Eternal

Eternal - Chapter 7

Larry

There's no question about where to go from here.

The doctors agree that chemotherapy is most likely to be successful, so that's what they'll do. It will help destroy the cancer cells but it will also attack the healthy ones and they both look at each other knowingly at the doctor's explanations about what the treatment will do to Laurent.

Larry can't imagine seeing Laurent get any sicker than he already is. The thought of him losing even more weight, of him being in more pain than right now is terrifying. But Larry will take it all gladly, as long as it means Laurent has a fighting chance. He needs Laurent to do whatever it takes, follow absolutely every instruction just so there's no more cancer.

That's the only thing that matters right now.

Larry doesn't cry anymore. Since his breakdown at the clinic, he hasn't shed a single tear. He doesn't cry when they tell mami and when she breaks down on the phone.  Or when Playmo starts spam-messaging them or when their sister starts pleading for them to come home.

He's made of 100% determination now.

There's no room left for doubt or worry or fear, because if Laurent wants to get through this, he'll need Larry to rely on. So he can't allow himself to be weak like he was back at that clinic bathroom. He can't break down into more useless tears, can't let his twin down a second time.

No, Larry will see them through this. He will. He will be strong for the both of them.

Over the next couple of weeks, he feels tense like a spring feather, but he somehow magically manages to hold himself together.

He watches Laurent battle bravely through his first treatment, watches his twin getting hooked up to an IV with the dreaded poison in it. They are sitting in the hospital room for hours until the drip is gone and Larry doesn't stray from his side, not even to go to the bathroom. He just sits right there next to his twin on the stretcher, clutching Laurent's hand in his own like he'll never let go because he won't. And that's that.

Laurent doesn't complain once, but Larry sees him wince every time he makes a move to jostle the drip. He sees his lips curl into his mouth when that first wave of nausea hits.

And then later, he sees the tears Laurent tries to hide from him when he throws up whatever little he'd eaten throughout the day.

Laurent tries to be strong for him, he tries not to let on how much he's hurting or how scared he is. He tries not to show how the chemo is taking its toll on him, but Larry sees every wince and every flicker of pain on his brother's face.

There's no hiding place between them, nothing one could withhold from the other, so Larry just lingers close and rubs Laurent's back and holds his hand silently through it all.

When Laurent finally succumbs to sleep, utterly exhausted from the pain and the vomiting, Larry pulls the blanket up to his brother's chest and rests his palm there for a moment, against Laurent's heart. He lingers for a moment before he takes a breath and gets up from the chair.

He walks out the room and across the hallway to the small chapel the hospital ward provides. It's a tiny safe space for people going through a difficult time. For family members. Wives and husbands. Daughters. Uncles. Brothers. Larry first noticed it during their visit a couple of days ago and he has planned to come there ever since.

He has a rosary clutched in his hands, a simple one that their mom made them pray with when they were younger. He kneels in the front pew, his knees aching against the barren wood. With his eyes closed and the rosary clutched between his folded hands, he brings his hands up together and starts praying.