why do i let my mind
get under my skin
I am so sensitive
Newt's mouth had become so incredibly sore and raw from his treatments that he couldn't eat much. Even when he wanted nothing more than to feast on his favorite meals, he could only manage chicken broth and jello on most days.
"Newt." His sister said one afternoon. "Thomas is coming over." She stroked his hair as he gazed up at her. His eyes had sunken into deep crevices in his face, and if it was possible, he had grown much thinner. His inability to withhold a meal had drastically taken its tole on Newt's body, and even, he thought, his mind at times. There had been so many moments of brain fog that he thought he was going insane. Like briefly forgetting the name of his cat, or missing a note while he was playing piano, and sometimes forgetting what day it was. It was either this, or a side effect of the medication which was completely possible.
In other news, his hair was thick enough that when it began to fall out, he still had a fair amount to cover his head. His eyelashes, however had been long gone.
"When will he be here?" Newt asked. Even his own voice, he barely recognized.
"In a few minutes." She said softly. "Harriet and I are going to meet mother for dinner, then she wants to come see you. Does that sound alright?" She asked. Newt nodded.
"Can you clean up a bit?" He asked weakly. She, of course, knew what he meant. Hide his medications, tidy up the living room so it didn't look like he was living on the couch like he was. Normal things.
"Newt, would you tell him? Please? He's going to know something's wrong with you." She said as she moved around the living room, folding blankets and placing pillows back on the couch.
"I know he's going to know something's wrong, but I don't want to tell him unless I know for sure that I'm-" but he didn't finish, he couldn't. Because he already knew. The survival rates just for five years was only 27%. Only 27% of people with SCLC lived for 5 years after being diagnosed, and that was if they had caught it early enough. Maybe this realization was enough. Sonya didn't say anything when he stopped talking though, she had long stopped correcting him when he went off on his tangents. "Maybe I will tell him before I get any uglier."
"Newt." Sonya said sharply. This was one thing she wouldn't tolerate, when he belittled himself.
"Help me up." Newt said, stretching his hand out to her. She pulled him to his feet, his knees bent from the weight of his own body but he righted himself before he got close to falling. He decided he ought to change out of his old sweatpants into some new sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He had to tie the waist of his pants as tight as he could to even keep them on his hips, but they stayed.
"Newt! Thomas is here!" His sister called to him. He looked at himself in the mirror, he was simply a ghost of what he once was. A walking skeleton with skin stretched over his bones. It would be impossible to hide this from Thomas, and from this realization he knew. He knew he would have to tell him, and he was sure that he knew the reaction he would receive. He pushed himself down the hallway and immediately was filled with dread when he saw Thomas with a bag full of take away food in his hand. Food that he would never be able to keep down.
When Thomas turned to look at him, his eyes were full of life until he saw Newt. When they fell upon him, his face dropped.
"Hey, Tommy." Newt said, slowly padding forward. "You bring me something to eat? I'm starved."
"Newt, I thought- your sister said you were better." He said, the bag going limp in his hands.
"I did get better for a while." Newt replied, going to sit at one of the barstools. He saw the goosebumps on his skin before he felt them, and the smell of food made his stomach growl. "We can talk about it later. Let's eat."
