The Unexplainable You.

Part Thirty. Portland.

"So Portland," Dr Taylor says, sitting me down in my room. "We got your test results back on the growth that we removed."

My throat tightens, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my dark red jacket. "And?"

"And," He sighs. "It turns out that it was in fact a cancerous tumor."

My body goes numb, my mind empty. 

Why would the world do this for me? To my family? I can't even imagine putting my family through something like this again. I vividly remember how painful it was for my dad, Andy, Mal, me. The sleepless nights, the drives home after chemo treatments while Mal would vomit into a bowl I would hold in my lap. The overall stress of the treatments, the nights my dad would stay up late, fretting over the paperwork.

"But it didn't spread, right?"

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "We could have caught it safely four months ago, maybe. But It's spread quicker than I've ever seen. It's spread through your spinal chords and part of your brain, the part that controls motor function."

My mind flashes to the multiple times a day where my hands will shake, when I can't type or grab a pen. The frustration of not being able to do simple mundane tasks, like homework, for example.

"So, what are we going to do about it?" Is all I can manage to get out. my throat tight.

"Well, since you're already checked in, we'll just move you to the cancer ward, and we'll start you on chemo tomorrow or the next day most likely." He says, flipping through his paperwork. "We could also take you into surgery and try to get more of the cancer out of the tissues, but we couldn't do anything to your brain, except maybe some radiation therapy, which might be a better idea to start with. But I'll of course call your parents and I'll let you three talk about which route we can take with it."

I nod tightly, the need for a hug from Asher building by the second.

"Are we done here?"

He nods sympathetically. "Of course. You should get some rest, I'll go call your parents."

I nod, standing up slowly so I don't pass out like I have so many times before. 

"Thank you Dr. Taylor."

"Of course Miss Cormwell." He replies, smiling at me sadly. "Go get some rest, I'll see you in the morning."

***

As soon as I get out of my appointment, I rush down to Asher's room to tell him, tears threatening to spill over. 

But he's not there, his room where he practically lives is empty, which means he's either at my house or...

Before I even think about what I'm doing, I'm running down the halls, rushing to the elevator. I have to make sure he's okay. He has to be okay.

I sprint down the hall of the ICU, scanning ruthlessly for any of the nurses I know, ones that work with him. 

Thankfully Marsha, one of the ICU nurses I met a while ago is walking down the hall.

"Portland," She says, her tone a mix of shock and concern. "Are you alright?"

"Where's Asher?" I ask, my voice strained from stress. "Asher Laurier, is he here?"

She nods, the muscles in her face tensing. "He is. He was talking about you earlier, before..."

"Before what?" I cry, my mind already flying through the worst case scenarios. "What happened, Marsha?"

"He has a severe lung infection." She blurts out. "It should have been treated a month ago, but it wasn't. We put him into a medically induced coma to hopefully slow the spread, or maybe even cure it completely."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. My one person who saved my life, fighting for his. 

I need him! He can't die, because I'm almost certain I won't make it if he doesn't. 

My mind flashes through the past six and a half months with him. The late nights spent watching movies and talking until our voices give out. His birthday this summer where the nurses and I planned a special party for him at the hospital. The way his eyes light up when I walk into the room, like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

"Can I see him?" I ask her, my voice filled with tears, the pain in my chest almost physical.

She shakes her head. "He's not in great condition, only family's allowed in at the moment."

I nod, my eyes falling to my bare feet. I forgot shoes, but I don't care at this point, it doesn't matter.

Because deep down, I'm blaming myself, because I should have known that he was in pain. I should have seen it, the pain that he was in. It's obvious now, and I'm mentally kicking myself, because I could have helped him. But it's too late for the blame game, because it doesn't matter anymore.

Because I know that no matter what I do, I know that he won't make it. And it very well could be my fault.