It's been 23 days since I last saw Brinna, but who's counting?
I left her house early in the morning after I ordered her a coffee and picked up the place. I hope she knows that was my way of saying thank you for going out with me. I don't know what possessed me to stay overnight with her, but the sex wasn't enough. I needed more of her. I needed to feel her in a soothing way. Not that I didn't enjoy our intimacy, I very much did. I just needed to hold her against me.
I needed her warmth to mix with mine. I needed her heart to beat next to mine. I could tangle myself with her forever. I have no doubt her aura could heal me if I laid next to her enough. She has the kind of light that people search for their entire lives in the deepest corners of the world and never find, yet she brought herself to me under neon strobe lights.
It's rare to meet people you have an instant connection with, but Brinna is my four leaf clover.
I didn't mean to leave her as abruptly as I did. We went to sleep pretty late and I woke up before the sun even came up, and as bad as that looks, I swear it wasn't what it seems like. I didn't want to let go of her. I wish I could have kissed her before I left. I had to be fast before I got too bad.
I swear I wouldn't do that to her if I had the choice. I tried so hard to get her attention and it's very on-brand for the universe to pull some bullshit like this. I'm not meant to be happy, and apparently, one night of that is too much.
I made sure to tuck her in so she stayed warm. I put all of her pictures back where I thought they went, I refilled her vase of water, I put her clothes in a laundry basket, and I hung her purse. I might have been stumbling around and dizzy while I did it, but I needed her to know I wasn't just flaking out on her. I didn't want it to look like I was trying to sneak out.
I was having another episode and it wasn't going to stop just because I was even if for a short moment, finally at peace with Brinna in my arms.
That's the thing about being sick. It won't stop for anyone, it doesn't take holidays or weekends off. It shows up at the most inconvenient times just to punch you in the gut and remind you of how real it is, how you're a prisoner in your own body.
Zayn had to take a cab and come pick me and my car up. By the time he got there, I was far too sweaty and I could barely see anything. There was no way I was going to make it back home without crashing my car if I tried.
He had to walk me inside and lay me on my couch while I had completely lost my vision and started struggling to breathe. Usually, I don't ask him to take me to a hospital, but that night was different. It was stronger. A few months ago I would have told him to let me ride it out on my couch and tell him to go home. I would have let nature take its course, whatever that was going to be.
I ended up in the hospital for three days, hooked up to countless machines, having tests run on me, and getting copious amounts of drugs and antibiotics pumped into my veins through IV ports stuck into both of my arms.
All of the results came back the same, something I've already known for a long time, and something that is quickly starting to feel scarily inevitable.
Cirrhosis of the liver. My years of drinking and drugs have slowly killed the organ, making it so all of my healthy cells are slowly dying off and being replaced with scar tissue.
It's chronic and if left untreated, fatal. There is no going back once it starts.
I'll be honest, I never listen to Peter when he tries to explain to me what's happening. I didn't care to learn what the condition was past a few sentences, I didn't care to hear how long I could potentially live, and I didn't care to listen to his advice about slowing down my busy lifestyle.
It's a doctor's job to treat his patients. To provide them with the best care available and fix their problems. I denied all of his suggestions despite his pleading and I never started treatments. I didn't expect to live as long as I have been in this condition. Nothing about my lifestyle changed after my diagnosis, and if I'm being serious, I don't even really remember it until I have an episode.
I kept drinking and snorting coke and taking random pills. I kept using all of my limited energy to kill people below my club. I print money, I make drops, and I go about my business like nothing is wrong. I haven't slowed down and I don't plan to.
Or at least, I didn't plan to.
Call me fucking crazy, but I didn't care. I didn't listen. I didn't change my lifestyle.
Until I woke up at four a.m. with a pretty woman snoring softly next to me, her legs pieced so perfectly in mine that you would think we broke off of the same puzzle. Something deep in my body, something intangible, was vibrating with her.
I haven't seen her in a month and my soul is aching to be close to her again. I've been sober from alcohol and clean from drugs for 24 days. I started, unintentionally, the day I took Brinna out. I've kept going with my sobriety, on purpose, so I can take her out again.
I've been recovering and detoxing. I didn't realize how much my body depended on other things until I stopped taking them. This was something Pete recommended to do months and months ago, but I only listened after he said it might buy me more time.
I'll live off a maybe if it means she'll maybe see me again.
After two weeks of not being able to take it anymore, I went to see Peter. I couldn't take the throwing up, the inability to walk myself to a bathroom, the shaking. It was becoming too much. I can handle one or the other, but withdrawals on top of a bad episode made me nervous that my body was going to give out and I needed help.
I pulled up to the medical building and parked my car like an asshole. I didn't care to make sure I was in the lines and if anyone said anything, I would have just pulled the "I'm dying" card. The receptionist knows me by now, and despite not listening to Peter, I do see him a lot. He's a retired U.S. Navy doctor and he knows his shit well enough.
I was moved back to a room almost immediately and waited only ten minutes for my good pal Petey to join me. He entered wearing his usual khaki pants, black shirt, and white coat. He washed his hands in the small sink and dried them off. He turned to me and grabbed the rolling chair, sitting down and rolling in my direction.
I watched the entire scene with my brows pinched together. This guys gotta be at least 7 feet tall and he's skinny as hell. If his eyes were buttons, he'd look exactly like the dad from Coraline. He moves like a spider and he creeps me the fuck out. Maybe that's why his name is Peter. Spidery motherfucker.
"Mr. Styles." He clapped his hands together and then pulled his glasses off his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure today? Stab wound? Gunshot? Food poisoning?"
I just waited for him to finish his annoying spiel but when he was done I almost couldn't get the words off my tongue. I hated to admit defeat. This didn't feel like defeat in the sense that he won, but that I now had something worth living for and I was fucking desperate.
"I want to start treatments. I want to get better. I need your help and I'll do whatever it takes at this point. I've already started to get clean. I haven't touched a drop of anything in weeks." I couldn't look him in the eyes but when I finally did, he looked shocked.
Genuinely shocked. His brows raised and then his face fell to something almost sad. He looked at the clipboard in his hands and sighed, "Harry..." he cleared his throat. "You... you're out of time, son. Treatments would have been a great option a year ago- even months ago- but you waited too long. There is nothing we can do for your liver. It's too far gone now. Your days should be about quality now instead of quantity. That's the best we can hope for. If you're in pain, I can give you something-"
"No." I shook my head at him. "I'm not accepting that answer. You're a fucking doctor. Work your voodoo magic and get me started on treatments. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. I'm ready to fix this." My voice came out frantic and needy but at that moment, I didn't care, I would have begged on my knees if it meant he would fix me.
"You're right. I'm a doctor, not God. There is nothing left to do. If you want we can talk about the ending stages and what we can do to make it more comfortable for you. I'll write you a prescription for your nausea, and something for the shakiness. Congratulations on your sobriety, by the way. That's a big step for you."
I stood up and knocked the clipboard out of his hands. "This is your fucking job, Peter! Do something!"
"I tried to do my job a year ago when I asked you to start treatments. When I asked you to cut back on the drugs and the drinking, the recklessness. I tried, Harry, but the rest was up to you."
I knew he was right. I shouldn't have taken it out on him, but fuck. Fuck! I needed this. I am ready to change. I need to change. I need more time. I still don't want to hear how much time I have left but for entirely different reasons now. I don't think I could bear to hear it. I didn't care before but now I feel doomed.
I opened the office door so harshly that it slammed against the wall and knocked a picture down. I stopped in the doorframe and turned to look at him with my pointer finger pushed toward him.
"You know your name means fucking penis, right? Goddamn doctor dick!" I turned back around and started down the hallway. "Dr. Fucking Dick is ready for his next patient if you'd like to hear that you're dying! Stupid flaccid-penis-looking mother fucker. Fix those fucking deer legs if you aren't going to fix your patients, fucking asshole!"
"Have a good day, Harry. It's always a pleasure to see you. Come back anytime!" He shouted out as I stormed my way out of the building, kicking over coffee tables covered in magazines and scaring the receptionist.
I started laughing when I left his office. A maniacal, evil, dooming laugh of pure heartache and devastation. It's been about 7 days since I saw Peter now, and for the last 20 days since getting out of the hospital, I've been recovering.
I've ridden through the lows of my withdrawals and I've been taking care of myself so I can get my strength back. I've taken the medications he's prescribed on time, I've eaten three meals a day, I've taken it easy and I haven't given in to any of my cravings, whether that be for a drug or something worse:
The deep, agonizing ache to go find Brinna and tell her how badly I need her.
I can't let her see me like this. She can't see how pale my skin is, how skinny my face has gotten. I want to look healthy for her. I don't want to scare her with the shell of who I am. She deserves Harry, not the broken mess of a man I am right now.
I didn't want to leave her. I don't want to stay away from her, but the only way to get better is to get better, so I have to stay away and keep getting better for her.
I'm sure that I sound entirely sick in a whole new way, but how could a woman I met just weeks ago be the reason to suddenly want to get better when I've been living with this condition for over a year now?
I don't know how much time I have, but I do know it's not enough time to debate whether or not my feelings are valid or a fever dream. They haven't stopped making butterflies swirl in my stomach every time her name flashes in my head.
My feelings toward a woman who may never want to see me again are what's making me flip my life completely around, and if that's crazy, throw me in a psych ward.
She deserves everything in the universe, and I want to make it happen. I've had a lot of time to think and I've decided that Brinna will be mine. Okay, maybe I'll have to settle for being hers because my balls are practically in her back pocket already, but I won't stop until she forgives me for walking away from her the way I did.
I could be wrong about this whole situation, too. She might have just seen me as another one-night stand, and if that's the case, I'll have to pathetically beg for her to give me an ounce of attention again. I won't stop until she smiles at me again.
I have so many things I want to show her and I know she would love them. Selfishly, I don't want to be alone when I see them for the last time too. Her bright smile would be a good way to close the chapter that is my memories, and I know she would make me happy to think about instead of sad when the time comes.
I never knew how my life would come to an end, but I always knew it wouldn't be from a boo-boo fucking liver. I work for a money laundering, drug smuggling, associate murdering cartel and a fucking organ is not going to take me out.
That's too easy of a death for me. I don't deserve the gentleness of a hospital bed death. I deserve to be brutally murdered and punished for the amount of lives I've ruined by willingly being a part of this lifestyle.
I don't want an easy death, which is why I've spent so much time ignoring it. I never expected to make it to my prescribed death date, because karma is so real and that's just too simple of an answer for me. The universe is going to get its payback and it won't be like this.
I'm not necessarily afraid of death or dying, but Brinna has shown me that there are things I want to, no- need to experience before I end up dead one day. I don't know how much more time I have, but I'm going to throw myself full force into her. I'm going to do the cutesy shit, I'm going to be the person she wants and I'm probably going to end up loving every second of it.
I don't deserve the gentle touches and easy loving after the life that I've lived, but maybe if I pretend it's her who needs it more than me, I can trick the universe into letting me have her. I can keep her if I right my wrongs, and I'll start by showing her what it feels like to be loved deeply and entirely.
Call me selfish for pulling her into my problems with the intent to make her want me, but I won't stop until she's the person she wants to be. She deserves to stop hiding just as much as I need to be the one to bring her out of her shell. I am selfish and I want her.
I just hope she won't be too angry at me. I've been doing my best for almost a month so she can have me, but maybe I've made the wrong choice by doing it the way I did.
Give me a few more days to recover, pretty girl, and I'll be bowing down at your command once more.
***