Way Down I'll Go

Day of Youth Went Yesterday

Jo did everything quietly.

He ate quietly, talked quietly, moved quietly, breathed quietly.

He even vomited quietly.

Rachel had known Jo for over a year. Had seen him at his best and worst. But she'd never lived with him. It was giving her startling insight into his personality and character.

Startling. And, like everything with Jo, heartbreaking.

She could tell he was trying his best not to be a burden or a bother, but she got the sense this wasn't new for him. He was well practiced in flying under the radar. He was helpful to a fault and never asked for anything. He kept the boys in line and gave her space when she needed it. He smiled through the pounding headaches and persistent nausea that came with chemotherapy and never once complained. He was the perfect houseguest.

But that was just it. He wasn't a houseguest. He was her boyfriend. And he shouldn't have a hint of fear in his eyes every time he had to stumble across the room to throw up. He shouldn't have to keep his eyes trained on the floor when she brought home groceries he hadn't paid for. He shouldn't have to apologize each night when strangled, dissenting cries tore from his throat in the wee hours.

He shouldn't have to be so damn quiet.

She stood outside the door of the bathroom, waiting for him to finish. She wouldn't have even known he was feeling sick if she hadn't been walking down the hallway and heard the distinct, yet attenuated sounds of vomiting. Her stomach clenched and she leaned her head against the wall, wishing she could take it all away for him.

The toilet flushed and she heard him rinse out his mouth. Several seconds went by before he opened the door and noiselessly slipped into the hallway. He saw her standing by the door and froze.

She took in his skinny frame. He had always been thin, at times dangerously so. Now, his thinness was paired with a distinct pallor that came from the chemo's effect on his skin, and from feeling sick all the time. Though he skin pigment was still of caramel, it had lost its warmth, making the bruises that hadn't fully healed stand out all the more. Small chunks of his hair were missing and his lips were chapped and dry.

Even so, she found her knees weak at the sight of him.

Torture, malnutrition, sleeplessness, stress. Cancer. Nothing seemed to make him less attractive. Seriously, how did he not have girls lined up just for a chance at seeing him smile?

He was that handsome, even now.

"I'm sorry," he started, jarring her thoughts from the risqué path down which they were heading.

She blinked, lost. 

"For what?"

He swallowed, dipping his gaze to the floor, but not before she caught the trickle of apprehension in his eyes.

"I know it's not fun to listen to...," he shrugged.

She blinked again, amazed once more at the things he found to apologize for.

"Are you actually feeling sorry for me right now?" 

She laughed lightly at the incredulity of it, reaching out to take his hand. 

"Baby, we need to teach you how to use your cancer card."

The confusion on his face was frankly adorable as she lead him to the couch. He was shivering slightly despite the comfortable temperature, so she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you," he murmured quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

The corner of his lip turned up into a sweet half-smile.