Sam
My mental health was really starting to take a nose dive. I was at rock bottom, lower than low and there wasn't much anyone could do or say to make it better. I wasn't allowed to leave the hospital for two whole weeks as my body just wasn't recovering from the infection. I was still poorly even after getting home and just as I was seeming to get over it, almost a month after my initial admission, illness struck me down again.
Bronchitis this time. Not enough to hospitalise me once more but enough to keep me bed bound for another three weeks. It was infuriating. Owain had so many opportunities lined up for me but I was forced to turn them down. I was unable to leave my bed, never mind do a full gig. My rage was growing more by the day and with no way to release it, Rory was receiving the brunt of it. And the worst part was, she just sat back and took it.
"Will ya stop fuckin' asking me how I'm feeling?" I snapped at her. "I've had pneumonia for the last month and now I've got fuckin' bronchitis. I haven't been oot of the house for nearly two months and the only people I've seen are you, my mam and Ronnie, I'm gan off my fuckin' head! So, in all honesty, I feel like shit!"
"Reet," she muttered. "I'm sorry, I'll stop asking you."
That was back in June. It was one of my more explosive moments and Rory didn't even flinch, unsurprised at my outburst. It had gotten such a common occurrence that she barely reacted anymore, only worsening my mental state as I realised the effect I was having on my girlfriend. It wasn't fair on her and I hated how I was making her feel but my mouth spewed out the poisonous words before my brain could process them, fuelled by my pent-up rage.
I ended up being hospitalised once more in July with yet another chest infection that left me struggling to breathe. It wasn't until that moment that I realised how close to death I was at any given moment. I actually thought I was going to die and I had accepted the fact. I was ready for it and I told Rory as such too.
"I'm sorry," I wheezed, an all too familiar sense of deja vu washing over me as Rory clutched my hand tightly atop the itchy hospital blanket.
"For what?" she frowned.
"For how I've treated yer the past couple of months," I panted, mustering up what little energy I possessed to turn my head on the pillow, my eyes meeting hers that glistened with tears.
"Don't worry about it," she assured me. She used her free hand to cup the side of my face, her thumb smoothing the skin there. "Ya haven't exactly had it easy. It's alreet."
I shook my head weakly, forcing out, "No, it's not... you're my world, Scarl. If... if this is... it for me-"
"Please, don't speak like that," she cut me off, biting down hard on her bottom lip to repress the sob that threatened to escape but only succeeded in drawing blood. "You're gan be fine. You're not gan die. I'll bloody kill yer if ya do."
"I'm being real here," I sighed. "This is the fourth... time I've been seriously ill since... March, the second time... I've been in hospital. I'm days away... from needing to be... put on a ventilator."
"Sam," she cried softly.
"It's alreet" I smiled weakly. "I'm okay with it."
"I'm not!" she protested, trying to hold in her sobs. "I'm not ready for you to die, I-I can't... I won't survive without you!"
"I love you," I whispered, turning my head to press my lips against the palm of her hand.
"Sam," she choked.
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Drop Dead | Sam Fender
Fanfiction'Did you come around here just to start a fight? Drop dead.' Sam's difficulty with relationships stems all the way back to his adolescence. He hasn't had it easy growing up in the Northeast of England but he managed to escape his teens unscathed. Mo...
