are going to try a protein therapy that has had decent success at slowing tumor growth and reducing symptoms in other patients.”
I clear my throat. “How long?” I look into Stella’s eyes. “How long, Stell?”
Her gaze drops, and she takes in a deep breath before she looks me in the eyes. “Depending on the success of the therapy, six months to a year…maybe a little more. It’s hard to know.”
“Six months to a year?” I cry out. “Six months to a year,” I repeat in disbelief.
Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision. I tug Stella onto my lap, holding her like a child, and I bury my face into her neck. Sobs rack my body as I hold her soft, warm body in my arms. I mourn for the life that Stella will never have.
I would trade places with her if I could. She deserves to be here. She’s so pure, so good.
A storm rises inside of me, the injustice of this situation threatening to pull me down. My body trembles with anger as I continue to hold her, my tears soaking her shirt.
I’m aching with despair. “Tell me what you need. What can I do, Stell? What can I do? I’ll do anything.”
Stella is dying, and I feel so helpless.
Her hazel eyes roam my face. I find a myriad of emotions in her stare when it stops on mine.
“Just love me through it.”
I hold her close, peppering kisses all over her face. “Of course,” I whisper between kisses. “I will love you. I do love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I chant words that change nothing, but they’re all I have to give.
We sit in silence, stillness permeating the space.
“Jax?” Stella’s voice is quiet.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“I do have one more thing that you can do for me.”
“Anything.”
“Can you please not tell anyone about my illness? My family knows, and now, you know. But I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Why? Your friends, everyone who loves you, will want to know.”
“I know, and I feel selfish for not telling anyone, but I don’t want them to know. I don’t want anyone to treat me differently. I want to live out the rest of my life like I always have—as normally as possible. I don’t want pity, Jax. Actually, I’d prefer not to talk about it with you either—unless we have to. Maybe it sounds silly, but I just want to pretend that nothing has changed. I want to live out the remainder of my days being happy. I want to spend the little time I have left focusing on life, not death. Can you do that for me?” she asks tentatively.
I hug her tight. “God, Stella. Of course I can. I will do anything for you.”
“Maybe…” She pauses. “Maybe when I’m near the end, we can tell our friends. I want to give everyone the opportunity to say what they need and to say their good-byes. I know that will be important for those who I will be leaving behind. I want to give them that. But, for now, while I’m still healthy and capable of having a normally functioning life, it’s just not the time. Okay?”
“Yeah.” I kiss her on the forehead. “I get that, Stella. I totally do.”
Standing, I carry her to the shower. I turn on the water, and when there is a steady hot stream, we step in. I lather up my hands and clean every inch of her skin. I know I can’t wash away the cancer, but I don’t know what else to do.
When she is thoroughly cleaned, we stand beneath the shower spray, our arms around one another. I envelop her in my embrace and take her mouth in mine. I kiss her so softly at first, my lips quivering against hers. She moans into my mouth, and I take the kiss deeper.
I break the kiss. I turn off the water, and we dry off before heading to her bedroom. We drop our towels and stand there, looking at one another. We stand like this, motionless, and stare into each other’s eyes, searching for answers where there are none. The anguish filling the air is so tangible that I can feel it against my every pore.
“I love you, Stella.”
“I love you, Jax.”
Our bodies come together, and I lay her down on her bed. I take my time loving her body with my hands and mouth.
The rest of the world has fallen away, and it is just Stella and me in our