He felt his mind falling away from his conversation and itinerary from Mike, overwhelmed with exhaustion from his flight. He felt slightly worried for leaving JC, but like Lauren, JC (once he had recovered from his nausea) agreed and said Justin had done plenty and it was time to be out, living his life and not wasting it away like he had been in bed. It was what was best for him, regardless of what he was thinking; he needed it just as much as he needed the reassurance that JC would be fine (he said he would be) and after overhearing the doctor’s the same night, he felt that maybe, just maybe, they were all right about him going. His blood counts seem to be slowly rising to a healthier level,” Doctor Kleinfield said, “at this point, once the infection is completely gone and he’s healthier, I’d say his prognosis is good … really good.”
Even at just the thought, he felt the relief flood over him. He realized that hearing the words “good” and “prognosis” may just be the two best words together. “Justin, are you listening to anything I say?”
He blinked, looking back at Mike and nodding. “Busy day.”
Mike rolled his eyes, swatting Justin on the shoulder with the notebook in his hand. “I know you’ve got a billion things running through your mind, but you’ve gotta prioritize them to most important right now –“
“My sick friend is most important.”
“Justin, you know what I mean,” Mike said with a frown, “I know that is most important; I mean what is most important in the itinerary … in your schedule.”
“I know,” he sighed, yawning deeply, “I just can’t help that it’s settled in the midst of it all, you know? I worry a lot about him and I feel like me being there can actually give me that little piece of composure because I’m there witnessing it rather than getting regularly spanned out text messages from Lauren.”
Mike sat down in his chair, setting the stack of papers down and studying his client. “How is he doing?”
Justin shrugged a bit, giving him a so-so motion with his hand. “Still battling the infection but he’s a trooper; the doctor said once it’s out of his system, he’ll probably beat this. His prognosis is good once he’s completely out of the woods.”
“And how long is that hike through the woods?”
“Days, weeks,” Justin frowned, “it’s not something they can really give a guesstimate on. His immune system is weak; who knows how long it’ll take for it to fight it off. He’s so doped up on medications right now that all he does is sleep and throw up. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know which end is up … but he pushed me to go and do this so I have to – at least half to attempt it.”
“I can’t imagine what you are going through … what he is going through,” Mike said sadly. “I pray he does pull through quickly; God knows he’s probably going crazy on the inside after what happened to Rich.”
Justin nodded. “He had a meltdown of sorts but doctors quickly sedated him. I kind of wished they let him ride it out, though; I feel as if he hasn’t had a chance to even show a bit of emotion since he’s been in the hospital and that’s what he is: a glass case of emotion. I feel like they super glued him shut so he couldn’t and for him, that’s not healthy.”
“I know you wish you could be there, but –“
Justin shook his head, silencing the man who was only a few years older than himself. “I need to be there, but I know I have other things I need to take care of, and –“
Mike held his hand up, stopping Justin in mid-sentence. “Now, why do you think you need to be there? I mean, I know, if I were in your shoes, I’d be probably feeling the same way, but I’ve never been and I’m trying to understand. He was your former bandmate, right? He isn’t blood –“
“He is blood,” Justin corrected. “Just because he and I aren’t from the same blood line doesn’t mean he and I aren’t family. I’ve known him more than eighteen years, Mike; we’ve been through hell and high water together and this just seems to be the rougher part of hell. It’s almost second-nature for me to want to be there to help in any way I can. And I just want you to know that if something happens and I hear the word, I’m not even apologizing; I’m taking the next flight out to Tennessee and all of my duties here are forgotten.”
Mike’s expression was unreadable but Justin didn’t care. Watching as he stared down at all the paperwork he had scattered on the desk, Mike’s eyes went back and forth as he re-read the words, finally sinking down into his chair and looking back up at Justin. “Who is with him, now?”
Justin leaned back into the soft reclining chair, head resting at the top of it as he closed his eyes. “The nurse JC hired, Lauren, and Joey is coming in from Florida to stay for a bit. After that, it’ll be between Lance and Chris. They don’t want to leave him alone – his parents’ are there, too but unfortunately, JC made it clear the other day he didn’t want them to see him like that and it was better for them to be around but away at the same time so they’ve been respecting his wishes and worrying from a rented apartment a few streets down from his own.”
Mike nodded. “Justin, I really am sorry he’s facing this and I’m taking you away from it, but –“
“Business is business, I know,” he said sadly. Mike nodded in response as he slid a piece of paper for Justin to review, turning his head and looking out the window of his office. “If I could work magic, you know I would. He’s a great guy; it’s not something I’d wish on him. Hell, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
Justin gave a sad smile, half-heartedly looking at the paper. He had numerous interviews lined up and he knew most, if not all, of the questions that would be asked would be pertaining to he and JC, to JC’s motive for up and leaving, and to JC finally coming out and stating he had been sick and diagnosed. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this.
“Easy there, killer,” Lauren said softly, hand resting on JC’s back as he wretched once more into the small pan that he angrily dissed each and every time he retched violently from the side effects of the chemo and medication. This given time, as his last retch racked in his body, his fists hit the sides of the bed in what strength he had, he groaning in anger and disgust as he fell weakly back into the pillows. “You okay? Want some ice?”
“No,” he murmured, “I want a toothbrush. I want toothpaste. I want a bottle of Jack and I want a shot gun.”
Lauren frowned as she took in his pale skin, a strong contrast to the darkness circling his eyes and the gloomy gray-blue of his eyes. He was bettering as the days went on; his immune system was settling, the infection was slowly going away and he seemed to be accepting this chemo a lot better than other patients she had witnessed – but it was still tough on his already weak and fragile body. It was tough for her to see him go through it. “I can give you the first two,” she said softly, hand reaching up and taking the cool cloth, wiping his face gently to rid it of the sweat and anything that may have been left behind when he was retching, “but I am not giving you the last two.”
He groaned in response, letting his eyes flutter closed as her hand touched his face once more, skin soft and warm against his clammy and cool skin. After a few moments, he felt her place his toothbrush and toothpaste into his hand, closing his fingers around them. It was a struggle, but he managed to at least clean his teeth and rid his mouth of the sour taste in his mouth after a few minutes. Once she took his toothbrush and the toothpaste away, settling back into the chair beside him, he suddenly felt the need to speak to her. “Lauren?”
Her hand continued to gently caress his skin at his cheekbone, she leaning into him to hear his quiet voice. “Hmm?”
His eyes slowly opened and closed, he struggling to maintain focus as exhaustion once more settled into his bones. “Thank you. For everything. What you do and who you are mean a lot to me.” His eyes slid shut again, he unaware of the woman quickly wiping away tears that had formed by his genuine remark. He had chickened out with what he really wanted to say, the word vomit spilling out before his emotions got the better of him, he somewhat relieved, though confused as to why he was suddenly so scared to say what was on his mind – especially when it dealt with matters of the heart.
He knew the night before, while he battled nightmare after nightmare from his rampant-running imagination and the inability to keep himself sane that he had not only started to fall for the beautiful woman who sat up with him, comforted his shaking body as fear washed over him once more and gently ran her hands over his head, saying soothing words to him in ways that he imagined only a mother and lover could – he had fallen in love with her.
And perhaps his nightmares had been the reason why he chickened out in the first place. Who would want someone who was pretty much sitting on his death bed telling them he loved them for the first time? Especially since it probably wouldn’t last long?
He nearly jumped when he felt her thumb smooth the skin between his eyebrows, gently pressing into it. “Stop thinking so much,” she said softly, voice scolding, “you’re giving yourself premature wrinkles and too much worry lines.”
His eyes opened, the fight for sleep definite now as they weighed down with every passing second. “I worry all the time, Lauren,” he murmured, “my mind runs at a million miles an hour and I can’t do anything to stop it. I worry about everything anymore.”
“You need to stop worrying and just concentrate on getting better,” she scolded, “let me do the worrying and you do the healing.”
He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “If only it were that easy.”
“It is easy,” she said, squeezing his hand, “you just gotta get it in your mind that you are going to beat this. Everything else will fall into place soon after.”
He was quiet once more, sighing deeply as he concentrated on the roar of his stomach from not being able to have a proper meal. Everything will fall into place shortly after. But what if it was too late for “shortly after”? What if it was already too late?
“Joshua, what did I say? Stop thinking about it so much.”
What if it was too late for anything?
His eyes shot open, suddenly not tired at all and not wanting to ever close his eyes ever again. He felt the tightness in his chest form, his breaths short as he tried to concentrate on calming himself down, the sudden feeling of paranoia chilling him to the bone. His hand shot out, gripping onto hers as his body shot up, feeling as if he were going into an asthma attack. His anxiety attacks where slowly becoming few and far between, but as of late, they seemed to be longer and more strenuous than the one before. “I can’t … breathe,” he spat out, gasping as Lauren jumped up, grabbing the oxygen mask that was hanging on the railing of the bed, sitting beside him on the bed and putting the mask to his face, speaking quietly to him as her hand ran gently up and down his back.
He had never been able to grasp what theatrics were involved in actors in movies when they went through attacks. Theatrics being the only word he knew of since no one he knew suffered from them – until he started having them himself. It was almost like a theatrical set: dramatic, unaware, unsure – he never knew when they would hit and how long they would last but they were a scene to see (he was sure of it) when they happened. Though he knew they were less violent than they had been since he got diagnosed (broken bottles and a ripped apart room ring a bell?), they were more self-deprecating than he liked – they came more than he liked.
It was his mind that brought them on; the thoughts that ran around his brain like a track or a broken record, repeating what if’s and digging him into a deep bout of paranoia than he preferred. The sudden thoughts of his death, of his sudden fall into an even worse illness or even worse, infection, ran through his mind continuously. What if he fell asleep and never woke up? What if the infection he was battling was in some sort of a hibernation stage and came back so bad that he couldn’t fight it and ended up dying without being able to say goodbye and have some sort of closure? What if he would never see the end of this? What if this was his life and it would never be the same?
He struggled with his breaths, pulling at the mask and pushing it harder into his skin as he struggled to get the air into his lungs and help them expand, feeling light-headed as he continued to fight. He finally took that one, welcoming breath that was enough to keep a good amount in his body as he fought again to pull more air in, Lauren urging him to continue inhaling deeply. And just like that, with one more sharp, almost painful (well, everything was painful these days) intake, he finally got some of his bearings back, gripping the sheets at his side and steadying himself, letting the oxygen from the mask do some of the work as he closed his eyes, hiccupping from his hysterical breathing.
After a few moments, he felt Lauren move slightly, her face now only inches away from his. “Are you okay?”
It was just like clockwork, his response to every attack he battled through. Before he even thought about a proper response, the words tumbled out and he couldn’t even grasp that they had formed. “I don’t want to die like this,” he said softly, “I’m not ready to die …”
She cupped his face, shifting even more so that she was sitting directly beside him, facing him. “You’re not going to die like this,” she promised, “you’ll live a long, happy life full of happiness and whatever future you want it to be. This is just a bend in the road and you’ve gotta find your way back to civilization, all right? That’s all you have to do. I mean, it might seem so simple with what I’m saying but there’s a lot that goes into finding your way, you know? You have to find out who you are, what you have to do, what needs to be done in order for you to do what you have to do, and …”
He couldn’t help but smile at her rambling, her eyes cast to the side as she continued on with her tangent, hands moving about as if she were the one giving him direction in his lost way of life. In many ways, she was. In many ways, a lot of the “what if’s” he had been asking were slowly being answered. A lot of them, but one in particular stood out to him; one that he could probably find the answer out sooner rather than later.
What if he never got to tell her he loved her?
“… you’ve got a good support system, Josh; not many people have that strength behind them just as they do inside them, and …”
“Lauren,” he said softly, trying to stop her speaking, reaching forward and gripping her hand that was moving about as she continue her speech, “Lauren, I love you.”
She paused mid-sentence, looking at him wearily. “What did you just say to me?”
He slowly reached up, removing the mask that muffled his words and studied her face. “If I never get the chance again to say it, I need to say it,” he said softly, “I know it isn’t much of a relationship, you and I, but whatever it is, I appreciate it and I appreciate everything you have done for me and somewhere along the way I fell in love with you. I’m sure it’s not the most romantic of settings – you having a sick, mostly bald man at the tail-end of a anxiety attack saying it, but it’s true. I love you.”
She shook her head, he immediately feeling the drop in his stomach as she toyed with the necklace that rested at her collarbone, her eyebrows etched in an unreadable expression. “There never is a proper setting,” she said finally, he raising an eyebrow, “there never is a “right” time for things like that and sometimes they’re just said because of what is happening in that moment …”
“I’m being serious, Lauren,” he said firmly, struggling to keep his body upright as weakness took over, hands shaking as they began to buckle under what little weight he had. “I said it because it’s true.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she said, shaking her head quickly, pushing him to lay down as she pulled his covers back over his body, keeping the heat around him, “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
“Then what –“
“I don’t know,” she said, voice full of doubt within her, “I don’t know.”
He inhaled a shaky breath, still fighting for a decent breathing pattern once more as he slid his hand over, wrapping his fingers weakly around hers. “I love you, Lauren. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
She laughed slightly, smile at the edge of her lips as she leaned forward, one hand resting on his cheek as the other that was still being held by his held her weight as she pressed her lips to his gently, his lips warm compared to his otherwise cool skin. Pulling away, she bit her lip as she studied him; thumb gently caressing his bottom lip to his chin. “You know, I normally don’t kiss before I date a guy.”
He chuckled. “And I normally don’t tell someone I love them before I’ve kissed them.”
She smiled, shaking her head as she ran her hands over his eyelids, willing him to keep them shut. “You’ve had a long day, Josh,” she said softly, “rest, okay?”
He nodded. He was suddenly a lot calmer than he was earlier. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand gently before covering his cool fingers up with the blanket and sitting back down on the chair next to him. “I know you do.”
He grinned, unable to keep it off of his face as he shook his head, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze. “I meant what I said when I said ‘thank you’.”
She chuckled. “Oh. Well, I know that, too.”
Closing his eyes, he still felt the panic in the pit of his stomach (along with the hunger), but it was a lot weaker than it had been only moments before. There, in the present time, he felt more assured, most confident than he had in weeks, months, even.
He was going to beat this. And maybe Lance was right (he wouldn’t tell him this): she was his future wife. Even if she didn’t know it, yet.
