Fish line (Dark Romance)

CHAPTER 7

''why does it hurt?''

As we approached the infirmary building, a sombre atmosphere enveloped us, contrasting sharply with the bustling activity outside. Inside, a group of dedicated doctors tended to the sick, their selflessness evident in their tireless efforts to care for those unable to travel to the other planet. Nick and I navigated past rows of occupied beds, the sounds of wheezing and coughing stirring unease within Nick.

Clutching the bag of food tightly, Nick hesitated before taking a tentative step towards his mother's bed. I felt a pang of empathy, knowing his apprehension mirrored my own. Memories of past hardships flooded my mind, but I pushed aside my fears, determined to be there for Nick. With a reassuring smile, I reached for his hand, gently prying the bag from his grip as our fingers intertwined. Though I lacked the comfort of someone to hold my hand in times of distress, I found solace in being there for Nick, silently conveying my support as we approached his mother's bedside.

She lay there sleeping, her breathing slow and laboured, a faint wheeze escaping her lips. Nick's touch was tender as he grasped her hand, his love evident in the gentle caress of her face.

I suggested "Shouldn't we come back later? She is sleeping." I knew Roselle needed all the rest she could get.

Nick's shoulders sagged, a silent acknowledgement of his emotional turmoil, yet he remained steadfast, refusing to show his anguish in his mother's presence.

Before Nick could respond, a weak voice pierced the air, drawing our attention to Roselle, her smile belying the gravity of her condition. Her resilience reminded me of the woman with the scar on her forehead, her unwavering façade masking inner turmoil. Swallowing back my own emotions, I maintained a composed exterior, unwilling to let my façade crumble in their presence.

I heard her call my name. After composing myself, I put on my best smile and turned towards her. I knelt beside Nick, taking her frail hands in mine. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat to see if I would be able to say a word after that, but that didn't help at all. I could only smile, although I could feel my lips wavering. Roselle spoke but in a weak voice. I listened as she spoke, her voice a mere whisper of its former strength. Memories of her selfless acts flooded my mind, leaving me grappling with unanswered questions and unspoken gratitude. 

As she spoke words of love and gratitude, congratulating us on our anniversary, I struggled to maintain my composure. Why had she sacrificed so much for me? Why did she smile through her pain, hiding her own suffering? Tears threatened to spill, yet I forced myself to smile through the turmoil, embracing her frail form as she comforted us in her final moments of lucidity.

Silence fell as Roselle drifted into slumber, her hands resting peacefully. With gentle care, we adjusted her position, ensuring her comfort as she slept. As we finished, the doctor entered, his presence a sobering reminder of the fragility of life and the fleeting nature of our time with Roselle.