Vadim
"Okay," I say, every muscle wound tight, the pain and the waiting pulling at me.
Hard to say which one is worse.
There's a reason why I don't trust anyone. People only cause pain.
They lie.
They deceive.
They steal.
Preston is the only person I've let get this close to me. I pray that whatever it is he's about to tell me doesn't fall into any of those categories. I don't know if I could handle him letting me down.
"I should have told you about this sooner. I know that. It's bad of me that I didn't. And I feel so—"
"Preston?"
He looks up at me. "Yeah?"
"You're rambling. Just spit it out. I'm on the verge of having a heart attack over here."
His eyes bulge, and he smooths down the front of his shirt.
"Okay, sorry, um… Here goes." He takes a deep, fortifying breath.
"I was born with a condition called retinitis pigmentosa.
It's a degenerative eye condition. My parents were told it would likely worsen over time but much later in life.
Growing up, it meant I had to make a few practical adjustments, especially in low light conditions and at night.
But it wasn't too much of a big deal, and other than my family and Ellie, who already knew about it, no one ever suspected a thing. "
"Okay," I say to fill the beat of silence as Preston gathers his thoughts.
I do the same with mine, thinking back through every video call we've had, the way he always kept the light low. I noticed it, even questioned it a couple of times, but he had a knack for moving the conversation on to another topic.
"Is that why you don't like overhead lighting?" I hedge.
"Bingo." He presses his lips together. "Growing up, I knew that blindness was a distinct possibility, probably even likely. But it was always something to plan for someday, when I was much, much older."
"Did something happen to change that?"
He nods.
"Yeah. After I experienced a sudden loss of vision one afternoon, I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with optic neuritis on top of the RP.
That turned what was a future problem into more of an immediate one.
RP affects night and peripheral vision, while optic neuritis can cause a sharper, more sudden loss of vision, often with pain and color-vision changes. "
Pain.
"Is that why you get headaches?"
"It is."
"So, what does this all mean?"
"It means that I'm losing my sight, Vadim.
It's been getting progressively worse over these past few months.
I don't know how much longer I have left to see.
Could be a few months. Could be a few weeks.
But either way, it's almost certain that in a short amount of time, I'm going to be completely blind. "
The words reach me one at a time, like they're traveling through water.
I don't move.
I don't speak.
My eyes stay focused on Preston's face while my mind jumps to its natural default—looking for a solution.
But there isn't one.
If there were, I'm sure Preston and his family would have found it by now. Which only leaves room for dealing with what he said and bracing for what it means.
I had some low-level suspicions that something might be up with him, especially because those headaches were occurring too often to be 'nothing,' like he kept brushing them off as.
But with everything he's gone through these past few months, from being physically attacked at the spa, to narrowly avoiding being blown to smithereens, to his father dying, I always attributed it to an external source.
Stress. Fear. Grief.
But hearing him say the words "completely blind"…it's a type of horror-shock I've only ever experienced one other time in my life, the day my father sat me down and explained my mother had been brutally killed by one of our enemies.
"I don't know what to say, Pres."
Wholly inadequate, but they're the only words I can come up with.
"You don't have to say anything. I just hope you're not too mad at me."
"What? Why would I be mad at you about this?"
"Not about my condition…" He hangs his head. "But for not telling you sooner."
"Hey. Hey." When he doesn't look up, I hook my fingers under his chin to make him. "I'm not angry at you."
"Why not?" He's on the verge of tears. "You have every right to be. You've been making an effort, especially lately, to be honest and upfront about everything. And I've been hiding this massive secret from you."
"I'm sure you had a good reason."
He chews his lip. "I guess I didn't want to burden you with it."
"Preston." I frown. "This isn't a burden."
I sense that he's holding back, and I'm not sure if this is one of those times where I should press or back off.
I keep my mouth shut and let him decide what to say next.
"You're right. That's a lame excuse. The real reason is that when we first met, I was still in pretty big denial about it. I was keeping myself busy with work and my studies as a way of not dealing with it."
"That was your plan?"
He nods, his cheeks flushed. "Stupid, I know.
But I didn't know how else to handle it, so I defaulted to my superpower of compartmentalizing stuff.
I made a deal with myself that once I finished my degree, then I would sit down and address it properly.
But life doesn't work like that. And when Dad got his prognosis, it changed everything. "
"Oh, Pres."
He sniffs but holds off from crying.
"I didn't expect to meet someone like you, you know?
Falling in love wasn't part of the plan.
But then it happened. With all the craziness going on in my life, you were the last normal thing I had.
I clung to that because I didn't want this one precious thing to change.
I'm sorry. Saying it out loud makes me hear how pitiful of an excuse it is. "
"It's not a pitiful excuse. It's real. It's how you feel. And guess what? There's no life manual on how to deal with something like this. But I need you to listen to me, Preston, really hear me, okay?"
He brings the back of his hand to his nose and nods. "Okay."
I wait until his eyes land on me. "We are in this. Together."
The word "together" is barely out of my mouth before Preston cracks. His face crumples, and the tears come, and this time, he doesn't try stopping them.
"Come here, you."
He gets up and folds himself over me on the bed. I wrap my arms around him as he cries, his tears seeping through the thin cotton of my hospital gown.
"You're okay, you're okay," I soothe him, stroking his hair.
He pulls back, eyes watery. "I'm sorry. I'll never hold anything back from you again."
"Good. Neither will I." I cup his face between my hands. "From now on, it's full-on honesty and communication, all the time, no matter what. Yeah?"
He nods, tears still spilling out of his eyes. "Yeah."
And with that, he leans over and gives me a wet, and what I can only assume, salty kiss. He's trembling slightly, and I hold him steady the way I intend to keep holding him steady for as long as he'll let me.
Which, if I have anything to say about it, is going to be a very long time.