The only thing I ever asked...
It was the eleventh of July, in 2011. A Monday. She was in downtown. It was quiet for a Monday in downtown. Usually, it was a lot noisier, especially since it was nearing the end of lunchtime and everyone was rushing back to their jobs or going back to the university. That, and it was summer. Barely anyone attended a summer semester, so the area was mostly crowded with businessmen, and pedestrians hanging out in groups of friends or family. Maybe it was because she was in a much more isolated area, where buildings considered 'medical' were grouped apart from the rest.
Where the 'sick' people go.
The session she was currently in, at 1:45 past noon, was just like she expected it to be. The psychiatrist would speak very little yet a lot. He would ask a lot of questions, yet each one of them was either the same, if not simpler than the previous one, all containing about, at least, five to eight words. It was enough to make the client spill every little detail about their life, though. Enough to make them comfortable knowing that it was all about them and no one would know but the psychiatrist. No one would know of your problems but him.
Your secret was safe.
But she didn't go to reveal her life to a psychiatrist. No. She went, only seeking guidance. That and some of her teachers back at school recommended her talking to someone as she seemed very empty and cold lately, especially throughout her oral presentations. Someone who seeks to become a lawyer in the future needs to learn how to be indifferent when defending a case, but they shouldn't be cold and empty. They should be neutral and understanding, but that side of her seemed to have disappeared. She was told that if she talked to someone, she would surely get better.
Everyone gets better with a little bit of guidance.
She didn't want to speak to her teachers about her problem, though. It would undoubtedly go on her permanent record, becoming a huge rash on any future reference she'd unlikely get for a future job. No one would want to hire someone with problems of any sort. She couldn't talk to her mother even if she wanted to; they never spoke as it is. You'd think they would, considering their rooms are right across from each other, but, ever since her father passed away, her mother had become distant. They never spoke a word to each other unless it was to pass on the salt at supper or to ask if there was still any milk at breakfast. They were like two strangers living together.
It was the same with her brother. The day he started high school, he never paid her as much attention as he did when they were both still in elementary school. He had completely left his little sister behind to fend for herself, and though she silently told herself she'd forgiven him for that, a part of her never really did. Her closest friends were still high school in the year they were meant to be, while she was a fifteen-year-old in college. Though unusual yet remarkable, she couldn't count on them to guide her back into the right path; they hadn't been around her long enough to know what problems she'd gotten herself into. Her ex-boyfriend was in prison, and there was no way she was turning that way for guidance since it was that path that made her stray in the first place. Her current boyfriend had decided to go MIA, and his family, though extremely religious as his father was a Reverend, wouldn't really help her. They would just try to get her to rejoin a Catholic Church group and go to meetings where they talk about God and such. Now, don't get her wrong; she loves God, but a Bible wasn't going to help her right now.
Her next best bet was a psychiatrist. Her first session had gone quite well; of course, she didn't reveal anything about her life, which was quite upsetting for Dr. Gagnon. She barely spoke, yet when she did, it was vague or riddled, so he opted for asking her the simple questions and let her answer on her own, studying more of her body language and taking notes of it; sometimes actions spoke more than words, but she was still hard to read. He would probably have to give her some time, it was only their second session after all.
"What do you think?" he asked her quietly.
"I think― I think when it's all over, it just comes back in flashes, you know?" She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It's like a kaleidoscope of memories, it just all comes back." She swallowed hard. "But he never does."
"What makes you say that?"
Biting her lip for a moment, she said, "I... I guess you can say that part of me already knew, when I saw him, that it would happen."
"Did he say something to―"
"No," she interrupted, subconsciously quickly. "It... it's not really anything he said or anything he did..."
"Then what was it?"
She thought for a moment, choosing her words correctly. "It was the feeling that came along with it. A feeling I... I don't know if I'm ever gonna feel again."
He straightened on his chair; they were getting somewhere. She was speaking more than the first time. "Do you believe you should?"
It was silent for a moment before she replied, "The truth is... I don't know. I don't know if I should." Another deep breath was taken before she proceeded. "I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but..."
But I just thought, how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you? She added silently. Maybe he knew that when he saw me...
"What about James?"
Her head snapped up and she stared at the man before her, silent as the precious name rolled down his tongue. It wasn't that Jake didn't mean anything to her anymore because he did. He might've driven her to a breaking point, where James, or Jamie as she liked to call him, saved her, but she still cared for him. She still cared for them both. Jamie might've not hurt her physically either, but the fact that he kept something so big from her... she thought he trusted her, just like she trusted him. After all, he did help her. He—
"He saved me."
"From what?"
Ah. The million-dollar question: from what? From what? Well, from herself.
Jake had driven her crazy at one point, pulling her to engage in all those stunts. There were tender moments, like when he taught her how to dance for the revolutionary dance crew they joined when he gave her a key to his apartment, and when he gave her his mother's bracelet about two weeks after they had started dating...
But he was dangerous.
There was a time when he'd driven her up a hill, on the outskirts of the city, where it looked like a desert as she had told him a while before that she had always wanted to explore a desert, even if there really wasn't much to discover in one... that she had always wanted to see one. They were in his car, and just as he was about to kiss her... just when she was about to get her first kiss, a police officer stopped right behind his car and arrested him. There was also a time where he took her to a club, despite her being fourteen at the time— she was tall for her age and could easily pass for an eighteen-year-old; he'd gotten into a fight, which resulted in both of them being injured.
Her best friend wasn't there for her since he had been sent to the army. The only person who was there was Jamie. A childhood friend and neighbor who'd always been in love with her. After Jake was taken to prison, she was left confused. She had no idea what to do with herself. Yes, she was smart— she was in college rather than in high school like every other kid her age— but after falling into the habit of doing something reckless right after school ended for the day, it was hard to fall out of it. But Jamie helped her, and she had never been happier... until that night.
"I'm sick," said Jamie, eyes staring blankly out at the Lachine Canal, where the calm waves shone brightly under the moonlit night sky.
She walked further away from the waiting cab, toward him, and frowned, looking at him. "Then let's get you home. You'll surely feel better by tomorrow." She tried to take his arm, but he shook off her hand and stepped back, wanting to be heard and understood, even if he knew that what he was about to say would break her heart.
"Carmen..." Her heart seemed to stop as he addressed her by her first name. She didn't like being called by it, that's why she always told people to call her by one of her middle names, mostly Ayden. Of course, her first name always seemed to slip up eventually when something serious was about to be said to her. "I'm sick... with leukemia."
She took a step back, eyes wide as she was caught by surprise and shock. She opened her mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. Her soul was numb.
"I found out a while back. I'm not responding to treatment anymore."
Her face crumpled with pain and anguish as she looked at him, fighting back an army of tears. "Why didn't you tell me?" she choked out.
"The doctors said to do everything the same as long as possible." He paused. "I didn't want anyone being— weird around me."
"Including me?!"
"Especially you!" He looked at her, his own blue eyes watering as they stared into her beautiful brown orbs.
She stared back at him with disbelief and betrayal clear in her eyes. "I'm an ill person, James. How would that make me treat you any different than the way I do?"
He didn't answer.
She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head in disbelief. "God gives me a lifetime of illnesses, then you. A cruel joke." She got back into the cab, slammed the door shut, and told the driver to go. Jamie stood there, not knowing what to do as she was driven away. He knew he should've told her a long time ago; he didn't want to lose her, but it seemed like he already had.
"What did he save you from?" the question was repeated.
"From myself," she whispered.
"Why do you, or why did you believe you needed saving from yourself?"
She fiddled silently with the sleeves of her big hoodie as she stared down at her worn out sneakers for a moment. "I was used to him."
"Jake?"
She hummed in confirmation. "... I guess it was because I was so used to him that, in the end, I just lost my balance."
"Why did you feel so?"
She ran her tongue over her slightly chapped lips before responding. "I... I think it was because of what I believed to be the worst part back then." Pause. "What I may still believe to be the worst part."
"What is it?"
"I..." She swallowed, shutting her lids over her once vibrant brown orbs before opening them and shaking her head. "I think the worst part of it all wasn't losing him." She fought back a few rebellious tears. "It was losing me."
"You feel lost."
"I felt lost," she corrected, eyes distant. "Jamie found me... but I won't stay found for long."
"Why do you believe that?"
She was getting tired of that question. Why do you believe this? Why do you believe that? What was there left to believe in?
She hadn't believed she could ever love until she met Jake. He broke her heart and just when she believed she wouldn't fall again, yet she did.
For her childhood neighbor.
They say that if you love two people, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn't have fallen for the second. But the thing is, she had loved Jake and, though she loved Jamie, some part of her still loved Jake as he was her first love. Although it felt as though Jamie was her first love as he really showed he loved her much more than Jake had ever shown, she knew it had been Jake. You never forget or stop loving your first love. You never forget or stop loving the one who brought you out of your shell, the one who helped you discover all fifty shades of yourself. But you never forget or stop loving the one who saved you from drowning in those fifty shades. The one who showed you that you didn't have to be so many different things for someone to love you.
The one who loved you for you.
She looked down at her hands and her head subconsciously hid deeper under the hood of her oversized sweater, a gift from her first best friend ever before he had left for the army. She didn't answer, just shut her eyes when a ray of sunshine pierced through the obese vertical blinds covering the large window in the room.
"I guess that's all for today then, Carm―"
"Ayden," she cut him off. "My name is Ayden."
"Well, then, Ayden, I will see this Thursday."
Absentmindedly, she nodded. "Yeah... Thursday." With that, she got up and rushed out of the room and out the building.
She called Simon on a payphone. Simon was her best friend's uncle and a taxi driver, also one of the only people she trusted and cared for deeply. He came to pick her up and asked her no questions when she told him to take her to Jamie's house instead of her own.
"Thanks, Simon," she told him when he'd told her she didn't need to pay as they were like family. "I owe you one."
He shrugged, waving her off. "Ah, don't worry about it."
She watched him drive off before walking up the stone steps to the front door, to be greeted by Jamie's father, Reverend Grenadier.
"How― how long does he have?" she asked him.
He hesitated for a moment before answering the girl. "One or two months. Maybe less. Maybe more."
She gave the middle-aged man a disbelieving look. "So, you've given up."
The Reverend could hear the challenge in her voice. "His doctors have. James and I... we're still praying for a miracle."
She was a believer, she really was, but, at this point, she didn't know what to believe in anymore as everything she had ever believed in always seemed to disappoint her in the end.
"Praying," she said disdainfully.
"Carmen, we've lived with this for over a year now and―"
"A year?!" She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "If there is a God, how could he let this happen?!"
It was a long answer, and by the time the Reverend opened his mouth to explain, she was out the door.
It was moonless dark by now, yet she rode the public bicycle she'd rented down the careless road. She stopped for a moment, on the side of the road, and opened a map. Turning on the light of the MP3 player she hadn't used in a while. Taking a deep breath, she pocketed both and drove forward. It was about three in the morning when she reached the residential neighborhood she'd been looking for. There were mansions, big lawns― everything that reminded her why she never visited in the first place.
She slowed down and leaned forward on the bike to read a street sign, her face tear-streaked. Frustrated that she couldn't read the sign well from afar, despite how close she was, she dug into her backpack and brought her large and bold black glasses, and quickly put them on. Lighting her MP3 player as close as she could to the street sign, she let out a sigh when she could finally decipher the street name, but then mentally groaned when it began to softly rain. Shoving her music player into her bag, she gripped onto the handlebar of the bicycle and pedaled toward her left.
A few minutes later, she arrived at a large new colonial. She rode the bicycle to one of the bike docks and locked it with her key-pass, which she shoved into her back pocket. She stood there in the street, by the docks, for a moment, staring at the house, hesitant to move forward.
Inhaling and exhaling shakily, she headed up the flagstone path for the front door. Again, once in front of the large door, she simply stood there, so many emotions rushing through her, almost giving her a whiplash. They weren't only about her goal to find a way to save Jamie; they were about having to turn for help in the direction she'd rather not have to resort to.
Her family, though large it was from, both, her father's side and her mother's, was one of the most separated ones she'd ever known, besides her best friend's. A while back, she would've tried anything to try and rekindle the good moments they had all shared, to revive the love that once flowed between each and every one of them, but she gave up as she found no one really cared about each other anymore. She found herself not caring either— if no one cares, why should she?
Through the years, she had no ounce of knowledge of what had become of her father's family as they had deserted her the second his funeral was over; he'd died when she was very young and had barely an idea of what death meant. Her 'family' from her mother's side were all practically scattered around America and Mexico's Pacific coast, the only one living within a shorter distance of her, her mother and her brother being one of her youngest uncles: Rafael. He was a doctor, as far as she knew, and though he lived on the outskirts of the city she lived in, it was more as though he lived in another town. She did not hate him— she did not hate anyone, or anything really, but she just couldn't care any less about any of them anymore. Just like with the rest of her relatives, she did not speak with him. But at this moment, she was ready to leave the past where it's meant to be and make amends for whatever reason if so was needed in order to find the help she sought.
Letting out a rather ragged breath, she finally lifted her hand and rang the doorbell. It rang loud and muffled due to the door being closed, but no one came to greet her, so she began to bang rather loudly on the heavy wooden door, grief-stricken.
"Dr. Menéndez! ... Menéndez! ... Uncle Rafa! Please! I have to talk to you!" she cried out as the rain began to fall harder.
Dr. Menéndez woke with a start. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he groggily got out of bed, slipped his robe on before leaving his room and making his way down the elegant, thick-carpeted corridor, parting the sill drapes at the end of the hall. The sleep whisked away almost instantly when he saw her standing on the front lawn, soaking wet, looking distraught and, despite the now pouring rain, tearful.
"Open the door! Please!" she pleaded.
When he didn't come out, she began to back away from the house, angrily kicking over a decorative planter, though halfway to the bike docks, the door opened, and her uncle came out.
"Carmen?!"
But she didn't hear him.
"Carmen!"
Again, she did not hear him.
"Carmen!" he tried again, louder this time.
Her head snapped up and she spun around. She stared at the man before her blankly for a moment, the man she had not seen in years, the one she had once been the closest to from all her other relatives. After a few long agonizing seconds, she finally broke down and began to sob. Rafael walked over to her, ignoring the pouring rain and pulled the soaking wet girl into a big bear hug.
"You have to save him!" she cried out before she began to ramble on incoherently.
"Carmen, Carmen," he said simultaneously, grabbing her by the shoulders at arms' length. "Carmen, who? Is your mother all right? Your brother—"
She could see the lights popping on upstairs, from her peripheral vision, and her uncle's girlfriend— or whatever she'd become by now— looking out at them through the window, but she ignored the latter and answered.
"It's Jamie— my boyfriend— he has cancer— you have to come look at him— right now!"
Her uncle let out a sigh and calmly replied, trying to diffuse the subject, "It's the middle of the night—"
"I don't give a shit what time it is!" she cut him off, pulling away, angrier.
Rubbing his temples, Rafael sighed. "Carmen, I'm a cardiologist, not an oncologist—"
"You're a doctor, aren't you?!" She waved her uncle off, dismissing him.
"Carmen! I'll look into it!"
But Carmen didn't hear. She had already run past the bike docks and down the street, not caring that she, herself, was ill and could possibly die from running in such a weather all the way home. Rafael watched his niece run away, regretful.
Around an hour later, she found herself shutting the door of the apartment she lived in with her brother and mother. Wheezing slightly, she leaned her back against the door for a long moment, trying to catch her breath, before, exhaustively, dragging herself to the kitchen, leaving her bag forgotten at the entrance, not really caring that she was wetting the white marble floor on the way. She had noticed the TV in the living room, which was connected to the kitchen and dining room, was lit as well as the small figure sitting on the armchair, watching it, but she chose to ignore it as she began to prepare herself a large cup of coffee while trying to calm her breathing.
Breath still heavy and ragged, she stared at the heating pot as she waited for the water to boil, though only glanced up when she saw her inhaler being held out to her. She looked up into the familiar pair of hazel eyes and nodded appreciatively as she grabbed it, removed the cap as she knew it had already been shaken for her, breathed out, away from the inhaler, before bringing the item to her lips. She slowly breathed in the slightly liquid yet airy substance before removing the inhaler from her mouth, holding her breath for ten seconds, then breathing out.
"You should be more careful," she was told, but she shrugged it off, recapping her inhaler before turning the stove off as the water was ready.
She grabbed a mug and poured the water of the pot into it, carefully as to not burn herself.
"I hope you don't mind me staying. Your brother said I could, but I... I guess I just want to make sure my staying here doesn't bother you?"
"It's fine," the young girl mumbled.
She threw two tablespoons of ground coffee into her cup and stirred it till the grains dissolved in the hot water. After a few seconds of just stirring and staring at her cup, she took the spoon out, poured in three tablespoons of sugar and stirred it a bit more before throwing the utensil into the sink and bringing the cup up to her chapped lips, taking a long sip of the hot drink. It felt like shoving a hot piece of down her throat, and the fact that she was drinking it black didn't help much as she usually added a bit of milk, but, at this moment, the dull burning drink was better than a soft warm one. It kept her awake, aware of the reality around her. Aware of the cruelness of the world.
"Your uncle called," she heard.
She looked up and stared blankly as her brother's girlfriend, Marion Eliza Mohammad. She was a pretty Persian brunette, with big doe hazel-nut eyes. Unlike the rest of her family, she had quite a petite frame, especially for someone her age, but she was very pretty and, though she still wore very bit of make-up, she was more natural than any of her sisters and was very kind and compassionate. The younger girl never had any problem with her from the beginning; it wasn't her fault she didn't know of her existence until her brother decided one day to finally bring her to their home. It was her brother who had passed up on telling his girlfriend he had a sister. Of course, the latter didn't blame her brother for forgetting either; though they lived together, they barely talked or saw each other— he didn't even know she was in college already, he still thinks she's in high school, going to her fourth and before last year as she had only just turned fifteen two months prior the current date. He didn't even know that her boyfriend was dying, even less than she ever had one.
"He said Jamie's a patient at his hospital," Marion continued.
The teenager looked away, brows furrowed as she tried not to cry while staring down at the cup in her hands, which she gripped tightly, her knuckles whitening.
"He's having a colleague look at him this morning." There was a long pause before Marion said, in a softer tone, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
A small breath escaped her lips. "Neither did I," she whispered.
A second passed, then, suddenly, the ceramic cup shattered from her tight grip on it, cutting through her roughly-skinned hands, the hot drink splashing onto the floor and her already wet clothes. The burning of the steaming liquid wasn't what made her cry, nor the blood that was now oozing from her cut hands. No, it was the emotional agony she was going through. The pain of such an anticipation, of knowing she was going to lose someone. Though the burn the hot drink left behind as it slid down her chest and stomach was painful along with the pain coming from her cut flesh, which Marion was panicking over, nothing hurt her more than the pain of knowing someone else she loved was going to die on her.
The next morning, she simply laid on her bed in the dark, a single ray of sunshine piercing through the silky blue drapes covering the large window in her room. Her hands were bandaged and kept at her sides as she laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The phone suddenly rang, bringing her out of her empty reverie. She turned her head to the side and stared at her extension. It rang a few more times before finally stopping, making her turn her stare back to the ceiling. It was Tuesday, but she had no courses that day, and she wasn't needed for work for the week as it was her day off. After staring at the ceiling for a few more seconds, she shut her eyes close, taking a deep pained breath before letting it out. Her eyes snapped back open when she heard her name being called from the living room.
"It's your uncle."
She hesitated for a moment before sighing, pushing herself up onto her elbows to reach for her extension, and then laying back down when she picked up.
The door to her room was ajar. Marion waited outside. Listening. Hearing nothing. She bit her lip— where was her boyfriend when she needed him? His little sister was going through a rough time and he was nowhere to be found. Did he care about his sister at all? She pushed the door open and saw the teenage girl sitting in her darkened room, on her bed, back facing the door, completely deflated.
"He can't do anything." Though she had spoken the day before, it sounded as she hadn't spoken in days, weeks, as her voice held a raspy edge to it.
Marion was pained to see her suffering. "If it's incurable—"
"I told him to leave me alone," she cut her off.
Marion looked at her, taken aback. "Ayden—"
"It was the only thing I've ever asked him!" she cut her off again, referring to Jamie. "The only thing I ever asked anyone."
Marion took that as her cue to leave the teenage girl alone and left. That evening, she was still in bed, facing the wall. Marion had knocked at her door and entered with a plate of food, but she was paid no mind.
"I brought some dinner," she said softly.
No response.
Sighing, she left the tray on the night table beside the twin-sized bed and left the room, leaving the girl to drown in her grief.