"Jonathan..." Emily's whisper carried into his hears, drawing him away from the darkness that haunted his dreams. "Jonathan."
"Hmmm?" Jonathan stirred, shifting in his bed, rolling onto his side.
"Jonathan, wake up."
Jonathan opened his eyes, his vision blurry for a moment, and then slowly focused in the face of his mother. "Mom?"
"Jonathan, darling," his mother whispered, "I need you to be strong please."
"Wait - why?" Panicked, Jonathan sat up suddenly in his bed.
"Calm down, boy," he heard his father's voice cut in, sympathetically. His father sat at the foot of his bed, his hand resting firmly on Jonathan's legs. "Calm down."
"Listen, for a moment." His mother sighed. "Nadjia got sick last night."
"Sick?" Jonathan propped himself onto his elbows.
"Yeah, baby."
"Is this my fault?"
Emily frowned, eyes moving from Jonathan, to Clayton, and back. "Why would this be your fault?"
"...because I gave her my germs?"
"Clayton?"
"Boy, it has nothing to do with germs, or any of that. Nadjia has a type of sickness. A hereditary problem. It isn't anything you did."
"What do you mean Herod-tree?" Jonathan could no doubt understand how evil trees could be. He saw one in his bad dreams just about every night... but a Herod tree.
That just had to be evil.
"...hereditary. Something that is passed through a bloodline."
"She got it from her parents?"
"Sort of, maybe." Clayton nodded, patiently. "She has a form of cancer known as leukemia."
"So why doesn't someone take her to the doctor so they can fix it?"
"If it were so easily done, she would be well already."
Jonathan stared past his father, to his mother. "I want to see Nadjia."
"We'll take you."
✟ ☧ ✟
Jonathan felt dizzy, and he could feel the beginning of a headache.
He saw little silvery lines darting about his eyes - what he called headache lights. They usually came when he was going to get a bad, bad headache.
The ride to the hospital was not a long one, but to him it felt like it was taking forever. New Year's Eve was only a hours ago, and for Nadjia to get sick when she seemed so fine to begin with was stupid.
God shouldn't let good people get hurt so easily. Jonathan felt heat rushing to his face. If God was so good, and so strong, why couldn't He just make Nadjia better?
"If she dies," Jonathan prayed. "I hate you." He made no attempt to stop the tears spilling over his cheeks.. "If she dies, I hate you."
✟ ☧ ✟
Jonathan's headache was stronger now, and his head felt tight, and dizzy. He sat in the waiting room with his parents, too angry to speak - too scared to sleep - because, he felt if he went to sleep Nadjia might die.
"Walker?"
"Right here." Clayton raised a hand from where his wife and he standing. "Come on, Jonathan. You'll want to be seeing Nadjia."
Jonathan rose silently, his eyes glaring, threatening the heavens with whatever he could muster to show as hate and what he guessed as strength.
He looked up at where he thought God would be.
If she dies, I hate you.
✟ ☧ ✟
"Jonathan!" Nadjia sat up. She looked chipper - a little tired - but she was happy.
His headache went away instantly, but he started sobbing.
"Let's wait outside, Emily," Clayton ushered his wife and the two stepped outside closing the door a little.
Jonathan glanced over his shoulder and found himself glad to be alone with Nadjia.
"I am sorry if this is somehow my fault, Nadjia. I would never make you sick. Not on purpose."
"It's okay," she nodded. "It isn't your fault. This isn't something you can get from germs." Her voice rang with a matter-of-fact tone. "It was something that is in my genes."
Nadjia pointed to a pair of neatly folded jeans next to her hospital bed.
"Want me to burn them?"
"No," she chuckled. "My genes, like genetic stuff?"
"Yeah. Generic stuff. You know, I don't think you're generic." Jonathan smiled.
"No," she laughed again. "I said genetic - like getting bad things from my parents' blood."
"You're speaking that crazy Arab language again."
Nadjia smirked, her eyes a little tired, and a little red, but otherwise shining with the joy of his company. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it."
"If I found out on my own, I woulda run the whole way to visit you," he sat down on a large stool next to her. "I would."
"I believe you." she held his hand. "We need to talk, okay? You have to promise not to get mad."
"Fine."
"Normally, the odds of this kind of sick aren't good."
"...but?"
"The doctors say that because they found it so early, I maybe have a very good chance to beat it."
"How do you beat this, Nadjia?"
"They are going to give me a special kind of medicine that will also make me sick, but it will make me better at the same time."
"What is it? Like Caster Oil?"
"No, you idiot boy, it's called 'chemo-therapy'."
"I don't know what that is, really."
"They're going to poison the sickness until it dies. It will make me sick, but then I don't have to die. Probably."
"Nadjia." Jonathan's eyes held hers, the blue in her eyes as alive and vibrant as ever. "Probably isn't good enough for me."
"I know, Jon."
"Why does this have to make you sick?"
"I guess it makes my bones gross or something, but once it's done and I get better and I'll be as good as new. Maybe even better."
Jonathan was silent, nodding.
"Don't worry about me. I'm not ready to leave you yet."
Jonathan's chin trembled, and Nadjia held him close to her, making a little room for him to climb next to her. "It'll be fine, I'm sure. My parents got the best doctors in the whole world coming in to help me."
"The best had better be good enough. You go, I go."
"Don't be stupid, you stupid boy." Nadjia kissed his temple, turned her head and nuzzled him. "It'll be okay."
Jonathan stared at the hospital room wall, Nadjia's hair cool against his skin.
If anything happens to her, I hate you. He prayed. I hate you because this happened.
Now... make her better.