Happily

Chapter Seventeen: The C-Constellation

I rushed to the hospital, heart pounding out of my chest. Tears once again formed in my eyes and I kept talking to myself like a madman, “No, no, no, no.”

            I’d ignored my mum’s worried face and angry calls as I let out a muffled sob when I put down the phone, running out the door with nothing but my car keys and mobile. When I arrived at the hospital, I parked and ran inside, breathing heavily. “I need to see a patient, Marcel Styles?” I asked the receptionist as I gasped for air. She wore cotton scrubs, white printed with blue blocks.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry but he’s in the emergency room. They’re moving him to the cancer ward in a few minutes. Right now it’s family only.” My heart dropped as my pleas in the car came unanswered.

“I am family,” I growled through gritted teeth, trying not to fall to the ground. She clicked some more and typed furiously, furrowing her eyebrows. “No, I’m sorry, he came with his family already.” I was about to cuss her out, telling her I needed to see my fucking boyfriend when a familiar voice came.

            “Louis?” I turned around and saw Anne, looking like a mess. Her eyes were sunken in and bloodshot, red from crying. Black makeup was smeared across her cheeks and her hair was a mess. I walked towards her and welcomed her outstretched arms. “It’s going to be okay,” I thought I heard her whisper. Was it really going to be okay? Was it?

            “Come on love, let’s go. If there’s anyone he needs right now, it’s you.” She began to lead me down the hall when the receptionist interrupted. “Ma’am, it’s family only, you can’t go in, and neither can he.”

Did she not see Anne coming out from the hall? Obviously she’s family then, I thought.

Her eyes narrowed and her voice was venomous. I’d never seen her this angry, or anyone, really.

“I am the mother of the patient, and I will do what I please. This is his boyfriend and if I, the mother, of the patient allow it, then he will come. Do I have to repeat myself?” And if looks could kill, the receptionist would bloody dead, sprawled on the floor.

            The receptionist shook her head, trying to look unaffected by Anne’s poison, but failing. She turned her attention back to her computer, cheeks red, and Anne pulled me down the hall. “They’re moving his to the cancer ward now,” her voice was hoarse. We walked into an elevator and waited as an older man in a wheelchair entered. “What level?” I asked, looking at him. “Eight,” he said. I looked at Anne and she leaned against the back of the elevator, eyes closed. “Same,” she sighed. I pushed the button and moved back to join her and give the old man more room.

            As the doors opened, the man rolled out, coughing slightly, wrinkled hands red from pushing the wheels of his chair. We rushed out and turned right, walking about five minutes till we reached the end of the hall, where it turned right again. Anne grabbed my hand, taking me to the last room before the turn and the left. She quietly opened the door and brought me into the room. It smelled of sadness and sterile, white floor and white walls. Equipment with digital buttons and beeping noises were sprawled everywhere. There, on the white bed, was Marcel.

            He was pale, eyes rimmed red, arms looking frail. His chest moved up and down slowly. Too slow. An oxygen mask covered his face and multiple wires and tubes connecting to his arms and skin. He lay limp, and this wasn’t the Marcel I was used to. He wasn’t bursting with light, sharing his ridiculous nerd-jokes and laughing at my horrible insults. This was the Marcel who had sickness blanketing him from head to toe. This was a frail, small Marcel, who looked like a little boy- tired of battling the world.

            “He knew it was coming,” Anne said quietly, sitting on the small sofa across the room. She looked sadly at her son, eyes becoming glossy. “I told him we could stop it, but he knew we couldn’t, he’s a smart boy. His grandfather died from it too. I guess it skips a generation.” Her voice broke at the end and my heart clenched on the word ‘died.’ Marcel wasn’t going to die. It wasn’t the end of the world. If he left me, if he died, it would be the end of my world.

            “He’s strong Anne. He just needs us, we’ll help him beat it. He’s strong.” I felt as if I was trying to reason with myself more than Anne, but I had to be strong for her; for him. Moving to sit next to her, I placed my hands on my knees nervously. “Has he woken up at all?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” said Anne. Her voice was grim. “He keeps fluttering awake, in and out. They’ve gotten the extra fluid out of his lungs. Once his breathing steadies, he’ll be awake.”

I wondered when that would happen.

“He should be waking up soon, for a while this time,” She said, answering my thoughts. I nodded, mind spinning from the series of events. I looked around and noticed the absence of someone who should have been in the room by Marcel’s side.

“Where’s Gemma?” I asked. Anne stood up. “She’s actually in Manchester, touring Universities. I haven’t told her yet. I will tomorrow.” She checked the clock ticking on the wall. It showed two-thirty in the morning. “Well, I mean later on in the day,” she sighed.

            “Louis, I’m going to run down to the cafeteria and grab something to eat quickly maybe some coffee too. Can you stay here? With him? In case he…”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” I said. Anne nodded.

“Would you like anything?” I was about to refuse when my eyes began to feel heavy.

“Actually, uhm, a coffee if that’s alright.”

“Of course love,” and she exited the room.

            There was a cushioned chair with curved wooden armrests next to the bed. I got up and sat in it, moving an inch from the bed.

“Marcel baby,” I murmured, soothingly. “Can you wake up for me?” I placed my hand in Marcel’s, tangling our fingers together. His hand was cold as ice, and limp. I held out fingers together with my other hand, lifting myself off the chair to press a kiss to his forehead before sitting back down.

            “Marcel love,” I murmured again. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I love you, and you’re strong. I love my strong Marcel. It’s going to be okay. Okay? I love you.” I realized I was actually reassuring myself, but I squeezed his fingers softly.

“You’re going to make it through this, no, we’re going to make it.” I said, and obviously, no reply came.

“I love you Marcel,” I said again. “I love you so much, my strong, strong Marcel. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you. You’re the stars in my sky, my sun, and without you my world will be dark forever. I won’t be able to survive. I love you.”

            I leaned in closer and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“We’re going to fight this Marcel, I swear it. I’ll spend my last breath fighting this with you. We’re going to make it our alive. You’re going to make it our alive.”

I took a shaky breath as a tear rolled down my face.

“I promise.”