Valerie.”
I stand beside him and stare down at him.
His eyes are pinched shut, his mouth curled in gritted snarl. He seems several shades paler than normal and the veins in his arms and neck are sticking out.
I gently place my hand over his and he flinches.
“It’s me,” I say again.
“Go away,” he says, his voice rough. He licks his dry lips.
“Padraig,” I try again, squeezing his hand. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine. The doctors—”
“Fuck the bloody doctors. What the fuck do they know?”
He opens his eyes and looks at me. They’re bloodshot and tired and from the way they can’t seem to focus on my face, I know he can’t see me clearly.
“It’s me,” I say again.
“You keep saying that,” he says. “What do ye want?”
Remember what the doctor said, I remind myself.
“I just wanted to see you,” I tell him, my voice trembling a little. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Padraig, I was so scared. So scared.”
He sighs and closes his eyes. “And how do ye think I felt? How do ye think I feel?” He starts to grind his teeth together. “What’s the fucking point of all this?”
I pause. “Of what?”
“Life,” he practically growls. “This isn’t a life. This is punishment. But ye know, it’s probably punishment I deserve.”
“This isn’t punishment for anything,” I tell him. I hate seeing him like this, so fucking broken. It chills me to the core. “And I know it’s hard but we’re going to get through this.”
“We,” he repeats sarcastically.
My heart begins to thud. Bang bang bang, in my chest, like a drum.
“Yes,” I tell him. “We. We are going to get through this together.”
“No,” he says, opening his eyes and staring straight ahead. “I’m not going to get through this. And you won’t either.” He gives me a pained look. “Just go home, Valerie. Go back to America.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going there and it’s not home.”
“But what if I want ye to leave?”
That throws me off balance. My grip on his hand loosens. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you should go home. To your real home.”
“Why?” I ask, panic starting to claw up my chest. This isn’t supposed to be happening, not this. Doesn’t he know he is my real home?
“Because I need ye to.”
“I don’t understand. Padraig, you just had a relapse. You just lost your father. I’m not going to leave you. You’re ridiculous if you think I’m going anywhere.”
“You’re ridiculous if you stay.” He swallows and looks at me with coldness in his eyes. Maybe a shield to protect himself, I don’t know, but I know whatever else he’s about to say is going to hurt. “It’s only going to happen inevitably. You’re with me now but what happens in a year when I need a cane to walk around? And what happens in a few years after that, when I rely on a scooter? What happens when I can’t get it fucking up and can’t fuck ye anymore? What happens when I start to shit myself and piss my pants and you’re stuck with me wishing that I had given you an out at some point.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Well, I’m giving you your out now.”
I keep shaking my head, hating that he’s saying this, that he actually believes it.
“No. I’m not taking your out.”
“Even if I ask you to leave me? Even if I tell ye to leave me now and get it over with? You won’t go?”
“No,” I say, trying to swallow. “I won’t. I love you.”
“You don’t know what ye love,” he snarls at me and I’m scared at the viciousness in his voice. “You think ye love me but ye don’t. How can ye? How can ye love a big disappointment like myself, a sick and heavy burden for your shoulders, to weigh you down for the rest of your life.”
“I do—”
“No!” he yells and his heart rate monitor goes faster and faster. “You don’t know shite! You don’t even know me. We met over a month ago and suddenly you think you love me. I roped you into this whole mess and then you find out I have an incurable disease and that’s trapped you. I don’t blame you. You feel like you have to stick around and that you can’t leave because then you’ll look bad. That’s what it is and you know it.”
I sniff back a tear, my hand over my heart, which is clenching in pain. “We need to