JUST ANXIETY
44
Jack : How’s your week-end?
Prudence : Awesome.
Prudence : You sure you’re okay, though?
Prudence : We can come back at any time.
Jack : I’m perfect.
Jack : I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted.
JACK
There’s something wrong.
I’m not sure what it is, but I don’t feel so good.
The perks of living with a disease such as this one, is that I can tell when something stops being right.
And my heart’s not beating right. It’s too irregular, too labored. Like it misses a few beats and then beats one too many times to try and fix the missing one.
My lungs feel too tight, and I can’t seem to breathe properly no matter how deep I’m inhaling.
I need to move on with my list. There are still a couple of things that I need to do, I can’t—I can’t go now.
Ikram stirs next to me, his arm sliding around me to pull me closer with a sleepy sigh.
“Why are you already awake?” He mumbles behind me, his warm breath tickling my nape.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. You should go back to sleep.”
He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Hmhm. If you’re getting up, I’m getting up.”
I close my eyes, trying to control my breath, to hide how short it is. Tears prick the back of my eyes.
“Just stay here a little longer,” I croak. “I’m going to make some coffee, and then I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”
He sits up and leans forward to frown at me.
“No, no. You stay here and I’ll take care of that.”
“I can do it, I’m not made of sugar,” I groan, but regret my tone instantly.
“I know,” he says softly, sitting back on his hunches. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I sit up and cross my legs under the sheet, burying my head in my hands with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just… I don’t know.”
His arm circles my shoulders as he pulls me against him, setting his head on top of mine.
“Let’s just make breakfast together. I think you’d look hot as hell naked under an apron.”
That pulls a chuckle out of me. I nod and he kisses me softly before getting out of the bed, giving me a nice view of his bare ass.
I need to go about my day like my heart doesn’t feel foreign and my lungs aren’t getting too tight in my chest. I can’t let Ikram know, or he’ll get worried and call Prue. And if Prue shows up when she’s supposed to be enjoying her getaway weekend with Nate, I’m gonna hate myself.
I need to move on with my list.
“There’s a flour butt print on the couch,” Ikram muses.
I roll my eyes. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have grabbed my ass with your floured hands while I was cooking the pancakes,” I say, walking away with a dramatic sway of my hips, our empty plates in my hands.
“What can I say? You do have a really nice butt. Couldn’t help myself…” He squeezes it playfully before darting towards the kitchen, stopping in front of the sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yeah. You look distracted, go take care of whatever has put that frown on your face.”
Easy to say…
I nod and go to my office, but not before I give him a quick kiss. I take the list out of my drawer and stare at it. Not a really long list, but an important one nonetheless.
A list I’m not sure I would have had the time to finish if the doctors actually accepted my request… Or maybe I still would have… With a clear deadline in my head, it would have been easier to take care of everything in time.
I don’t want that deadline anymore. I need more time. With Prue, to see her finally happy. To grow older, and build a family like the one Tham has. With Ikram, so we could do the same. With Nate, so I can make up for lost time. With Evie, so she can finally teach me how to cook while we gossip like two schoolgirls. With Nuri, so I can see her kids grow, even if I met them only a couple of time before.
Time.
I need time .
Talk with mom and dad one last time.
Get closure with siblings / Reconnect with siblings.
Prue finds someone / Prue happy with someone.
Send storytelling game stories to be published.
Find Nate and apologize.
Get my best friend back.
Learn to cook / learn to cook a few simple stuff
Buy a home for Prue
Swim in the sea
Be able to stand up
Walk
Find Prue’s parents
I look at the last line with a smile, and take another look. Just two more things. And I can send the stories to my agent today. She loved the sample she got a few months ago, so I’m sure It’ll be a done deal.
But for the house… Prue is stubborn as shit about it.
No matter how much I push, she doesn’t want to hear anything about it. She says she can rent a one bedroom apartment and she doesn’t need to own anything.
It scares me. To think of her renting something, with the risk that someday something might happen and she would lose it and end up with nothing.
I can still change my will… She made me sign up all my money but 10% to medical research and charity. I could still change the amount and leave just a little more for her… But then, nothing will stop her if she decides to donate it all away.
Alright.
Ikram and I are going home searching today.
“What was wrong with that one?” Ikram grunts as we leave our parking spots, and I cross the address off my list.
“Really? Come on, she doesn’t need to see her neighbors when she looks out her windows. Or be seen . She always needed her privacy.”
“You do know curtains are a thing, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. But I know we can find better.”
“The sun is setting,” he sighs. “Let’s look again tomorrow, or—”
My heart rate picks up with a throbbing pain. “No,” I snap. “We still have time today. Let’s see a couple more.”
He gives me a worried look and I turn my face to look out the window. “Jack, baby… We’ve seen over ten houses today. None of them were good enough for you, and you’ve walked a lot, since you wouldn’t let me bring your chair. I know you’re not some weak little thing, and I’m not treating you like one, but you need to rest a little.”
“I’m fine,” I grumble.
“You’re not fine!” Ikram counters more harshly. “You’re limping and breathing all wrong!”
“It’s anxiety. I need to find a home for Prue in case—”
“You. Need. To. Rest,” he cuts me off. “We’re done for today. Call them to reschedule.”
My grip tightens around the paper, crumpling it in my fist as another wave of pain seizes my heart.
It’s anxiety. Just anxiety. It’ll be better once I find her a home.
“I need—”
“Jack, you’re really pale. Fuck, I knew we should have stopped at least three houses ago…”
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
From the corner of my eye, I see him glance at me every minute, his frown deepening. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel.
“We’re going home. Evie should already be there.”
Right. We invited her over for drinks… I forgot. Is it 8p.m. already? Did we really spend nearly ten hours looking? Am I the asshole for snapping at him and being pushy about this?
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything, the engine is the only sound in the car for a long minute.
“I know you’re worried,” he finally says. “I know you’re in pain. But it doesn’t give you the right to snap at me when I’m simply trying to help.”
“You’re right.”
“The only thing I want is for you to be happy and us to be together. Please, don’t push me away.”
The tightness in my throat intensifies as tears gather in my eyes. I take a few—not deep enough—breath, but the pressure behind my eyes is too strong and a couple of tears escape me anyway.
“I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out because of the list, and I took it out on you.”
“I’m worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Ikram says softly, taking a turn left. “It’s not because you can walk again that you need to run a marathon.”
I close my eyes and let the tears fall on my cheeks, focusing on my uneven heartbeat and short breathing instead. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it still feels… wrong.
“I know. I promise I’ll be more careful, and save my strength.”
He turns his head towards me, just enough to find and take a hold of my hand. “Thank you.”
His words squeeze my heart. Because this man is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I should tell him I’m not feeling fine. I should let him prepare for what’s maybe not just anxiety.
But I can’t. Because I’m selfish, and I want all of our moments to be free of worries and pity. Because if I tell him, he’ll tell Prue. I don’t want her to know until the very end, until I’m sure she won’t look at me suffer for too long.
I won’t even be able to say goodbye to her anyway. Not if she looks at me. Not if she sees the pain, guilt, and worry in my eyes.
No, she’ll have the hundreds of letters I wrote and kept hidden from her for years. That will be my goodbye. The last selfish thing I do that I hope she’ll forgive.