The Fall of Forever {A MyStreet FF}

{10}: Vilomah

Both Garte and Zianna Ro'Meave missed their oldest son.

However, in realizing that they ached for him, the two were perplexed. The child wasn't dead, yet. Garroth was still there. He was still in the earlier stages of palliative care, meaning he was still alert and quite often had some amount of energy in him.

That being said, he was slowly succumbing to the very disease his immune system was supposed to fight against. Those days where he ran up to Garte after a full day at work with hugs and begging to play, or those of him insisting Zianna listen to every detail of his days at school were slowly slipping through their fingers. The fact that they took all of those moments for granted is what they beat themselves up for the most.

Perhaps they were also grieving the loss of what could've been. There would be no first day of school, nor first car or graduation from high school. The dream Garte had of Garroth eventually taking over the company one day was diminished. They had not yet become accustomed to the fact that their firstborn would be forever tied to the age of four.

Zack's words were sinking into Garte. The doctor's blunt words seemed to hit every nerve in his body. He tried to search for loopholes in what was said, maybe to read between the lines for any inkling of hope. But, there was none. None other than the tiny syringe of green liquid that was handed over.

Immediately after Zack left, Garte stumbled clumsily up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, still cradling the syringe in both of his hands.

He had never actually seen the Forever Potion before, which made him more uneasy about injecting it into himself. He couldn't inject it into anyone else, nevertheless his family. The only option was to use it on himself. And so, Garte was faced with a single small choice that would lead to some of the biggest moments.

He could inject it into himself. In doing such, he'd be betraying Derek, who had been at his side for years. However, if it worked, and there was no harm done, Garroth stood a chance at living.

Or, he could not inject the potion. He could keep the peace among his friends, and probably his family, too. If anything went wrong with the potion, it wouldn't be on his conscience that he knew and didn't do anything. The only thing that would be on his conscience was Garroth's untimely death.

Garte, his mind swarmed and racing with thoughts of every possible outcome, stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't recognize the changes in himself that everyone else did. Then again, he didn't recognize himself to begin with.

The thought of death continuously intruded his mind. With air ripping through his lungs, the once careful business man shakily picked up the syringe. He held it right above his face and focused on the needle with his eyes.

Garte could live without Derek.

It was Garroth he couldn't live without.

And so, he lifted up his left arm and placed the needle against his skin. In making sure he found a vein, he hesitated.

It was at this point that he remembered that he was generally disgusted by needles.

Letting out a sharp and labored breath, Garte averted his eyes away from his arm. On three, he pushed the needle into his arm. He winced ever so slightly as he felt the pinching pain from needles he had felt several times before.

His entire left arm began to assume a burning sensation as the liquid shot through his veins. There were no other immediate side effects. Garte pulled open a drawer and placed the dirtied needle as far back as he was able to. Ignoring his bleeding arm, he shoved the drawer shut walked out of the bathroom.

It was when Garte was quietly walking down the stairs that he heard to faint, yet distinct voices. He turned the corner into the living room, making every effort to hide the blood from the syringe wound.

In the living room sat Zianna, who was holding Garroth on her lap. The little one wasn't crying, but he looked as though he had been. Zianna was rocking her son slowly as she lightly stroked his hair.

"Everything alright?" Garte asked as he sat down to the left of his wife.

"Yeah, we're okay now," Zianna replied. She placed another kiss on Garroth's forehead.

Garte caught a clearer glimpse of Garroth. There was no sign of blood, just what remained of tears on his cheeks. His eyes lifted up to Zianna, who had been stronger in the past few days than she ever had been.

"I'm sorry, Momma," Garroth placed his thumb in his mouth.

Zianna, hiding her pain, smiled at the little one, "Don't be sorry, GarGar. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Garte placed a hand on Garroth's upper arm while Zianna still held him. She took notice of the small puncture wound on her husband's arm, but chose not to address it in that moment.

"I didn't know walking back up the steps would be hard. I just wanted to get medicine," Garroth explained, which finally filled Garte in on what had happened.

"GarGar, when you're in pain, you come get us, okay?" Zianna told him gently. "We can get you your medicine."

"I didn't want to wake you up," Garroth replied.

Upon realizing that the sweet, generous little boy they had would be gone in a matter of weeks or months, Garte felt like he was getting his heart ripped out of his chest. Even as time continued to move, Garroth's words and actions remained with him and haunted his thoughts.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, baby," Zianna said. "But you come get us, alright? Even if we're asleep."

"Whenever you need. That's what we're here for," Garte chimed in.

Garroth nodded, with his thumb still in his mouth, offering extra comfort. His eyelids began to drop as his body slipped into sleep. His breathing steadied, and Garte and Zianna's eyes locked into each other's.

The love in the room was clear. The deep rooted care they shared for each other was evident, as well as the eternal affection for their son.

What was also evident was the looming tension between the two of them. They had not had a moment of intimacy since before every doctors appointment and meetings about the potion. They had nights where they were alone together, but those were overtaken with extreme exhaustion or grief.

Garte placed his right hand on the back of Zianna's head. He sat up, and pressed his lips against her forehead in a long and intentional kiss. It was almost as if he was trying to communicate to her that things would be alright, and that he had a grip on the situation.

They separated and looked back into each other's eyes once again. Garte forced a smile, a calm and reassuring one he had given to her multiple times. Zianna gave back a similar smile to hide the fact that she was studying her husband's looks. She glanced down at the placed he had pushed the syringe in, then looked back up again.

Zianna moved a hand away from Garroth and gently placed it on Garte's left arm. She disguised it as a sign of affection, but in reality she was trying to see if his skin was hot to the touch.

Garte grimaced when she slowly and gently took a grip on his arm. It was so slight, someone had to know Garte incredibly well in order to take note of it.

She also couldn't help but notice his dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes.