His Eyes Followed The Sun

Chapter One: Cal

"MR. THOMAS!"

A pair of hands clapped onto my shoulders. I blinked my eyes as Dr. Benavides's dark eyes looked deeply into mine, my body frozen in shock.

"Breathe. Please." She stated. Her hands squeezed my shoulders slightly.

I started to breathe. My chest ached as I started to take shallow breaths, my eyes still locked with hers. I had not realized, in my frantic state, that I had forgotten to breathe. Dr. Benavides started to mimic me, breathing deeply in long drawn out breaths.

"There you go. Breathe in," She instructed, making sure to inhale along with me, "Now exhale."

She took the folder from my hands, allowing me to wipe my face. Tears had soaked my face during my outburst, the embarrassment of the entire thing started to burn in my face.

"Mr. Thomas, are you alright?" Dr. Benavides asked, taking her seat once more.

I looked at her for a long minute before nodding. I could not find the words to speak, the episode still fresh on my mind.

"I understand that this is a lot to take in," She said. "But unfortunately due to the type of brain cancer you have, and the stage that it is in, we likely need to make arrangements for you."

I still sat, too scared to speak, as the weight of my fear grabbed at my vocal cords.

"Look. You do not have to choose hospice, but that is an option. The other option is that you can go about your life until ultimately the cancer runs its course."

My body cringed inward at the sound of her words, "What happens if I decide to leave?"

My voice sounded like nothing more than a whisper, but it could be heard in the silence of the room. I didn't even recognize the sound of it, it sounded like someone else. Someone I hadn't heard in a long time. 

"Well if you decide on that option, we will prescribe you medication to handle any pain if you feel any." She explained.

"Pain?" I asked.

"You may experience pain as your condition progresses. The medication is to make it bearable and to try to help you be as comfortable as possible." She added.

Comfort. That word seemed to burn its way into my skin, the irony setting me on edge. What type of comfort was there in death? Was I supposed to feel relieved that one day I was going to go to sleep and that was it? The longer I sat staring at Dr. Benavides, the heavier my body felt. The thought of drowning again seemed to creep along the precipice of my mind. But I didn't think I would be able to have another episode without the nurses being called in to restrain me.

"How long do I have?" I asked again, my throat feeling tight.

Dr. Benavides's face grew tired, "After looking at your test results and the scans, we predict that you only have just right at a month left."

The back of my eyes burned at the sound of her words. One month. One fucking month. My life had come down to 30 days—if I was even meant to be that lucky. I looked down to see my white knuckled fists resting against my jeans, all of my will power focused on not losing my shit once again. I slowly closed my eyes, remembering that I still needed to breathe. It hurt to press the feeling in my throat down, like I was being strangled by my own denial and anger. I pushed every scream, every obscenity I wanted to scream at anyone that would hear it, down. To push all the tears I knew I would shed. To push the anguish of knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop it. In the end there was only one thing I felt once everything was gone, besides the returning numbness.

I felt helpless.

"Do I have to make my decision right now?" I asked, my voice feeling even tighter than before.