La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (33 page)

“Are you Riley?” The nurse asked handing him her bag. “Emma told me all about you.”

He caught Emma’s arm and helped her walk. “How was it?”

She groaned. “I did it.”

Leave it to her not to mention how awful he could only imagine it was. “This is normal?” He looked at the nurse.

“Oh, yeah. She’ll be weak for the next few days. Plenty of rest so her body can heal and the chemo can do its job.”

Jesus. Her eyes were so puffy and red. “Were you crying?”

“No. My head feels really weird right now though. I wanna go home.”

Grateful they took care of all the paperwork ahead of time, he walked her to the car. The most minor things seemed to be a struggle. He fastened her seatbelt, mindful of the small catheter port in her chest. He laid the boo-boo blanket over her lap and she slept the entire way home.

When they reached the loft he texted Rarity and gently woke Emma. “We’re here, cakes.”

Her mouth clicked as she dryly swallowed. “Thirsty.”

He uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to her. Rarity came down and, for the first time in a very long time, he saw fear in his sister’s eyes. Forcing back all the warnings he wanted to say, he simply nodded, and exited the car as she climbed behind the wheel.

She pressed a hand to Emma’s shoulder, their smiles reflecting the same tragic happiness that the hard part of the morning was over. “You made it, toots.”

“I made it,” Emma agreed, sluggishly.

“The couch is all set up and so is your bed. I’ll be back as soon as I park Riley’s car.
Love Actually’s
cued up and waiting.”

She chuckled, but he could tell it cost her. “You’re the best.”

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, taking her arm and guiding her to the door.

If she had a preference between her bed and the couch she didn’t voice it. The second she stepped through the door she went straight to the couch and curled into a ball.

Marla watched her, a curious look in her chocolate eyes as though she sensed something wasn’t right. Slowly, she padded over to the sofa, sniffed Emma, and curled on the floor beside her, which was where she stayed.

Emma was asleep before Rarity returned from parking the car. The waiting game had begun again as Emma slept and continued to sleep as they tried to prepare for whatever came next.

Hours passed in silence as they simply watched her, unspeakable things running through their terrified minds. It was the realest experience of his life. Nothing compared and he never wanted to experience anything this real again. But he would. This was only the beginning and there was a long road ahead. Knowing that, made living this all the more distressing.

****

S
omething was wrong. His eyes opened as a small moan echoed in the dark loft. Bolting upright he sprung into action as Emma hunched over the couch and groaned into the trash bin. Falling to his knees, he crawled to her and brushed the hair away from her face.

“Don’t,” she whined, but he ignored her.

She heaved, but very little came out. Her skin was soaked in sweat and her motor skills were noticeably off as she weakly trembled at the edge of the couch.

“What can I do?”

She retched again and groaned. “God, this sucks.”

He uncapped a bottle of water, waiting for her to finish. She eased back, fatigued and moaning. Handing her the water, he rushed to the kitchen, wet a cloth and returned to her side, pressing the cool compress to her head. He wanted to know what it felt like, what might make her more comfortable, but he already knew the answer. Awful and nothing.

The chemo was doing what it was designed to do—rip her apart. If she was experiencing the effects already that had to mean the tumors were being affected too. He told himself so, over and over again, because it was the only justification for anyone to volunteer for this sort of torture.

He pressed the cool cloth to the back of her neck. “It’ll pass, cakes. Just breathe.”

The following day they returned to the oncologist so Emma could get a shot that would stimulate cell growth in her bone marrow. The nurse, when Emma wasn’t present, described it as excruciating, but Emma never complained. Still, he saw the agony in her eyes.

The moment they returned home she had a small snack, curled up on the couch, and fell asleep. Marla climbed off of Rarity’s bed and lay beside Emma on the floor, her silent guardian.

As the days passed, hushed and curious, Emma was too exhausted to do more than sit quietly. Her breathing became the steady melody he built his world around. When they watched television, her head rested on his shoulder and their hands held each other, the soft in and out of her breath was the most reassuring sound to his ears. His heart seemed to adjust to the rhythm, as it became the sole focus of his existence.

It was all he needed in that moment, for her to breathe. Just breathe.

He wondered how parents dealt with the agony of love, assuming most parents held an unconditional affection for their children the way his did not. Scraped knees and bloody noses, so many boo-boos through the years. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be strong enough to love more than one person that deeply, because loving Emma unconditionally ripped his heart to shreds every time she suffered.

Perhaps he loved her too much, but there was never any middle with him. It was all or nothing. The only thing worse than the pain of loving her so hard was the absolute, insufferable agony of imagining a world without that love. There wasn’t a choice. He needed to love her and so he did. He loved her with every ounce of his being.

When the second round of chemo started, Emma lacked the verve she possessed in the beginning. Although she’d survived round one, the aftermath had devastated her sense of optimism, given them all a startling glimpse of the horrific side effects that came with modern treatments.

Perhaps, knowing what to expect and being weakened by the enemy she still had to face, made it all the more terrifying. He finally understood what people meant when they said the cure was worse than the disease.

Cancer, that tiny little cell that started all this, was silent and painless. Chemotherapy, on the other hand, the venom strong enough to kill said cancer, made so much noise it silenced life itself, the painful aftermath all that echoed in their home.

As Emma clung to the toilet, refusing to get off the bathroom floor, he waited for the sickness to pass. But there was never any warning when it would strike, and chances were as soon as he helped her back to bed she’d puke again. After twenty minutes of nothing but moans leaving her mouth, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to bed.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, but he ignored her apology like he did every time. This wasn’t her fault.

“Try drinking some water.” He uncapped the bottle and held it to her lips. Her eyes closed and she turned away after only a few sips. “Good?”

“Mmm.”

He covered her and returned to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he didn’t want to fall asleep again until he was certain she was in the clear. Pulling out the disinfectant, he wiped down the toilet and vanity, tossing away uncountable strands of Emma’s hair.

“That shit is killing her,” Rarity whispered, startling him.

His sister was steadily increasing the long list of strange foods in their diet. It was impossible to talk to her sometimes. Everything she read argued chemo came with more risks than guarantees.

“It’ll pass.” He sprayed the toilet and placed a clean stack of towels by the tub.

“They say the third round’s the worst.”

He ignored her, incapable of imagining anything worse than what they’d already witnessed.

“Doesn’t it bother you that she has to sign papers saying she understands this treatment might cause other cancers down the road?”

Having heard enough, he threw the toilet brush against the wall and snapped, “
What do you want me to do, Rarity?
This is the only option we have! People survive this way! They beat it! I can’t gamble her life on herbs and supplements!”

“She’s gotten sicker since it started!” she hissed. “How much worse can it get? When does it end?”

Gripping the vanity he looked away. He didn’t have the fucking answers. “It ends when it starts to make her better.”

“And then what? We wait some more. She has surgery? More waiting. And it either starts all over again or they burn the shit out of her with radiation. They’ll kill her before the cancer does!”

Breathing hard, he bit his lip. He was so damn tired. “This is
her
choice. It’s her life. What do you want from me?”

“What if it’s the wrong choice?”

“What if it’s not?”

“But what if it is?”

“Jesus, Rarity, I can’t do this right now! Do you see what I’m dealing with? She’s weak. She’s sick. And she’s suffering. Don’t you think if there was any fucking way I could take some of that pain from her I would? If you think it isn’t killing me watching her go through this, you’re a fucking idiot!” He shoved past her and went to clean up the living room.

The swish of her slippers followed him. “I’m sorry.”

He ignored her.

“Riley...please, don’t be mad at me. I’m just so afraid she isn’t going to make it through this.”

His jaw tightened. “Shut. Up.” The words barely fit through his clenched teeth.

She sniffled. “What’ll we do without her?”

“God damn it, Rarity, shut up!”

She grabbed his arms and he tried to shove her away, but she refused to let him go. Yanking him to her, she hugged him, and the tightness in his chest exploded. Fear burned his throat as he gripped her tight.

He choked as his eyes flooded with tears. “I can’t lose her.” He clung to her shoulders as his lips tightened and his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “I can’t.”

“I know,” Rarity whispered. Her hand cupped the back of his head. “I know.”

It was the first time he cried since finding out it was cancer and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. They sat in the dark for several hours, hardly talking, yet having one of the most earthshattering conversations of his life.

He couldn’t be mad at Rarity for loving Emma. He understood. Loving someone with cancer meant carrying a love greater than any hate. Because he absolutely despised what this disease was doing to her, but he stuck around because he loved her a thousand times more.

****

I
t was time. Riley stuffed his lucky monkey hat on his head and nodded at his sister. “Let’s do this.”

Emma stood at the counter eating a bowl of granola cereal as he and Rarity tiptoed into the kitchen. She grinned nervously and wiped a dribble of almond milk off her chin. “Whhhhat are you guys doing?”

“Nothin’,” Rarity sung, folding her hands innocently behind her back and rocking on her heels. She wore overalls and a blue knit hat with mustache trim.

Emma put down her spoon and arched a brow in his direction. “And you? You’re definitely up to something. I can always tell.”

Still in his pajamas, he beamed. It wasn’t unusual for him to wander around in his monkey hat. “How do you feel today?”

“Better.”

“Good. We have a surprise for you.”

She smiled. “I like surprises—the good kind at least.”

He looked at Rarity. “Ready?” She nodded and he counted off. “One.”

“Two,” Rarity chanted.

They turned to Emma and smiled expectantly. Her eyes moved from side to side. “Three?”

Together, they pulled off their hats and she gasped. “You’re bald!”

He gave her his most cheeky grin and winked. “Pound sign no hair don’t care.”

“Hair is so passé,” Rarity said. “Bald’s the new beard.”

Emma’s expression was priceless. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in weeks. Reaching behind her ear, she touched a thinning patch of her hair. “Will you do mine?”

Rarity hugged her and placed a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Come on. I left the clippers out.”

In the end, she looked totally different, but her beauty somehow became even more pronounced. Those fascinating eyes shined, because she was—for that moment—happy, and that was all he could ask for.

For now, that was enough.

––––––––

W
hen it was time for round three Emma appeared optimistic once again. Prepared and acting like somewhat of an old pro, she had a stronger attitude than ever.

“Let’s get’er done,” she said, bouncing by the front door, dressed in her sweats, his Save Ferris shirt, and his lucky monkey hat. She was fucking hot in his clothes and he wanted to do stuff to her.

“Come here,” he ordered as he sat on the couch.

She giggled and skipped over to him, her clumsy little hop the most motion he saw from her in weeks. He patted his lap and she straddled his legs on the sofa. Cupping both hands at the side of her neck, he drew her in for a kiss.

“Mmm,” she hummed.

“We have some time,” he whispered, pressing his hips into her.

She pulled back slowly and looked at his lap as if considering his offer. They hadn’t had sex since she’d started chemo. Biting her lip, she blushed, and whispered, “I feel funny.”

“I feel horny.”

Pushing his chest, she laughed. “No, I mean... I feel weird.”

His smile bent with concern. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

He tsked. “So? Don’t feel weird. It’s just us. I think we’ll remember how it goes.” Arching a brow, trying to dispel any worry, he joked, “I’m quite the expert on all things bajingo.”

“I know you are, but I’m...” She glanced at the bandage covering the port on her chest. “I’m gross.”

His humor disappeared. “You are
not
gross, Emma. I don’t care about any of that. I don’t even see it. If it bothers you, leave your shirt on, but don’t stay dressed on my account. I love you no matter what your body looks like.”

Her eyes closed and he tried not to be mad at her for thinking such things. She wasn’t gross, or anything close to it. She was Emma. His Emma.

“Hey.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek and she lifted her lashes. “I
love
you. Don’t hide yourself from me. I don’t want you to.”