Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Further treatment? I haven’t had any treatment, and I don’t want treatment. I just want to know where I stand because three different doctors gave me six months to live without treatment. I sold my worldly possessions and deposited almost all of the money into my ex-fiancé’s savings account.” My voice escalates with each word as I fist my hands in my lap. “I buried my past—my life—in London and stamped it with a gravestone, never to return. I came here to die, but I don’t feel like I’m dying. My lease is up in thirty days. I just need to know if I’m going to die on time!”
The unsuspecting doctor winces.
Something drips onto my leg. I look down at the clear moisture, then I touch my fingers to my cheek. I don’t know when I started crying, but sure enough, the little bastards broke free. After brushing them away, I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and slowly shake my head.
“Just run the tests,” I whisper.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I was with my best friend when she died. Her parting words to me were: “The only thing worse than living with regret, is dying with regret.”
I wait three days to get the results of my tests. Nolan drives me to the oncologist. I’m not sure why I was referred to a cancer specialist when I have no intention of having any treatment.
“What’s the doctor going to say?” I ask Nolan as he parks in the parking ramp.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me that. You’ve had a feeling all along. You told me months ago to see a doctor. Just say it.”
He sighs, angling his body toward mine after he parks the car. “I’ve had five MRIs in the past two years. I’ve seen four of the top neurologists in the world. I don’t know why I can sense ailments in the human body. It’s not a gift. It’s a curse and some days I want to end my own life because I feel the pain. Do you understand? Can you imagine what it’s like to feel everything so vividly? I’m a pathetic recluse most of the time because I don’t want to be around humans. Sick. Disease-ridden. Humans.”
I rest my hand on his. “I cause you pain.”
He shakes his head. “No … that’s just it. I don’t feel it anymore. And as much as I want that to mean something positive for you … there’s this selfish, sadistic part of me that wants to find out your cancer is everywhere because that means I’m no longer feeling the pain.”
I laugh and Nolan looks at me like I’ve lost the plot, but I can’t stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” He tries to hide his own grin. “I know I’m really messed-up.”
I shake my head, trying to catch my breath. “No … four weeks. I should be dead in four weeks.” I laugh some more. “Oh, hell … I need to be dead in four weeks.” It’s pure exhilaration when hysteria takes over. “I’m about out of money. I have no job. I left my fiancé. My dad is in prison. And I’ll be homeless in four weeks.” I hold up my hand. “Come on, Nolie,” I giggle out of control. “High-five for terminal cancer.”
His eyebrows pull together. I hate that.
Regret.
He has no reason to feel regretful. We shame ourselves way too much for our most raw and true feelings. I hop out when he refuses to give me a high five.
“Scarlet?”
I continue walking and laughing all the way to the entrance. Something snapped in my brain, and I can’t stop laughing.
Death I can accept. Life I can live. It’s the in between, the whiplash of emotions, that’s taking my last shred of sanity.
“Scarlet …” Nolan grabs my arm a second before I open the door.
In this very moment, I know he feels everything I’m feeling. I might not feel it like he does, but I see it in his eyes. My smile fades, and as if someone flipped a switch, I fall to pieces in his arms.
I don’t want this. Dying shouldn’t be this hard.
“Shh …” he whispers in my ear.
“I-I’m so scared.”
“I know.”
I’ve questioned Nolan’s extraordinary ability to sense things up until this point, but right now I believe he does know. He knows I’m not afraid of dying—I’m afraid of living.
*
Nolan drops me off at the house. I don’t say much because there really isn’t anything to say. The two oncologists didn’t have much to say either. Theo’s truck is in the drive. I’m not ready to face him, but life doesn’t seem to care about readiness.
I open the door and stop as soon as I look up. “Hey.”
Theo leans against the threshold to the kitchen, tatted arms crossed over his chest, hair pulled back. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay because all these emotions that have been denied, rejected, even passed off for another lifetime, are ready to explode.