Letters: A Troyler FanFiction

Chapter 5

Tyler's P.O.V.

"Goodbye, Tilly..."

Troye's beautiful blue eyes slide closed peacefully and I feel his hand go limp in mine. One last tear slips out from beneath his lashes, and I squeeze his hand tightly, letting the tears slip out of my eyes and fall down my cheeks.

"Troye?" I say, my voice thick with tears, somehow hoping he can still hear me. "Oh Troye..." I continue rubbing little circles on the back of his hand with my thumb, hoping he can still feel the last comforting gesture.

"Everything seems to be going good, Tyler," the doctor reassures me with a small smile. "The anaesthetic is working well. We have planned for him to wake up at the end of June, hopefully the 30th when his chemo should be taking full effect and battling the cancer," he continues, reaching for the face mask and removing it gently from Troye's face.

I mentally search for today's date. It's May 30th.

Another whole month without him.

Another month alone in his flat.

Another month of waiting.

A choked sob escapes my lips and I hunch over him, resting my forehead on his steadily rising and falling chest. "Dammit, Sivan. You have to keep your promise," I beg, my voice breaking as I cry. Everything is silent for a moment except for my sobs.

"You know I can only allow you another hour with him, Tyler," the doctor says quietly after a moment, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I jerk away and snap my head up. "No! Please, please just give me more time!" I plead, cowering protectively over his body.

"Tyler, I'm sorry but I can't," he says sadly but firmly, backing away a little. "I'll leave you two alone for now, and I'll send a nurse in when it's time for you to go," he backs toward the door, opening it and exiting.

I watch him and the nurse leave, a mixture of anger and sadness overtaking me. They took him away from me. I want to say I don't understand why as an excuse for my irrational emotions, but I understand exactly why.

Silently, I climb into the bed next to him, carefully making my way around the tubes. Some get tangled around me and I just shove them aside. After tenderly reposition his cannula and IV tubes, I bring his limp arm around me and put my arm around him, nestling my face into the crook of his neck. I inhale, smelling his natural scent until I can't inhale anymore. Lifting my face from his neck, I look up to his face, tracing a finger along the gentle planes of his cheekbones, through his feathery eyelashes and along his eyebrows. The golden evening sun causes his skin and the blonde ends of his eyelashes to glow, making it seem like he's just sleeping.

I have to tell myself he isn't.

My fingertips brush across his lips and hair, caressing his face tenderly. I feel small bursts of warm breath when I trace the outline of his mouth again.

I miss him already.

I tell myself that the coma will help him with the pain; that it's good for him fighting the leukaemia. The doctor says hell recover more quickly. The sooner he's better, the sooner we can be together again.

But I am selfish. I want him awake and to myself, no matter how much pain he's in, and that scares me.

Am I really willing to risk his life for my own happiness?

"No," I say between clenched teeth. "I'm not,"

I then imagine him awake, but he is covered in vivid, fresh bruises, his skin pallid, and his hair gone from the chemo. All because I wanted him awake. I wouldn't allow it. I couldn't. I grip him closer to me, his feverish skin blazing and his chest rising and falling evenly beneath my arm. A fresh wave of tears sting my eyes.

"Im sorry, and I promise, Troye. I'll wait,"

I lay in the bed just talking to him, not knowing wether he can hear me or not. I say whatever comes to my mind because it may be the only time I'll ever get to say it to him. After a good hour, the nurse comes in as if on queue and tells me it's time to go. I silently slip out of Troye's hospital bed, bringing his hand to my lips briefly.

"I'll visit you every time I can," I promise him. I numbly walk out of the hospital to the parking lot , robotically opening the door of the car, clamouring in, and starting it.

I drive home in tears, trembling. When I calm down I call Troye's mother on the phone. She says they'll be here as soon as they can. She also says I am strong and brave for being there with him and doing what I did. I bite my lip to keep from sobbing into the receiver.

I am anything but strong and brave.

When I walk into the flat, another wave of sorrow hits me. Everything reminds me of him. Every room I walk into brings back so many memories I wish would just stay away. Every single dust mote flickers in the setting sun, making the house seem barren and empty without him, just like I feel. When I open the door, I want to call out his name, but I remember he's not there. When I walk into the living room, I want to scold him for leaving dirty dishes on the coffee table, but I can't. When I walk into his room, my legs give out and I fall to the floor on my knees, a wrenching stab of pain twisting my heart into nothing. Only just two nights ago did we sleep in that bed together, underneath the twinkling blue lights. Only days ago was he sitting on his bed and scrolling through tumblr or Twitter, looking beautiful and perfect. I crawl over to the bed, climbing in and hugging his pillow to my face, not even bothering to change from the teddy bear scrubs I still wear. I cry and cry until there is nothing left in me and exhaustion takes over. I wonder if this is what he felt like falling asleep.

But this is a natural sleep, and usually Troye would be next to me and we'd fall asleep right by each other.

Now I'm alone and the bedside is empty.