Yes, I know, it's another collection of Sarah Paulson stories to your delight but also mine. What can I say? I think I read everything available online, so I'm here to give my contribute as well.
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21) Tell me this is not what I think it is. /angst/
It was turning insanely long so I decided to split it in two parts. It's Billie Dean so of course the story deals with death... I couldn't help myself. Second part will include the line suggested.
≽^•⩊•^≼
one
The plan is to keep busy and I'm determined to stick to it. In fact, I wake up every morning at 5.30, take a shower, check up on my grandpa, clean up the already sparkling clean house, and get a couple of dark coffees every now and then. It became my routine, since the day I moved here, two weeks ago. My grandpa no longer has the strenght to walk around the house, let alone take care of himself, and I, being the only family he has, couldn't back out of my responsibilities.
Billie has always been of great support to me, making time for both of us and cancelling many work obligations without even thinking twice. She is perfect, she has always been, but lately has reached a level of sweetness that knows no limits nor equals. Even my grandpa couldn't help but take a strong liking on her. She visits everyday, and stays in for as long as possible, only leaving when it's strictly necessary, but never without a fight, which I find adorable.
It doesn't matter how many times I tell her we're okay, that I can handle the situation if she really can't stay. She shakes her head and shuts me up with a peck on the lips. Maybe it's due to those giant big bags under my eyes, a new characteristic of mine. Or maybe due to my emotional state. Meaning that I can cry for every little thing, as if I'm with a child.
It's 6.30 am when I'm done cleaning the house and I'm now sipping another coffee, with my leg visibly bouncing from the nerve. In the meantime, I put the water on for my grandpa's tea, and I place three plain biscuits on the tray that I'll bring up along with the beverage. I wish my grandpa would eat more, however, I'm lucky if he finishes whatever I bring to him, considering he is losing appetite. I sigh in defeat, and with trembling fingers, I pour the water into his favorite mug.
These last few days have definitely taken a toll on me. It's crystal clear that my grandpa is clinging to life by his teeth, but I'm not stupid. I see the struggle in his eyes, how challenging it's becoming to push forward each and every passing hour. He's the only family I have, the sole relative proud of me and viceversa. Honestly never thought I'd have to say goodbye, especially like this. Due to a fucking illness that has been sucking his life out of him without any mercy for two years now.
Once everything is settled, I walk up upstairs. His room's door is left partially ajar, so I take a peek inside to see if he is still sleeping. But he isn't. He is staring out the window, with a dull expression on his face, I cannot decipher. His chest rises and falls heavily, like it's a struggle even to breathe. I sweep my tongue over my dry lips, before gently knocking at the door, "Good morning, pops," I voice tenderly, offering him the best cheerful smile I can perform. As if he had been in another dimension till that moment, he blinks softly and turns towards me. I smile more genuinely when I see his expression light up, "Hey, baby. Please, come in."
