Cadaverous Love

Chapter Fourty-Seven

"What'd you mean you're sick?" Dallas half spits, staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

"I don't know how to explain it," I look down at the clean time floors beneath me, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"What? What the hell did the doctor say?"

"I dunno, just some big words and that I could die."

"What?" He stands up from his spot in his chair and pushes my chin up roughly, so that I'm forced to look at him, "the fuck the doctor say?" He holds my chin in his hand.

"I dunno, Dally. He diagnosed me and said-" I pause and breathe out.

"-said what? He said what?"

"He told me there's a good chance I could-" my words choke up inside of me.

"Could what?"

"Die."

"What the fuck," Dallas lets go of me and kicks at the air. Turning back to face me he asks, "how much of a chance? Did he give you a percentage or anything?"

"Yes," I push more tears from my cheeks, not sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

"How much was it?" Dally asks, rubbing his eyes.

"Seventy-five."

"Seventy-five? Holy shit," he runs his fingers through his hair, "you're not gunna die." He shakes his head, "your legs haven't been hurting that bad, right?" I nod, sniffling. "See, it can't be that bad. You'll be okay," he breathes out heavily and looks up at the ceiling, "I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do if you're not." Dallas steps forward and grabs my arm, pulling me off of the bed, he says, "come on, let's get outta here."

I trail behind him, my arm still in his grip as he pushes past people and bumps shoulders with others in the hallway. I mutter apologies for him as we go, yet, things seem to be passing slowly but too quickly at the same time, I'm able to compare it to the movement of a hummingbird's wings - moving so fast that they don't seem to be moving at all. When I try to speak, my words are soundless and my mouth hardly moves. When I reach out to touch the walls that pass me by, they don't seem to be there, as if I could keep reaching and reaching but my hand would never collide with the sterile white cement. Dallas pushes hard on the doors of the hospital and they fly open while he tugs me out. Finally, Dal lets go of me as we approach the car. The thought crosses my mind to just run and keep running until my legs give up and my chest burns from the lack of oxygen and the needle-like thoughts that penetrate my skin with every second. My hands fumble for the car door, after what seems like an eternity of trying to find the handle, I get in the passenger's seat, my mind foggy and the world seemingly spinning.

"You okay?" Dallas asks, sliding into the driver's seat.

"No," I breathe in, finally feeling reality rest upon me. The pressure on top of me pushes the air back out of my lungs, "Dally, I'm going to die." I try to breathe in again but it becomes too difficult, it feels as if the world is on me. "I'm going to die."

Dallas starts the car as an ugly sob twists within me, a tingling sensation writhing throughout my body, the weeping of my soul. No, perhaps my soul is screaming, scratching, clawing, kicking, fighting to get out of me. The only way to let it free is to let my lifeless body fall to the floor, so the monsters that have held my soul down finally have to let go, for you cannot keep holding on when you're dead.

"You're not going to die," he says, "you're not going to, okay?" He sighs, "isn't that what you wanted anyways?" His words slash across my skin and hurt me more than those scissors did. I press my hands to my face and try to breathe, but no matter how hard I try, the pressure within me keeps building, like hot magma about to erupt from a volcano.