SATELLITE HEART [A BARLEY LIGHTFOOT x READER STORY]

chapter 19

JULY 26th, 2004

Today I checked into the New Mushroomton treatment facility. I was given a very personal room complete with a single grey curtain separating me from the rest of the sickness-ridden patients that are getting their veins pumped with chemicals to clean their bodies out. That's the nicest thing I can say about this room that I share with every other male and female my age. At least we're all in this together, right? I said that to Laurel and she smacked me.

Barley is sitting on my lap right now, reading me a book about dragons. He is so unaware of what is happening around him. He's so happy. He always smiles. There's some magic in this kid, I know it. He is telling me that he wants a real pet dragon. He even has a list of names to pick from. I'm really considering getting a pet for the family, especially right now. I just want to see him keep smiling, no matter what happens to me.

We'll just have to see. 

W.L.

Barley decided to drive to the hospital for his second treatment. By the way he talked, he sort of expected to be too sick to do it again. The last time he had treatment, he was too sick to even stand up on his own. You weren't sure if it would be any better this week. They would be pumping even more treatment into his veins.

But Barley would be okay. He was so strong. And as you read his father's journal entry in the back of Guinevere, you thought of young, baby Barley, sitting on his father's lap, reading him a book about his favorite creature. He was so happy then... and he was now. 

Barley switched lanes and glanced back quickly. "Why don't you come sit by me, my love?" 

You closed the journal and slipped it into your backpack. You got up and slowly made your way to the front of the van. You plopped down in the passenger seat and clicked on your seat belt. Barley's hand patted your knee as you settled in and you slipped your hand under his, sliding your fingers between his. You smiled at him, all teeth, all sparkly eyed. 

"What's the look for?" he asked with a laugh. "You want somethin' or what?" 

"I'm just happy to be with you." You shrugged. "That's all." 

"I'm glad too," he agreed. He squeezed your hand. He didn't say anything else, but you knew there were a hundred different thoughts in his head: his insecurities, his gratefulness, his fear, his inability to see how he really deserved all of this love. 

His hair was starting to come out in patches; the scruffy beard he had been growing was disappearing in randomized spots. You were sure he had noticed, but he had yet to talk about it. The beanie he often wore was still shoved over his head so you weren't sure how his hair was doing. Right now there were just little changes in his looks that neither of you brought up because they truly didn't matter. 

No matter what Barley looked like, no matter how he changed, he was still your Barley. He was always going to be the guy that loved sitting with you in Guinevere while you read, talked for hours about the history of the town he grew up in, and loved every day more to be held by you while he slept. 

You loved this guy. And you knew now that you always would.

JULY 28th, 2004

Well. It finally happened. I woke up and got sick. It was the first round of many. My stomach and quite literally my entire body feels like it's been lit on fire. Barley started to get a little bit worried, so Laurel took him for ice cream while I took another long nap. 

People always tell you how bad the sickness is, but never how bad the treatment is. Man, do they really try to get you better by making you sicker in a different way.

There's more I want to write. I truly want to capture this whole adventure, so that when it's done and over, I can go back and look at what I went through. Maybe one day my son can read this and know that his father got through the hardest thing in his life. And the new baby. Who knows, maybe this isn't for me, but just for them?

I don't know... I really hope to beat this for my family. I think I will. My chances are high. Then again, what do doctors really know? Clearly not enough, since this medicine that's supposed to stop what's killing me is making me projectile vomit every two seconds. 

I'm just kidding. I have a lot of dark humor now. Laurel hates it but I think it's funny. 

W.L.

"What are you reading?" Barley mumbled quietly into the dim light of the bedside lamp on his side table. 

You quickly shut the journal, not to hide it, but to check on Barley. You were sitting next to him. His head had been on your shoulder and he was snoring quietly for the night. After a full day of treatment, he was completely spent. You turned your body towards him slightly. "Did I wake you?"

"Kinda," he mumbled. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"Almost." You put the journal on the bedside table and turned off the light. Laurel and Ian were sleeping on the sofa bed at the side of the room. You turned on your side towards Barley. He lifted up the sheet so you could move close to him. His arms went around you and you hugged him close so that you were holding him; his cheek pressed right at your collarbone. "How are you feeling?"

"Just tired," he said. "No puking yet. Maybe tomorrow."

Your lip twitched. "Maybe." 

"What were you reading?" 

"Don't be mad," you pleaded. 

"Why would I be---"

"Ian found one of your Dad's journals from when he got sick. I wasn't trying to keep it from you, Bar. I was just reading some of it."

Barley was quiet for a minute. "Am I supposed to be mad about that?" 

"I don't know," you said. "Are you mad?" 

"No," he said. "No, I couldn't be. Can you read me some?" 

"Tomorrow," you promised, moving your hands through his thinning hair. Some of it came out between your fingers; you pretended not to notice, hoping Barley didn't either. "I think we both need sleep. But can I tell you something?" 

"Always," he mumbled. 

"I really feel like I can get to know your dad when I'm reading his writing," you told him. "He's so much like you, Barley."

You could feel Barley's smile against the curve of your shoulder. "Aw dude... I love you." 

"I love you, Bar." You kissed him on top of his head and he shifted again so that his face was leveled with yours on the far-too-fluffy hospital pillow. He pulled your hand that was on your side close to his chest and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Goodnight."

Without the two of you of knowing, Ian was currently in the bathroom of the small hospital room, softly whispering spells and grasping the magic staff tightly. He was trying anything that he could find --- everything including the the various healing spells that his father had found. He fell against the wall tiredly. If all of these failed his dad, what made him think they would work for Barley?

He could see it. Barley was getting sicker, thinner, weaker. His mom and you were both blind to not see the changes. There were so many. He was so tired. 

And Ian was giving up.

Until one spell in particular caught his eye; one that needed a certain emerald to be able to work.