Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
She’s sound asleep on the living room floor. Her hair is messy, and her skin flushed. She has a sheen of sweat covering her skin. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now. The pile of pillows and blankets we keep there for movie night came in handy when I finally stopped fucking her. While I am completely satisfied and thankfully so is she this time, I can’t help thinking that she’s cheating on me or fallen in love with another man. Everything she’s doing and saying leads me to believe that. I can’t get the thought out of my head. It doesn’t really fucking matter though, I’ll never let her go. She’s mine in every way until I take my very last breath and then I’ll wait for her for whatever comes next.
She moans low in her sleep and rolls over, but it’s not a good moan. The kind of moan that I love to hear from her. It’s as if she’s in pain. I can’t have her sleeping out here all night, so I lift her up into my arms. Not for the first time, I notice how light she feels. Not that she was heavy before, but this is a significant weight loss. If she’s not cheating, is it drugs? Depression? Did finding out that President of the United States is her father freak her out that badly? Did the whole slew of sisters she didn’t know she had send her over the edge? Other than the initial discussion, she hasn’t talked about it all. I want to help her, but I know her well enough to know that unless she asks for it, she doesn’t want it. I lay her down in our bed and stare down at her as she moves fitfully in her sleep.
In the morning. I notice that she’s still in bed when I get up. It’s rare that she sleeps all night. I know something is going on. I need to know what it is, and I need to know now.
This is fucking killing me.
CHAPTER 7
AUGUST
A FEW WEEKS LATER
Shaking is nothing new. I shake all the time now, but this, this is something else. I have been shivering for the last two hours sitting in this chair, and it is not getting better,
“Miss August, here is another heated blanket, " the sweet nurse says. She has given me three blankets in the two hours, and nothing is working. “Oh, the doctor wants me to take your temperature.” Nodding, I open my mouth so the thermometer can go in. I close my eyes, willing my body to cooperate, but nothing stops the shaking. “Oh man, " she says, pulling it from my lips.
“What?” She looks at me with pity and touches my forehead.
“You have a fever. It’s 103.9.” Damn, I haven’t been that sick since I got pneumonia in eighth grade. “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, she comes back to the doctor. “My dear, we have to stop your chemo today. It should not have even started since they are supposed to take your temperature when you come in, but the new check-in nurse must have overlooked it.”
“What does this mean?” I ask while she unhooks me.
“This means you need to go home, rest, and stay hydrated. You can only take Tylenol, and you need to get a lot of sleep. Is there anyone at home this time of day?” I shake my head no.
“Should we call Declan?” I hate that she knows both of us so intimately.
“No!” I say vehemently. So aggressively, in fact, that she figures out what I am trying not to say. With her hand on her hip, she looks at me.
“August Nicole Henreigh, are you telling me he still doesn’t know?” I put my head down and nodded. “Why on earth not?” My head jerks up in shock that she could even ask me that question.
“You know why. He has gone through this once before. He has watched someone he loves die already, not to mention my mom too. How could I conceive of doing that to him again?” I am crying uncontrollably now, my stomach heaving and tightening from the emotion. I can feel a spasm coming, but nothing could hurt as much as knowing what I need to do. “I can’t. I just can’t do that to him. He deserves to be happy. He should be with someone who can give him what I can’t. A family. A future.” The last part comes out in an anguished sob and all I have been holding in comes tumbling out in a pained cry so sharp and tangible it sounds like a wolf’s howl.
“August, you can’t predict the future. None of us can.”
“Can’t I though? We both know how this ends. We’ve seen it.” Twice now. Which is how I know it is time to let go.