I do not own Me Before You.

I do not own hospital bills, urgh.

180 Days, Giver or Take

Hospital to Beach

Me always having to be right, of course, I went and got an infection.

And had to go to hospital.

Just to prove I was always going to be the more frail and sickly.

There, that'll show them.

Bollocks.

It was a bad one.

Third in two years.

Pneumonia.

In the middle of summer. An English summer, but summer nevertheless.

A little bacteria, a little cough.

And hurrah, purple lips and an elephant on my chest.

All leading to an ambulance, IV antibiotics, and an oxygen mask.

My upper left lung was taking a beating.

When my respiratory therapist wasn't helping me cough and insisting on me coughing on my own, I was getting the fluid pummeled out of me by a chest-pummeling machine.

Practicing breathing whilst sitting in my chair.

And sleeping.

A lot of sleeping.

Not dying is exhausting.

My mother hovered nearby nearly my entire stay, relegating my father to the waiting room.

And eventually out of the entire facility.

And Nathan.

And Clark.

Clark who peeked her head around the room every so often, chirping . . .

"Hey, how you feeling?"

"I've been better."

. . . and attempting to tease.

"Oh, I don't know. You'd do anything to get attention, Will Traynor . . ."

That Clark.

That beautiful, perky, sweet Clark.

So earnest and hopeful.

And I wanted to enjoy her.

I wanted to tease back, have a bit of fun with her, I really did.

But . . .

"Sorry, Clark, I don't think I can do witty today."

She flinched. Her face blanching, eyebrows going all haywire.

And I knew I was deathly ill.

Because I could not find the strength to care.

But Louisa had grown nothing if not resilient.

She chattered on about this and that.

Retrieving her CDs.

Moving out of Running Man's flat.

I thought she might be a bit broken up about breaking off from a bloke after so many years.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. It's really not so bad."

Then again, it was Running Man. Not much of a loss, if you asked me.

"Besides, I've got other things to think about anyway."

Oh Louisa, you lovely Molahonkey girl, I know you want to hope but . . .

"Here's the thing, Clark. I'm not sure I'm going to be bungee jumping anytime soon."

All her work, all her effort.

And she never even flinched.

Just smiled that beautiful smile of hers.

"It's okay, Will. We'll go some other time."

It broke my laboring heart.

Her inexhaustible optimism.

"I'm sorry. I knew you were really looking forward to it."

Making me want to live.

She sighed, brushing a hand across my damp forehead.

"Shhh. Really. It's not important. Just get well."

I love you, Louisa. I really do.

But you don't understand.

I'm not going to get well.

This is my life.

And I can't live it much longer.

And I won't let you either.

They healed me right up.

As much as they could.

The wanking doctors.

Took a while. Some good old effort.

Lots of coughing.

And truckloads of antibiotics.

And when I was well and they deemed I would live a bit longer, they sent me home.

The annex was somehow even more depressing and suffocating than before.

Even with Clark there.

I slept mostly.

Stared blankly at films on the screen.

Listened to various musical selections.

Rap. Hip-hop. Heavy metal.

Anything hard and angry and bitter.

Trying to get it out of me without pouring it on anybody else.

No classical. Nothing to make me feel too much, no, thank you.

I chatted when required.

With my father. My mother. Nathan.

Mostly listening.

Getting them to talk.

About their interests. Their jobs. Their lives.

Direct them away from me.

And, of course, there was always Clark.

Prattling on about her new plans for us.

Gone were the thrill-seeking escapades.

The wild, heart pounding, life-inspiring adventures.

Now replaced by the tranquil seas. Pristine beaches.

And the relaxing pampering of a lovely island getaway.

And I just didn't want to go.

They would look, they would whisper.

At the crip in the chair.

Pity him. Feel revulsion.

Thank whatever deity they prayed to they weren't in the same situation.

In the airport.

On the plane.

At the resort.

Over and over and over again.

And I was just too weak, just too worn down, just too finished with it all to bear any more.

But Louisa Clark, my resourceful Molahonkey girl, had found the perfect spot for us to visit.

The isle of Mauritius. A tiny little sliver of volcanic rock nestled away in the Indian Ocean.

Most people never even knew it existed.

'Mauritius was made first and then heaven, heaven being copied after Mauritius,' had written Mark Twain.

And Clark, having never been anywhere of real merit, was positively over the moon over the trip.

I didn't blame her. It was the trip of a lifetime.

And so though I knew I would be in a misery the entire time, I did not grumble.

I did not complain.

I nodded, tried to look interested as she chattered on and on.

Made her lists. Checked her lists.

Rechecked her lists. And rechecked her lists.

As if she were some sort of obsessive-compulsive Father Christmas.

The day finally arrived.

When the grand globetrotting trio embarked upon their epic Quest to Find the Thing That Would Make Will Want to Live.

Starring:

Nate the Great Crip Keeper.

Clark, Crip Companion Extraordinaire.

And, of course, the Cryptic Crip himself.

William Traynor.

Me.

Bloody hell.

My father saw us off, grinning like a ridiculous, horny, Cheshire cat.

"Don't get up to too much mischief."

Even winking rankishly at a nonplussed Clark.

Good God, Dad, keep it in your trousers, eh? Especially when mine doesn't work properly anymore.

And then, despite all my misgivings and negativities, the trip there actually got on quite easily.

Most, if not all the passengers on the plane, paid us no mind.

I suppose all of us being relegated to seated position for twelve plus hours . . .

Not the only one with a sore arse now, am I? Ha!

. . . subjected to modest airline food and ghastly American sitcoms . . .

Are American waitresses really that insipid?

. . . sort of put us all on the same level.

I ate. Traded conversation.

And mostly did what I did best thenadays.

Slept.

Even when we departed the plane and, Clark nearly tearing up with relief, traveled to the hotel without a hitch.

I know the scenery was beautiful and the white sand beaches calling my name, but nothing then could compare to the relief and relaxation of that grand hotel bedroom.

Quiet and still and comfy.

I slept for nearly forty-eight hours.

Only waking to eat and receive the necessary toiletry attentions.

Much like an infant.

Then, I woke up.

And I mean really woke up.

I mean, after all, she was in a sarong. And a bikini.

Well, hello, Clark! And hello, ladies!

We're finally at the hotel, yay!

Took forever, didn't it? So let's have some fun for a bit.

Yes, I know I broke my daily posting goal but apparently surgery, even outpatient, takes it out of you.

So do rubber bands.

*shudders*

Never mind.

Anyway, thanks to the loyal DinahRay, Shortie1211, rapunzelclayre, FanFicFan305, maria190, and gingerhairedbeauty for the great reviews!

And thanks for all the finger wellwishes, I truly appreciate them! :D