His Fate

And some things are the way they are
And words just can't explain

I drum on my knees with my fingers as my legs and head bob up and down to a silent rhythm that even I can't hear. I reach to pick up a magazine before I realize I've already flipped through them all twice. Incidentally, this month's People contains the word 'exciting' twenty-seven times while Women's Health has 'tragic' nineteen times. Waiting rooms were invented as a form of torture.

The last week or so has consisted of various question and answer sessions, samples, and tests, most of which have taken place in this 'proper' hospital, courtesy of Benny (as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes it helps to know someone with money).

Right now, Mark is down the hall somewhere with a doctor who looks way too young to be giving people the type of news I hope we aren't about to receive.

I've just picked up Rolling Stone to see how many times it has 'pick' when I hear footsteps heading my way. Despite my mind screaming at me not to, I look up toward the sound just as it ceases and immediately regret it. Mark stands in front of me with a far off gaze, clutch a sheet of paper and various pamphlets. He catches me staring at them and slowly hands the paper to me. I take it, holding my breath and wishing it won't say what I already know it's going to.

As I read the words, a throbbing pain forms in my chest. My pulse echoes in my ears and I come to the conclusion that my heart must have jumped up to my skull. That would explain the emptiness accompanying the throb.

Mark is halfway out the door by the time I look up. I pull myself together and follow him, but I don't bother catching up.

Despite the fact that I stay exactly five paces behind him the entire walk home, with each step he looks further and further away.

As we walk into the loft, he shuts the door behind me and we stand there in silence. He looks at me, breathing slowly and mouth in a straight line. People who don't know him like I do would miss the terror in his eyes, but to me it's as clear as day.

I let out a breath I forgot I was holding and shake my head. As I turn toward the kitchen, I feel Mark grab my arm and pull me back. He buries his face in my shoulder which I quickly feel becoming significantly more moist and clings to me for dear life (if only it were that easy). I rub his back soothingly as tears form in my own eyes.

I want to tell him everything's okay, that it will get better...but I can't.

Mesothelioma. For the second time, I read a disease off a sheet of paper and it changed my life forever.

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AN: Yeah...sadness. Reviews, please!