Taylor is amazing, so full of life. Her laugh alone is worth living for. She has so much to give the world.
Why would she want to give up on that?
Give up on life.
I have to make her see sense.
But what if you can’t? that small voice in the back of my mind says. What if nothing you say matters, and she dies anyway?
Someone doesn’t just make the decision to die lightly. She decided on this long before she met me.
She’s known this whole time.
I can’t even feel betrayed because I just feel afraid. So very fucking afraid.
I have to change her mind. Because I can’t see a world without her in it.
But I couldn’t even get her to stay in London with me. I wasn’t enough. So, how is what I say going to be enough to get her to save her own life?
Especially when I don’t know what’s going on in her mind, why she’s even doing this.
“Doctor, if Taylor…if I can’t get through to her and she continues to refuse treatment, is there any way you can do the surgery without her consent? Force her to have it done?”
I hate that I have to ask this, but I need to know what my options are before I go in and see her.
Because I won’t fucking lose Taylor.
I won’t just let her die. I will do whatever is necessary to keep her alive.
“Liam…” That’s Eddie.
I turn my face to him. The look on his face makes my hope drop to its knees, just like I want to.
“The hospital can only obtain a court order to enforce treatment if we believe someone isn’t of sound mind or if it’s a child.”
“Maybe she isn’t of sound mind.” I hate that I’m saying this, but I know tumors can affect people, change their personalities. “The tumor could be pressing on her brain, making her think and act differently than how she normally would. Making her think she wants to give up when she really doesn’t.”
I look at Dr. March. She would know. She’s the one treating Taylor.
But the expression on her face takes my hope from its knees and lays it flat on the floor.
“Behavioral changes are always a possibility with brain tumors…but, in Taylor’s case, I don’t think it is.” She shakes her head. “I believe Taylor to be of sound mind. She is lucid and very clear on what she wants. I am sorry.”
She sounds like this is already over. Like Taylor is going to die.
Fuck that. Fuck her and everyone.
It’s not over.
I won’t let it be over.
I won’t let Taylor just kill herself.
“I need to see her.”
“I’ll take you,” Dr. March says.
“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Eddie says to me.
“We’re here for you, man.” Cam gives my shoulder one last squeeze before letting go.
I follow Dr. March down a corridor and through a set of double doors.
She finally comes to a stop outside a door near the end of the corridor. “Taylor is in here. Now, please try not to upset her. Any stress—”
“I won’t upset her.”
Dr. March nods and then walks away.
I take a strengthening breath, and then I slowly push the door open. It doesn’t make a sound.
The room is dark, except for the light on by the bed. She’s lying on her back, pillows propping her up, her face turned away from me, staring out the window at the night sky.
Just the sight of her hurts me.
She looks so small, the bed swallowing her up. Her hair is spread over the pillow, the light highlighting the pink in it. Her skin looks smooth with a golden glow.
She looks beautiful.
She doesn’t look sick.
She doesn’t look like she’s…dying.
Agony crushes its fist into my chest.
Letting the door go, I move further into the room on quiet feet. “Taylor…” I gently say her name as I near the bed.
Her body stiffens, and then her head slowly turns on the pillow, her eyes meeting mine.
The look in them terrifies me. She looks closed off. The only other time Taylor has looked at me like this was last night…when she told me that she didn’t love me.
Taking a breath, I force myself to speak, “I spoke to the doctor.” My words are quiet with meaning.
I stop at the end of the bed, my hands gripping ahold of the footboard where her medical chart hangs.
I stare at her face, willing her to tell me it’s not true. That the doctor has got it wrong.
“She told you?” Her voice sounds dry, croaky.
“About the tumor? Or that you’re letting yourself die?”
Guilt floods her eyes, and she looks away.
I have my answer.
And, fuck, does it hurt.
I grip the bed harder to keep upright. “I don’t understand,” I say, my voice broken.
“I don’t expect you to.” Her voice is soft, but the words incense me, like she just yelled them at me.
“Maybe you don’t. But what I expect is a fucking explanation. Hell, I deserve an explanation. Because you don’t get to just do this, Taylor. You don’t get to just decide that you’re going to die, and that’s it.” My voice is lifting with the desperation I feel inside me.