Thank you, kind sir. #2
“There has to be something, there’s always—”
“DANIEL!”
He snaps out of his incessant rambling, his pointless grasping for something that isn’t there.
“It’s terminal. I talked to an oncologist. She gave me a year tops with treatment, six months without.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, like he’s finally swallowing what I said. “A year,” he whispers, his eyes affixed to me with a blank stare.
I shake my head. “Six months.”
“Scar—”
“I’m not doing the treatment.”
His head juts forward. “Sorry? Please tell me I didn’t hear you right.”
“You heard me.”
“No.” Daniel shakes his head. “I didn’t hear you right.
I didn’t hear the woman I’m going to marry imply that she has no intention of fighting this.
Because that woman’s mother died of cancer.
That woman watched my father die of cancer.
That woman held her best friend’s hand while she battled breast cancer for three years.
And you never once told my father or Sylvie that they shouldn’t have the treatment.
Hell, you even took Sylvie to the hospital for her surgery.
You took her to her chemo and radiation appointments.
You cried over her grave, saying there should have been more we could have done for her! ”
“I don’t believe in cut, poison, burn,” I whisper.
“Cut. Poison. Burn?”
I nod.
Daniel laughs—the painful, condescending kind of laugh. “You don’t believe in modern cancer treatment?”
My name is Scarlet Stone. I have 70,000 thoughts a day and they are mine. My human right. I will not be ashamed of having an opinion.
I shake my head.
His jaw drops. We’ve discussed almost everything over the years but never this. The look in his eyes is one of complete confusion, like he doesn’t recognize me.
“You have to make me understand, Scarlet, because I don’t.”
I wince, feeling ripped apart by his endless head shaking. I feel like his nightmare, one that he can bring himself out of if he shakes his head enough.
“It’s just my opinion.”
“Well, it’s wrong—completely fucked-up!”
Drawing in a deep breath, I fight for control. He’s hurt and the devastation he’s feeling is what’s coming out in his angry words. It’s not his fault.
“I would never tell you what to believe, Daniel, so please don’t tell me that my opinion is wrong. We should be allowed a few basic human rights in life: the right to decide what goes into our bodies and the right to have an opinion without feeling shamed for it.”
“Where was this ‘opinion’ when my father battled cancer or when Sylvie was dying before your eyes?”
“It was their lives, their opinions, their decisions. Not mine. They never asked my opinion.”
His sinister laugh cuts through the air again and gouges my heart. I never wanted to have this discussion with him or anyone. I wanted to take my very unpopular opinion to the grave with me.
“If you don’t do this, you’re going to die.” He grips my shoulders, his face a breath away from mine.
His reaction is fueled by pain and fear.
My brain knows this but it still triggers something defensive inside of me.
I yank myself out of his hold. My skin heats with anger, and I don’t want to say something I will regret, but I can’t stop the words.
I feel pinned to the ground and my instinct to free myself overtakes every other emotion.
“My mum died. Your dad died. Sylvie died! Everyone is searching for the goddamn cure, but no one is searching for the cause. There is no money to be made in eliminating the cause of cancer.”
“Scarlet, that’s not true.”
“It doesn’t have to be true! It’s just my own opinion.
The cure is prevention. If we prevent cancer, then we don’t need a cure.
But there’s no money in prevention. I’ve hacked into research databases, email, and financial records of the largest pharmaceutical companies.
Cancer is no longer a disease, IT’S A FUCKING BUSINESS!
And we buy it hook, line, and sinker. ‘Hurray! My cancer is gone.’ A year or two later—at best—I’m dead because the chemo and radiation obliterated my immune system, so the next time those cancer cells start to divide, they spread like wild fire because there are absolutely no defense mechanisms left.
But … here’s the silver lining … the pharmaceutical companies make money with round two of cancer treatment as some last-ditch effort that they know won’t save me at this point.
Instead, it leaves my family with false hope and two seconds later I’m dead! ”
Shock. That’s all I see in Daniel’s lifeless expression.
A toxic mix of regret and relief war somewhere between my head and my heart.
I’ve shattered his hopes of changing my mind and for that I feel terrible.
At the same time, I feel liberated. Never, ever have I said those words aloud.
For years I’ve watched people I love die, and I’ve always held my opinions to myself because they are not an answer for anyone but me.
But now it’s me, and all I want is for the people who love me to respect my wishes without trying to change my mind or make me feel irresponsible or crazy.
“This is complete madness.” His voice becomes weaker with each word.
“I always go with my gut. If a thousand people are in queue for door A but my eye is drawn to door B with no queue, I choose door B. The most brilliant and innovative people throughout history have shunned the norm, questioned authority, charted new territory, and challenged beliefs that no one before them had ever dared to challenge.”
“Cut. Poison, Burn. Call it whatever you want, Scarlet. It’s your only option for staying alive.” He looks up.
“Those three years … Sylvie wasn’t living.
She was dying, and it was a fucking miserable death sprinkled with a few moments of false hope.
” I take in a deep breath, relishing each one that I have left in this life.
“Go take a poll, Daniel. Ask every cancer survivor, if given the choice would they have chosen their ‘lifesaving’ treatment or to never have had cancer in the first place. It’s so messed-up.
We are a corporate run world. Medicine is a business.
Follow the money, Daniel. There is no corporate incentive to prevent cancer or even find a true fucking cure! ”
He blinks at me over and over. “Jesus, Scarlet, you’re jumping off a cliff without a parachute.” Daniel pulls me into his arms as all my fight is drained, leaving me with nothing but my sobbing emotions.
“It buys me six more months at best,” I whisper.
“Six miserable months of having poison in my veins killing me as fast as the cancer. Six more months of practically living in a hospital. Six months of waiting to die. I won’t do it.
I feel fine today, and I might feel fine tomorrow and the next day. ”
“The wedding …”
I frown. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”
“We can move it forward.”
I laugh, pushing him away and wiping my tears. “We could. But really … why?”
“I’m supposed to leave next week.”
I press my salty, tear-stained lips together as I shake my head. “I’m not asking you to stay.”
“Fucking hell, Scarlet! What is that supposed to mean?”
“All the reasons you fell in love with me no longer exist. All the reasons we fell in love no longer exist.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”
“You almost married another woman, but you didn’t. And why was that?”
“Scarlet, don’t do this.”
“You didn’t marry her because you knew that her dreams of babies and big fluffy dogs would lead to missed opportunities.
You were, and still are, unapologetically married to your career.
” I fist my hands at my heart. “That’s what made me love you—your ambition, your desire to live every single second to the absolute fullest. Don’t give that up for me or anyone else.
It’s not selfish, it’s admirable and commendable and … beautiful.”
I hug his back, he laces our fingers together over his chest.
“If you stay. I will die. If you leave. I will die.” I move around to face him.
He blinks and big, fat tears roll down his cheeks. He’s seen me cry once since he’s known me, but I’ve never seen him cry until now—not even when his father died.
I brush my thumbs along his cheeks. “Daniel, I won’t be responsible for your missed opportunity. Do this for me. It’s my dying wish.”
“Jesus Christ, Scarlet…” his voice breaks “…I’m not leaving you to die alone.”
“If you don’t leave … I will.” It’s cruel, I know it, but I hope someday he will not see this as me being selfish.
I hope he will see this as exactly what it’s meant to be—my love for him, a quick break instead of a long suffering for both of us.
I hope by the time I’m dead, he will have already grieved my loss and found his footing in life again with a brilliant career.
He collapses to his knees and hugs my waist. I run my hands through his hair, memorizing how it feels against my skin. Touch. I will miss his touch.
“Fuck you, Scarlet Stone. Fuck you for taking my heart. Fuck you for … for …” he sobs.
“Fuck me for dying,” I whisper as I fall to my knees and hug him.
I. Really. Fucking. Hate. This. Life.