So, What Pick-Up Line Actually Works On You?

Chapter Twenty-Two - "Really, Annie? Never Would Have Guessed." (Pic of Rhys)

“I’m going to cuddle. With Annie. Because I can and she isn’t dead yet.” Rhys grinned, happy with his solution to the seat dilemma. We launched himself at me, and belly flopped onto the bed. Baby Harry Potter fell off the bed, and Rhys released a shriek of anguish. “Oh shit! My baby fell off the bed! Oh man, what if he’s dead?! Annie, oh man!"

I laughed as Rhys crawled over my legs and peered over the edge of the bed worriedly. He lifted Baby Potter up, revealing a huge dent in the dolls head, “I killed a child.” Rhys deadpanned, before dropping Baby Potter back onto the floor and wriggling towards me. “Help me get over my grief by laying my head upon thy heaving bosom.” Rhys bawled, placing his head on my stomach yet avoiding my thigh. Good boy.

And then we noticed the doctor standing in the doorway with a ‘what the hell’ face. Tyson sniggered, and quickly recomposed himself. The doctor stepped into the room looking at the three of us carefully, “Good evening, I’m Doctor Ashen and I’m here to see an Annie Brady?”

Tyson’s sniggers increased as Rhys turned to him accusingly, “Dude, why?” Rhys demanded.

“Because you two are married, remember? Geez, did you hit your head too, Rhys?” Tyson teased, oblivious to the doctors annoyed stare.

“Please leave, sir. This is a private consultation and seeing as Annie’s husband is here there is no need for your presence.” Doctor Ashen ordered snappily, and Tyson gaped at her for a few seconds before hopping out of the chair and striding out of the room. She turned to the two of us next, “Would you like to many yourselves more, eh, comfortable before I start?” She pried, observing Rhys’s compromising position.

“I’m grand.” Rhys replied, waggling his eyebrows at me suggestively. Once a pervert, always a pervert.

“Well, Annie as you know you have leukaemia, and it has progressed significantly in the past few weeks. I’ve never seen it take over so fast myself.” She paused to take a breath, and Rhys’s hand slid into mine. “You’re going to start to rapidly deteriorate in a few weeks, maybe a month and a half, and once that starts you’ll have to come back here for the last two weeks, I’m sorry. From now on, you’ll notice little things, tiredness, short of breath, more likely to get sick and generally feeling like crap.”

I snorted at her use of the word crap, “Okay, I know that’s going to happen. I’m sick and I’m going to die, I have accepted that.” I told her calmly, feeling Rhys’s thumb trace soothing circles on my palm of my hand.

“I’ve been told of your decision, and I respect it. However, I have been told to tell you of a centre in London who will be able to help you if you go to them.” The doctor began, but I cut in.

“I’m not interested.” I pointed out, and I felt Rhys stop breathing for a while.

The doctor shrugged easily, as if seeing me slowly die didn’t bother her, “Okay, I’ll see you in a few weeks, Anabelle.” She saluted, and then left the room without a second glance.

“Please, Annie.” Rhys murmured, and I knew what he was talking about instantly. When I didn’t reply, he spoke again, “Please, just please consider it. I can’t bear to see you do this to yourself.”

I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, blinking away the tears that had started to form there. It had finally sunk in, I was going to die. I was sick, and I was going to leave behind this place and all these people. Up to now, it had all been fun and games and nothing had truly hit me.

A ragged sob escaped my throat, and the tears began to overflow. I could feel Rhys shifting our position stance so I was curled up into his chest; he was cupping the back of my neck to his shoulder and rubbing my back slowly. Another sob followed that one and I could feel a wet patch developing on his shirt. And to top it all off, my nose had started to run.