Cody:
Needless to say, it’s been two days, four hours, thirty-one minutes and fifty seconds since Merinda and I had last spoken. You must be wondering why I’m insane enough, or strange enough to count the period, but it’s only because it was killing me.
I don’t know if it was killing her just as much as it was to me, but one thing I know is that not being able to hear her voice speaking to me was hurting me very badly.
I don’t know why I even stopped talking to her in the first place. Truth is, sometimes I can be dumb, and caught up in the moment in the most negative way possible, and I’m irrational, as surreal as it may seem. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak, which would be one of the incoherent traits about me, too.
I hate it when I become impulsive.
Especially towards my girlfriend―that’s just unacceptable. I can’t not do anything about my pathetic behavior. I can’t take it anymore, I have to apologize to her and bring her for dinner. And then to what I’d planned for the both of us weeks ago, right here, in the city of love. I’d planned to bring us to (actually her more, because which girl doesn’t like) the Eiffel tower because I’d arranged for like, half of it to be shut down so the both of us could dine there.
I know she would love it just as much as I already do.
Running my fingers through my hair, I allowed a small smile to slip onto my face at my thoughts, before dropping it when Merinda’s face appeared in my head. It isn’t that I didn’t want to smile anymore―it’s because I couldn’t. The guilt would always come back and bite my ass whenever I think of her.
Damn, I miss her smiling at me. I miss her laughing because of me. I miss her looking at me. Ugh, I just―I miss holding her close to me.
Who knew guys could have such girly moments, too? Not me, that’s for sure. Nothing can make me feel like what Merinda does, not even all of my previous girlfriends. Yeah, it’s just the kind of effect―only one of many others―that she has on me, without knowing so.
I don’t know what’s bothering her, though. Each time I would try to reason out with her, she would change the subject; when I would try to talk to her in the nicest way possible, she would push me away; times when I just want to know what’s on her mind, what she’s facing, what’s going on, she’d avoid them skillfully and quickly, and I would always try to play along, as though her distractions were working, just so I wouldn’t flip out.
I’m sorry if not speaking to her because of this reason is invalid, because as a boyfriend, I truly feel like I have the right to know. If my girl’s hurting, obviously I would want to know, right? Hell, I would need to know just what exactly is going on.
I gave her everything I had, and all she did was push me away. Trust me when I say I had times where I just wanted to give up on her because of how stubborn she is, but that’s pretty much what makes her special, I guess. She’s intoxicating, bright, prominent―and not to mention strong-minded. She’s a challenge to me, because if you didn’t already know, I’m exactly the same way.
I’ve tried possibly everything that works on me on her, but so far, it’s to no avail. It’s a disappointment, though, that she doesn’t want to tell me things. Why? That’s the question that has been glued on my mind ever since my first encounter with her.
When?
When I wanted to know what’s up with her at the beach. Ever since then, I was already aware of an unknown problem that was disturbing her. She didn’t want to let me know. Month after month, I would still attempt occasionally, but still nothing. To be frank, I’m really growing sick. I’m sick of her hiding me in the dark―is it that big of a deal, you may ask. Well, here’s what I’ll let you know: Yes. It is.
Haven’t you heard of the fact that when someone close to you hides something from you, it could only mean one thing with two possibilities? One: It’s something big and positive. Two: It’s something big and negative. I don’t know which one she was hiding, but I sure as hell know that it isn’t something small or she would’ve long told me so.
And I know as a cover up, she had been lying to me. I knew it all along, I just wanted to know when she was going to finally stop and let me know the truth; it’s why I reminded her of the fact that I hate liars, and the fact that lies never last.
My fingers curled themselves into my palms forming a clenched fist, before I released the pressure. I’m not a violent guy; I never was. But at this moment, I was nervous. Or anxious, you may say, so anxious that my palms were beginning to sweat (something that I hate sometimes) and I couldn’t do anything else but clench my fists. I’m going to talk to Merinda. But I know she’s going to jump at any chance to prevent hearing that question so I’d most likely just skip to the point without beating around the bush and apologize.
Words can’t even describe how bad I feel for ignoring her the past couple of days.
I walked up to her door and placed a hand lightly above the doorknob, drawing in a deep breath. It’s late, maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe she doesn’t want to see my face. I should do this tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next next day.
It would all be favorable if possible. But no, this has to be gotten over with at one point or another. Besides, I know Merinda doesn’t sleep at eleven. She always sleeps at one on the dot. I pushed the door open slightly, expecting it to be closed, but what intrigued me was the fact that I’d managed to push it forward a little bit.
Why didn’t she close it?
Maybe she forgot.
I don’t know.
I should knock, shouldn’t I? Oh, God, I feel bad. I should close the door again before knocki―
“Mom, everything’s okay!” I suddenly heard Merinda’s angelic voice at the other end of the room, behind this door that’s diving us apart. I should stop eavesdropping, but something deep down inside of me wouldn’t let me. I grounded my teeth as a frown slowly formed on my forehead. I was battling against my conscience. What’s going on here?
To whatever’s about to happen, I have a strong feeling in my gut, telling me that it wouldn’t be good. Again, I just have to―why.
“Yes, Mom, I’m sure. Everything’s going perfect, too. Cody and I are stronger than ever,” she paused, hinting no emotion at all that pretty much broke a little piece of my heart for that was actually a lie. I know, it’s a kind lie to hide the truth, but… That’s just wrong, from all that I’d gathered. I know deep down that I’ve hurt her too, and bad, which was wrong of me but I admitted it, didn’t I?
“Cody’s doing well, too! But, um, how are you doing? You coping well alone?” She carried on asking, this time sounding genuine about her question. I rested my forehead against the doorframe, squeezing my eyes shut. I tried shrugging the bad feeling inside of me away as I did.
“Well, that’s amazing to know! Tell her that, even though I’ve been running to the toilet more often these couple of days, I’m doing just fine so no worries.” My ears perked up at her latter words, while my eyes flew open at the thoughts that were beginning to flood my empty mind. Oh, God. This isn’t happening. This is happening, a voice at the back of my throat scared me, making me gulp hard.
The truth is about to be exposed.
My heart was begin to race as I pushed the door a little wider, gradually becoming more desperate than a second before. Shit.
“Mom, I’m fine,” she paused for some reason, making me squeeze my eyes shut. “The cancerous cells aren’t spreading that bad.”
I froze.
My limbs were becoming numb and I couldn’t move at all. Hell, my brain couldn’t even function properly, because, what the hell did I just…
Merinda has cancer.
Merinda has cancer.
How is that possible? But, that’s not even it. How is it possible that, that thought hadn’t once came into mind? Was it because of the fact that she had been looking perfectly healthy most of the time? Sure, I’d earlier assumed that she was sick; she had a problem, but cancer? That’s just― no, that’s just― someone flawless isn’t meant to be mixed with something dangerous.
My baby girl has cancer, and I’d ignored her for days instead of taking care of her, what in the f―I gave my head a quick shake before pushing the door open slowly after regaining my balance and feels in my body, revealing a little figure curled up under the covers at the corner of the bunk.
My heart wasn’t whole anymore, it was crushed; in bits; empty. I felt so sad? I felt so bad―no words, not even actions; nothing can describe how I felt at the moment. I felt so empty, I felt so lost, I felt so… I didn’t even know how to feel? I stared at her neutral, natural expression as she carried on speaking with her Mom on the phone, trying to comprehend why she didn’t want to tell me something so serious.
Did she not want to hurt me? Because the truth hurts so much more and that she thinks I wouldn’t be able to take it? Sure, I’ll say now that I’m on the verge of breaking down but for her, I would stay strong, if, she had told me.
But she kept it to herself, and now the truth hurts more than anything in the world. I’m a lousy boyfriend. I’m the worst. I didn’t push it on. If I had continued pushing her for the truth, she would’ve told me. I bet that at a time, she was close to telling me―wanna know when? When she wanted to tell me a story. That moment. If Scooter hadn’t called me at the wrongest time in the world, I would’ve gotten to know the truth earlier.
I could’ve arranged for chemotherapy sessions earlier. I could’ve made everything better for her, and for me. I could’ve done everything earlier. Maybe even, she would’ve stopped suffering so badly earlier.
This was my entire fault.
As much as I’d love to get mad at the fact that she’d hidden something painfully colossal, the sadness overwhelming me just makes that impossible.
“Mom, I’m tired. And you should rest, too, it’s getting late,” she yawned over her last word, making my eyes water. Actually, scratch that. It watered the moment she said―know what, I’m not even going to say it again. It’s pointless and it does more harm.
But I just wished she’d tell me that in person instead of hiding it for such a long period.
I drew in a deep breath, taking a small step back before drying my eyes so that if I were to go in to her bunk the next minute, it wouldn’t look like I had tears in my eyes. I don’t even think I can contain my tears longer if I just took another glance at her from here, so how am I to speak to her face-to-face?
All I want to do is hold her close and tight, and tell her much I love her without sounding weak.
But we all know it’s impossible.