down a small alley with me kicking and screaming. When we’re out of sight from curious passersby, he releases me but pushes my back against the brick wall. I try to bounce off it, but he presses his chest to mine, pinning me down.
“Because…she was you.” He’s breathless as he slams his arm above my head, trapping me.
“Who was?” I spit, fruitlessly shoving against him. It won’t break his hold.
“Erin was you. She was you.”
His winded admission freezes me in place, as I’m beyond confused. He reads my uncertainty, and his face, the face I knew was lingering under the surface all along, shines through.
“Erin was my patient. She had a high-grade glioblastoma, a grade four astrocytoma.” His eyes turn soft, searching every plane of my face.
“That’s not possible,” I whisper, shaking my head animatedly.
“It’s very possible,” he refutes. His faltering heart beats in frantic sync with mine. He presses us closer together. I almost can’t breathe. “She was told by every doctor that her tumor was inoperable, but she refused to accept her life was over. I work at St. Mary’s Hospital; that’s where I first met Erin. She was in the clinical trials, just like you, and like you, Lola, her tumor reduced in size. But she never gave up, and a year ago, she underwent a new trial, and her tumor shrank down to the size where the doctors could operate.”
“No, she’s not me,” I whisper to myself.
“Yes, she is. I was one of those doctors. She was told she wouldn’t live past twenty-five. She’s now twenty-nine years old. Her tumor has been completely removed because she took the drugs you refuse to take—the ones that will save your life.”
I close my eyes, his words a cruel trick. There’s no such thing. A magical potion does not exist.
“You can have everything that Erin has, but you choose to live in the dark. You’re afraid to live because dying is the easy way out. I don’t know why you’re refusing treatment, but I can’t stand by and watch you die without at least trying. I wanted you to see what you could have. I could tell you, but you’re so headstrong, and I know you’ve heard it all before.”
“She’s not me,” I repeat, my movements slowing.
“Everyone is different, but I’ve compared your files, your blood work, your clinical trial results, and everything is almost identical. I know that if you take the trial drugs Dr. Carter recommended, you will live. Or at least you would have done everything you possibly could. You’ve been given a lifeline. Stop being so stubborn! You have a chance to live, take it.”
My heart hurts, and the truth spews from me. “I don’t deserve it. Why do I get a second chance, and others don’t? My best friend, she’s dead! Where’s her second chance?” I state, forlornly.
He hisses, pained. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to be too. Stop with the survivor’s guilt!” His frustration and sadness can be heard behind his voice. The sentiment touches my heart, but I don’t understand why he cares.
“Why does it matter to you whether I live or die?” I open my eyes gradually, the thick, heavy tears sticking to my lashes.
My question catches him off guard. He turns his cheek, his jaw clenching. The air is heavy with a stagnant silence.
I now understand why Roman brought me here because he’s right. Seeing what I could have, who I could be is more tempting than I could ever imagine. But I’m afraid. Lola Van Allen is a coward. And she’s also undeserving. Why do I get a second chance when Georgia didn’t?
Once Roman releases me, I sag forward, suddenly fatigued beyond words. He catches me, and I fall willingly, no longer guarded because he knows my dirty secrets, and he’s still here.
“It’s okay,” he coos, rubbing my back. “I truly am sorry for making you cry. If I could have done this another way, I would have. Please forgive me.”
His sincerity is clear, and the fact he cares enough about my feelings has me burying my face into his neck and hugging him tight. My unguarded, highly inappropriate affection surprises me, but what surprises me more so is that my actions are returned.
“You don’t know what it’s like, living each day and not knowing if it’ll be your last. Being afraid all the time.” I’m not ashamed of my fears because even though they linger, I won’t allow them to rule me.