hospital beds {remington leith short story}

four

Feeling as though you are a prisoner to your own body is a feeling I despise. I do not enjoy feeling as helpless as a small child, relying on everybody for everything. I am not in control of my body and its functions, my body is in control of me. 

Remington is vacant from his normal spot today, something I find extremely odd. He has gone home to shower, but it is weird and unusual not having him at my side. I do not enjoy the feeling. I feel alone, and while I am glad he's caring for himself through this ordeal, within these walls I have nobody else to talk to. This is a lonely place, and nobody here truly cares for you. This is a holding cell, and I am the prisoner....to my own body, to the drugs keeping me comfortable, to the machines sustaining my life. 

I grab my phone, the item that feels foreign to my hand. I don't use it often, hardly glancing at the item. My focus is usually undivided to Remington, the starlight of my otherwise darkened world. He is the light at the end of the tunnel that is life. He is the source of my entire joy; he is all-consuming happiness. He is the reason I fight so hard. Without the motivation, I would have stopped the continuous torture cycle battering my body on the daily. Remington is my reason to stay alive, he is my reason to fight for every breath I take. Without him, I am unsure where I would be....but breathe, I would not. 

Smiling, I open my phone and my eyes land on my wallpaper. I remember the day it was taken, what a lovely one it was. It was my favorite type of weather...cloudy, but still with beams of sun flowing through the gaps. It lightly rained, drizzling down windows in streaky patterns. Remington had carried me outside; this four months ago when I was still able to alternate between recovering at home and at hospital. He held me close to him, smiling as he kissed each raindrop from my face. 

Our lips finally touched, locking in a love-driven mess of tongue. Emerson, Remington's younger brother, snapped the shot I now admire. My nails are fake and red, piercing the skin of my love's cheeks as I hold his face. We are wearing our lounging clothes; green sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt for myself and a black hoodie with black pajama pants with skull accents for my other half. Our outfits and the weather some would consider depressing surrounding us did not matter. If the weather were depressing, thus so is life, and it is no different. 

The photo, some would call sad or sorrowful due to my hairless head and the obvious cancer wrecking my body, but I do not think of it like that. I think of the photo as beautiful, the same way I would describe many things about our relationship. Moments we share are greatly valued due to my inevitable death creeping closer daily, and I am excessively grateful that we have the ability to photograph priceless memories imprinting themselves on the hands of time. 

I am aware of my numbered days, the thought forever sits at the back of my head. I do not have as many days as I deserve, I believe. I wish to leave my mark on this world, and from a hospital bed that is not an easy task. My days are spent simply waiting to die. Every night when I sleep, I wonder if I will rise the following morning. I am never sure when my time will expire, so I value everything I do. The small moments some may see as insignificant I hold close, for I do not know how many chances I will have to make memories. My unconscious days render me quite useless, as I tend to be confused and only wishing to get out of the state it traps me in. I wish I could spend that time holding Remington, being held, doing significant things besides being intubated. 

Dying is a scary thing. You know it is coming, creeping closer like a haunting figure every day, yet there is nothing you can do to stop it. Its approach is daily, and some days I can feel it hovering above me, yet I cannot slow or prevent what it does. There are days Death grabs me by the throat and stops my heart, seemingly taunting all my living counterparts. What is scarier.....dying, or leaving all you cherish behind? Some days, I do not know.