Slugger (Sequel to 'The Jet') Benny Rodriguez

Chapter 40

Benny's heart was in his throat the entire time he'd had his back pressed against the door. Thirty four minutes it had been so far. No sign of any change since tou came barreling home.

The door had been locked, and he could faintly hear the soft cries of his wife behind it. All the times he tried to knock on the door, or softly beg her to open up were ignored, and he was getting desperate, now. The girls were still in the backyard, playing away, no knowledge of the fact their dear father was sitting on the ground in the hallway, tears down his cheeks.

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to get to you, to hold you, to calm himself down and you, to find out what had happened to nake you so hysterical.

He knocked on the door once more, his cries making his plead sound even more pathetic and miserable.

"My love, I'm so scared right now. Please let me in, I'm begging you." He threw his head aginst the wood, squeezing his eyes shut while waiting hopeful for some kind if answer.

He couldn't imagine what could be doing this to tou right now. His tough, strong girl was clearly in turmoil, and over what?

He stood to his feet quickly when he heard footsteps approaching the door and the muffled sobs getting louder. He was prepared to hug you but was immediately put into disdain when the door never opened, and instead a stapled together couple sheets of paper were slid through the crack under the door.

He quickly brought them up, flipping through the unimportant details of the test you took the day prior. He found the page labeled diagnosis and skimmed over the formalities as fast as possible.

When his eyes scanned over the one thing that had for sure done all of this damage, his heart shattered into a million pieces and he sank to his knees on the floor.

Official end of visit diagnosis: stage 2 lung cancer. Triggering cause: inhalation of second hand smoke.

His hand ran through his hair then down over his features. He couldn't even read the rest of what was written for the tears that clouded his eyes and blurred his pitiful vision.

His pain was multiplied when he realized he had been the cause of all of this. He started smoking as a way to soothe himself.... now you were paying the price. It wasn't fair. It should be him. He wanted it to be him.

He lifted himself up from the floor, twisting the door knob as hard as he could, trying to see if the lock might give out. He didn't have a key, or remember if there was even one at all. His hand started turnung red with the pressure he put on the knob untim he heard something break within the door. He let go and the brass knob fell to the floor in front of him.

He was about to enter the room, but before his hand hit the door he had to stop himself and think. This was his doing. You were mortally ill, and he was the cause. You probably didn't even want to look at him right now.

It was his own selfishness that put you where you are now. It would be his own selfishness to invade your privacy of a locked room during such a time. Just because he wanted to hold you, to reassure to not only you but himself that you would be okay. That he wouldn't lose you.

He knew you were the main reason he lived to do all the things he ever did. If he lost you, he would lose himself and all other contributing factors.

You were his primary life source, one he drew from every day to keep going when things got difficult, or when he didn't feel strong enough to endure. He needed you like he needed air to breathe. You were his daily sustenance to get him by, his fortification to make him strong.

He could not imagine what might happen without you, but by his selfish motives or not had had to know what was going on inside your head. What thoughts were churning and slowly destroying you from the inside out.