I yanked it back. “It's fine.”
“No it bloody isn't, it's practically down to the bone. You need stitches. What the hell has happened to you Roxy?” he demanded.
“I don't need stitches. There's no point.” I walked past him into the kitchen and turned the tap on, running the water over the wound, ignoring the searing pain that radiated in sickening waves through my palm. I could feel him watching me, unsure what to do next. I looked up at him, hating myself for having to say the words, but unable to hold them back. I had to tell him. “She said I'm going to die Lucas. I should be dead already.” Tears sprang to my eyes and I did nothing to hold them back.
“What are you talking about?” Lucas whispered, stepping forward. His hands went to my face and I sank into his touch.
“The scan... She said I have a tumour. A grade four tumour. She said it's one of the biggest she's ever seen, and... and... they can't do anything to get rid of it. Lucas, she said I'm going to die soon. It's going to stop me breathing and it could be as little as a few weeks,” I whispered, barely audible over the sound of the running water.
“No,” he breathed.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“No!” he said fiercely. “No!” this isn't going to happen, they got it wrong. No fucking way Roxy, you're not going anywhere.” He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. I wished I could stay there forever.
“I'm sorry Lucas, I'm so sorry.”
“Don't be. You aren't going anywhere. You just aren't.” I heard his voice crack and his chest heave in silent sobs as he pressed his face against my hair. “You aren't leaving us,” he told me through broken gasps.
Then why are you crying? I thought bitterly.
Lucas bandaged my hand, washed my face and helped me change into a dry dress. Then he placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me. I felt numb. Completely empty. It was as if I had died already. What was the point of continuing now?
“We're going to fix this Rox,” he was saying.
“How? How are we going to fix this Lucas? They don't have an operation for fixing this, it's too deep, it's spread out like a spider stretching across my brain.” I shuddered at the image.
“There is so much happening in medical science now Rox. There will be options. We're getting a second opinion. We're going to make this better, I promise.” A cry sounded from the living room and our eyes met with the unspoken words we dared not speak aloud. That if I died, Oscar would have to grow up without me. Motherless. I couldn't stand the guilt, yet I could do nothing to change it. Lucas stood, and a moment later I heard him cooing to our son. “Did you have nice dreams?” he asked softly. He came back through and placed the baby in my arms.
Instinctively, I positioned him at my breast, watching as he latched onto my nipple, his chubby hand rubbing soft circles as he kneaded at my chest. Everything about him was perfect. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't.
I held him tightly, rocking gently from side to side. He pulled back, burped and smiled up at me, one lonely tooth poking out of soft pink gums. I sat him up and he gurgled, leaning his forehead against mine as he often did. And I suddenly realised I couldn't do it anymore. It wasn't fair. I wasn't going to get to be his mother. Lucas would have to be everything he needed from now on. I wasn't going to be the one who got to feed him. I wouldn't get to cuddle him to sleep or wake up to his sing song voice as he grabbed for his toes. I wouldn't be there for his first steps, his first word, his first anything. I was leaving and there was nothing I could do to change that. Without a word, I stood and placed him in Lucas's arms.
“Roxy, what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red.
“I'm so sorry Lucas,” I said, bending forward and kissing him on the mouth. “I have to go. I can't pretend to be his mother, your wife. I'm none of those things now. I'm nothing anymore,” I said, my voice wobbling.
“Roxy, don't be ridiculous. Put your bag down, you're not thinking straight.”
“I can't. I can't stay knowing I'll have to go soon. I can't let him need me like this when I can't promise to be here. It's not fair.” I closed my eyes and kissed my son's dewy lips. Goodbye my darling,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Roxy...”
“Goodbye Lucas. I love you. I'm so sorry I can't stay with you both.” And before he could stop me, I was walking away, leaving behind everything that mattered to me. His voice echoed behind me down the street, but I didn't slow. I had nothing left to give them now.
Chapter Nineteen
Darkness had fallen as I'd been walking. The rain slashed cold against my face, stinging my eyes and burning my cheeks raw, but I didn't care. My thighs burned with the exertion of my escape and I shivered against the cold, but I pushed forward. I had to keep going, though I had no idea where to. I had nowhere to go now. I walked blindly, the roads twisting and turning, following my feet, not caring where I ended up. I had no idea what time it was but as I rounded a corner I realised it must be late. There were people here, dressed to party. A row of seedy clubs lined the pavement and the crowds outside were laughing, dancing, their merriment sickening.
I turned from them, walking through the dark open doorway into the atrium of the first club on the strip. It was hot and dry, and I squeezed the rain from my hair, watching it pool on the sticky floor. My dress was soaked through and no amount of wringing out was going to rescue it. Wiping the moisture from my face I followed the thumping beat into the throbbing womb of the club. The music was deafening, bodies twisting and gyrating against one another on the dance floor. Walking around the edge of the chaos, I found what I was looking for. I elbowed my way through the crowd, reaching the bar.
A man barely out of boyhood, with floppy brown hair and a diamond stud in his ear, moved to stand beside me, shouting something inaudible over the music. I shrugged, frowning and he imitated drinking, pointing to the bar. I nodded and he called something to the barman, handing over a crisp note. The barman put a shot of something clear down on the slick surface in front of me and I lifted the glass to my lips, smelling the spicy, acrid contents. I threw it back in one mouthful, the heat of the alcohol travelling through me, putting a stop to my convulsive shivering. The floppy haired man-child was patting me on the back, saying something, smiling, but I was already manoeuvring through the crowd, walking away from him, ignoring his shouts of protest.
I pushed my way into the sea of bodies, marvelling at how simple things were for these people. How they could dance and laugh, when my world had ended. I wondered if any of them realised how precious their lives were. How free they were. How much possibility lie ahead of every single one of them. I envied them. I hated them. But I hated myself more.
I emerged on the opposite side of the dance floor, bursting free of the writhing bodies, propelling my way out of the throng. I needed space. Fewer people were mingling over this side, and I walked towards a dark, secluded archway, stepping through into a small alcove. A few tables were dotted around. Empty. The music was quieter here, and I rubbed my temples, hating the pain in my head, willing it to do it's job and kill me now. What was the point in waiting? Where was the mercy in making me live with this triggered bomb ready to detonate inside me, scattering my brain to pieces at any moment?