Story Sick

[S n o w]

-One Shot-​

“It hurts.”

She barely felt it as he squeezed her fingers. She was curled into a ball on the hospital bed, her free hand clutching her chest. She tried to breathe through the pain, and the sound reminded her of water being sucked up through a straw.

The tank of oxygen hooked to her IV stand seemed to have forgotten how to do its job.

“I know.” He almost sounded amused, and if she wasn’t so lightheaded and dizzy, she might have hated him for it.

Her stomach lurched, and she felt bile rising in her throat. She knew that her nurse had been nice enough to leave a trashcan next to her bed in case she needed to throw up, next to the chair Isaac dragged from the other side of the room, but she couldn’t lift her head even if she wanted to. Her hand felt cold suddenly. She heard a grunt, and then a clammy hand was lifting her head. She barely felt a bag brush against her chin before she was vomiting. She coughed and spit, and then threw up again.

She heaved until her stomach hurt almost as much as her chest. She tried to turn her face away from the smell, it was making her nauseous, and the bag was moved away. She heard another grunt and forced her eyes open as Isaac collapsed back in his seat, breathing hard.

The IV stand next to him shook a little as he tied the bag and threw it under his seat. He grimaced and leaned back, pressing a hand against his stomach.

“Your hair,” she wheezed, spitting a piece of plastic out of her mouth. She blinked the water out of her eyes, squinting at him.

Isaac managed a thin smile. He ran a hand through the remains of his dark hair, and long strands came off in his palm. “Yeah, well,” he stared down at his hand. “You like me better bald anyway.”

She wanted to touch what was left of it, but her fingers only twitched weakly against the blanket. She didn’t even realize that her eyes closed until she heard the door creak open.

“Ah, the warden’s here,” his voice was low.

“It’s time for lunch, Bishop. You can come back later.” Even with her eyes closed, she could see the Head Nurse’s stern, no nonsense expression, and her hands planted firmly on her hips. What she really meant was: It’s time for the myriad of multicolored pills that are keeping you alive.

“Gotta go. Don’t be too pessimistic without me, okay?”

She tried to reply, but only a pained groan escaped. She thought that there was a good chance that she imagined the kiss to her forehead. She curled up more as his IV stand wheeled further away.

“So, what is it today? Liquefied bananas? Oh, I know, how about we try something new? Can you liquefy steak? Or ham?” He paused. “A ham sandwich? Work with me here.”

“I’ll ask.” Her voice said that she had no intention of asking anyone anything.

His voice was farther away. “Did you make sure to crush the pills into powder this time? I think I almost choked to death yesterday.”

The door shut with a loud click, and she was left alone with the pain eating away at her.


She cursed quietly at her IV stand as it bumped into the doorway, jerking the needle in her elbow. She glanced back furtively at the empty Nurse’s station. The Head Nurse was busy tending to 214. Somehow he had fallen out of bed again. The other Nurse on duty had abandoned her post to use the bathroom. She shuffled as quickly as she could into the room, which was about turtle speed if she was being honest, and carefully closed the door behind her.

She guessed that she had around fifteen to thirty minutes before the Head Nurse made her final rounds before she went home, plus two to three more if the other Nurse was scolded for letting her escape.

She took a moment to catch her breath, ignoring the ache in her chest, and dragged the stand in the direction of the bed. She shoved the curtain out of the way and kept a hand out in front of her to avoid a repeat of what happened earlier. A sliver of light trickled inside from the window, but it wasn’t enough.

Her fingers brushed against the bed frame. Her legs shook. She coughed into her palm, and tried to ignore the wet feeling in her throat. She moved down and patted the bed itself, quickly pulling her hand away when leg hair tickled her knuckles. She sat down heavily on the edge, her wet wheezing filling the silence.

She heard Isaac shifting behind her, but there wasn’t much she could do. She was starting to feel dizzy.

“Olive?”

Her heavy breathing was answer enough.

There was a pause. “I’m the one that’s supposed to sneak out to see you, not the other way around.”

She squeezed her eyes shut at how weak he sounded, and the obvious effort it was taking not to slur his words. “They-They wouldn’t-” She coughed again. “Let me… see you. How was…?” Talking and breathing at the same time was too hard.

“Oh, you know,” she wanted to think that he was smiling. “They just took the biggest tumor out of my stomach, no big deal.”

She grimaced. “The others?”

“Radiation,” his voice sounded strained. “The usual.” She turned as he gasped in pain, and saw that he was moving.

She made a noise of protest.

“Ow! Ow. Shit. That hurt more than I thought,” he groaned. “Come on. I made room.”

She made another noise of protest. She wanted to tell him that he was the biggest idiot she ever met and that he could have ripped out his stiches, but she didn’t think her lungs could take it. Though lying down did sound good right about now. The effort it took to swing her legs up and squeeze into the empty space beside him made her chest painfully tight.

Neither of them spoke until she could breathe a little easier.

“I’m glad…”

“That I’m alive? Yeah, me too.”

She was going to say okay, but close enough.

“I really want to hug you right now.”

She looked at him. They were close enough that she could see the whites of his eyes. She was tempted, but not only might the pressure be the last straw for her lungs, but she didn’t think his body could take it either. She shook her head.

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. She shifted as close as she dared, resting her head against his shoulder. Her eyes widened when she realized that he was shaking.

Fear bloomed in her chest, and for a brief second she thought he was seizing. Pain blossomed in her lungs. Then he draped a hand over his eyes.

“Cancer sucks,” his voice broke.

She clutched the front of her gown, trying hard to calm down. She didn’t want to go through what happened yesterday again so soon. Relief and dread fought for dominance over her heart.

“Sometimes I think,” he inhaled deeply. “I think I should just let go, you know? It has to be easier than… than this.”

She squeezed her shirt in her fist as dread crushed her. This wasn’t the Isaac she knew. He never talked like this. Her heart felt like it was thudding directly into her lungs, each beat sending a pang of fire down to her stomach. “No,” she gasped and regretted talking at all when she barely had any air leftover to breathe.

He rubbed his arm over his eyes. “I’m a selfish bastard, aren’t I?” His breath hitched. “You-You have it so much fucking worse, and here I am, crying over being so fucking weak and sick all the time.”

“No,” it was all she could manage. She coughed, and pain wracked her body. Bile rose in her throat, and it was through sheer force of will that she managed to keep it down. Thoughts flitted through her head, none of which she could say.

It’s not selfish.

I feel the same way.

Please, please don’t leave me alone.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I-Just…what’s the fucking point? We’re going to die anyway. You know the survival rate for stage three stomach cancer?”

She didn’t want to think about that, or about her own chances of survival. “Please.”

He pressed both hands hard against his eyes. Abruptly, he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around her. She gasped against his chest, and he gagged, shuddering. She shifted the arm connected to the IV into a more comfortable position, but couldn’t bring herself to move away from him, even though she knew she should.

He shuddered again. “I-” Another gag escaped, and she tensed, mentally preparing herself for the vomit, but it didn’t come.

She concentrated on the way his chest moved, and tried to mimic him. Even though he was gasping, it was still steadier than anything she was capable of. His stomach made a bubbly sound that concerned her.

“I feel like I almost threw up my intestines,” he almost sounded like himself again. “I shouldn’t have put you through that. I just…” He sighed. “I had a moment, but it’s over now. I won’t do anything stupid, promise.”

“Stitches,” she managed.

“Oh, those? Who needs a stomach anyway, right? It hasn’t done me much good.”

She barely touched his side and he winced. She jerked her hand away as if she burned him. He leaned his forehead against hers, and she could feel how sweaty he was.

“You’re breaking all the rules, aren’t you? Look, I touch you, alright? Not the other way around. That’s the way this works.” His voice was mock stern, but she heard everything that went unsaid. You can’t touch me. It’s too painful.

“Isaac.”

“What kind of name is Olive?” He mused aloud. “It’s like your parents looked at the food closest and chose which one they liked best. You’re lucky they weren’t into apples. Or strawberries. Can you imagine that?” His fingers traced the oxygen tube. “Strawberry and Isaac.”

She couldn’t help the smile.

He yawned. “Wake me up if you feel any blood through my shirt. Or get the Nurse. You know what? Do the second one first. Then wake me up.”

She listened to the IV drip three dozen times before he finally fell asleep.