall out, long before her first treatment, so we did it together. I wanted to shave mine with her, but she wouldn’t let me do it. She smiled and laughed after the tears and informed me that she was now going to start rocking pink wigs. She always wanted pink hair.