A World No Longer Heliocentric

8: Bella

I wish he would leave. My body shakes involuntarily as coldness fuses in my veins like someone injected me with saline. Nausea spreads from my head to my stomach and to my chest. I resist the urge to throw up, hugging my stomach. The IL2 is kicking in, like delayed symptoms of a disease. No warning. But after a few minutes, nausea starts to fade and my coloring turns to normal.

"Do you need me to do anything?" he says suddenly. "For the pain, or to make you feel better. I could get you an aspirin." I laugh. Trying to use aspirin for IL2 treatment is like trying to cover a gunshot wound with a bandaid. But I don't say that, just shaking my head. Awkward silence builds up between us for a few minutes, until he breaks it.

"I'm sorry you have to go through that," he says quietly. "That really sucks." Sometimes, as awful as it sounds, it feels nice to hear someone say sorry. For others, this means pity, feeling bad for the person. But for me, it feels like empathy, like they can't imagine going through that pain but they understand if the pain was unfair. That's understanding, not pity.

"Thanks," I reply. I wish I knew how to handle a situation like this but I feel so clueless. "But we're done. You don't have to stick around anymore." He flinches.

"I want to stick around," he looks down. "It's been hours and we haven't eaten. Do you want to go get shakes?" My heart skips a beat and I rub my arm anxiously. I know I shouldn't define myself this way but why would he want to go out with me? I'm the expired milk that doesn't taste foul yet.

"Sure," I smile. Just then, the nausea of the IL2 kicks in again and I feel the acid rise in my throat, running with my back arched towards the bathroom right next to the living room. Leaning over the sink, I grip the sides as I throw up, my body shaking and heaving. I hear shuffling behind me and a knock on the door.

"Bella?" Liam says urgently. "Are you okay?" I wipe my mouth with my sleeve before turning on the sink to wash it all down. I'm not going anywhere, probably for the next day. Opening the door slowly, I look up at Liam, surprised at how tall he is.

"I can't come tonight," I murmur, my body shaking as I start to feel cold again, but I can feel the cool sweat on my forehead which means that I'm burning up. I hate him seeing me like this. I hate anyone seeing me like this. "But thanks for asking." He nods and starts walking towards the door, his backpack on his shoulder. I watch him, numbly, waiting for him to turn around to say goodbye but he doesn't. Unintended dread fills me as I sink to the floor, hugging my chest. A sob escapes my throat as I leaned against the wall. The inseparable pain from my mind and my body overwhelms me as I bury my head in my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible.

She shivered in the water, cold rippling through her parallel to the water's current against her strokes. Hours ago, she predicted her death by now. But she miraculously is still here. Though she's not quite sure whether this was a good or bad thing, but the debate kept her mind busy as she forced herself through the pain of the ocean. Her sense of direction got lost in the water hours ago after water started to fill her mouth and she panicked.

Then, she had forced herself to start swimming again, just to swim. She didn't pay attention to the sun anymore, or the warmth. Not the pain or the possible outcomes. She became numb with the coldness that overcame her all those hours ago. Now, the pain overcame her numbness and she had to occupy her mind with something else.

This brings her to the question of whether she wants to die or not, whether or not it was good she's still here, fighting for her life. All she knew was her family on that island. Somehow, she knew that they would give her all the answers about herself she needed. She'd be complete. But the water might kill her first.

There are so many sounds in her head, like bits of them, voices and feelings interconnected. They're all confusing, unidentified. She knew the emotion behind some sounds, though, because each one painted a picture in her head. With one, she slid across a zip line going across a canyon, her arms held out and screaming so close to her that it pierced her ears. But it was an elated scream, thrilling. She realized, as the film developed in her mind, that she was the one screaming. The wind howling and the birds chirping faintly in the background of her excitement further developed the picture in her head.

Another sound, singing, interrupted the picture because it was foreign. She let her mind be redirected to the sound, which intensified the further away she drifted from her own thrilling scream. The sound makes warmth flood through her thoughts, shutting down all her other thoughts as the singing dominates and fills her mind. Clearly, the sound belonged to a woman, but she sounded like an angel. And suddenly, a thousand mental pictures form in her mind at once.

She wondered if these sounds, these mental pictures, could they perhaps be memories? She swam faster, wanting to see more. Somehow, she knew she was going in the right direction, wherever her thoughts started racing the most meant the direction of the island-

"I hope you like vanilla."
I jerked my head up, looking at Liam kneeling down in front of me, a large vanilla milkshake in his left hand and a chocolate in his right.

"Because I really don't want to give my chocolate one up," he finishes, motioning for me to take the vanilla one. I hold up a shaky hand and take it from him. Taking my hand, he pulls me up from off the ground. He must be used to taking care of people, with his mom, which is why he feels he needs to be here right now. "You really thought I was going to leave you?"

"Honestly," I sigh, bringing the straw to my lips. "I wouldn't blame you if you did." He seems confused by this because he tilts his head. Under this light, I notice his normal blue eyes are grey, making his complexion seem even darker. He stares at me for a minute while he slurps at his chocolate shake, like he's deep in thought, his expression shifting every few seconds.

"Why do you always believe you deserve the worst?" he asks me finally after an awkward silence. Nobody's asked me before, and it takes me by surprise. It's true. I do believe I deserve the worst.

"Things happen for a reason," I rest back against the couch, taking small sips of the shake. "People think God gives us what we can handle, and I used to think like that until this happened. Now, I think, maybe this is his way of preventing our evils in the future, or punishing us."

"That's psycho," Liam laughs, clutching his stomach. "You know how insane that sounds?"
"Excuse me?"

"Let me tell you something," he says, turning serious. "If this really was punishment, you would be on the floor in agony right now. But no, you barely look fazed by it. And I get it. You're probably just really good at hiding it. But did you ever open yourself up to the idea that maybe you're just really strong?"

For some reason, this offends me. Cancer has derailed everything. It drained my energy, my thoughts, my relationships with other people, my character. It took something away from me that I couldn't even describe. It weakened me, not made me stronger.

"You don't know what you're saying," I scoff.

"Maybe you just can't see it," he says, making no sense.

"You'd think you'd understand," I snap. "Because you have shit too. But you're just like everyone else. What you go through you doesn't make you stronger. It just derails you." I can tell he hated the negative talk, even if I'm right because he looks away quickly.

"Taking care of someone else's problems isn't the same as taking care of your own," he argues. We both know he's talking about his mom, who's in a psychiatric facility right now.

"Addressing someone else's conflict is the same thing as making it your own."
"It's not like I have a choice."
"You are kidding, right?" I laugh. He's so stupid. "Yes, you do. Unless it's happening to you, on you, your freaking physical being, you're not allowed to talk."
"Screw you," he mutters angrily. His hair trails just over his eye against his eyebrow and he leans forward to brush it out of his face. His hands shake like he can't keep the anger in control. If anything is real, he runs from it, trying to keep that fantasy. That must be exhausting.