A New Hope

8. Darkness On All Sides (Shiro)

Shiro

I check the time as I push the limit, driving through the afternoon traffic snarl. Late again, dammit, and with Curtis reminding me about the meeting with the florist three times today, too. The main reason for my delay is my spacing throughout the day, replaying the chat with Keith over and over, trying to dissect every word instead of working. Especially the last thing.

You mean that much to me.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why did he ignore me for five years if I'm that important? Why can't he come to the wedding? And why did seeing him assault me with such fierce joy fireworks exploded in my chest? Of course, he ended the call as fast as possible, not answering when I tried to raise him again for an explanation.

So now I'm stuck, replaying every word, every quirk of his lip, every flicker of his eyelid. Pathetic, really, how much I wanted to reach through the hologram screen, wipe away the angry crease of his brow and thread my fingers into the black hair he wears coiled in a warrior's braid these days. How much I wanted to yank him to me until our bodies were flush so I could burn away his caustic attitude with a kiss.

Maybe it's for the best he's not coming to the wedding. My composure crumbles into nothing around him. It always has, and it always will.

By the time I arrive at the florist's shop, I'm half an hour behind. The parking lot is full, forcing me to wait until a spot opens, racking up more delay. Curtis will murder me, and rightfully so. I wedge in, but as I climb out of the car, a bolt of pain sears my insides, followed by a terrifying numbness that stops me from drawing breath. Doubled over, I clutch the car door, trying to stabilize myself by counting my heartbeats until the pressure eases up and my lungs unfreeze. Slowly, the attack passes, allowing me to straighten without blacking out. I lock the car and head for the entrance of the shop. The light is still on, so I can glimpse two silhouettes outlined against the window. Curtis and the florist, a cute guy with black hair and tan skin, are having a lively discussion over rose varietals. Good. At least they spent their time waiting productively. Time to join them.

A spasm clutches my chest, and my hand pressed against the cold glass doors stutters.

These seizures have kept repeating in the previous week, and I can no longer say it's just excitement or wedding jitters. No. Deep down, I know what they signalize, and it terrifies me. I know because I experienced them before.

But I'm healthy now, right? The faulty sequence in my DNA is long gone, to the astonishment of my doctors, so this makes no sense. Then again, it's not as though my cloned body came with a manual. Perhaps it exceeded its expiration date without the courtesy of notifying me.

The sun has started its slow descent; the air is still warm and smells of lilacs. Traffic swooshes past with an occasional honk or squealing of brakes. If my time traveling the universe taught me anything, it's that we're all insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing in life is guaranteed, but I held a foolish hope this was done and dealt with. I hope to live the rest of my life in peace. Then again, I hoped for many things, and none of them came true. Why should this be any different?

Besides, perhaps I worry about nothing. Maybe it really is just wedding stress or cold feet. Something like that.

Regardless, I should talk to Curtis, and my chest seizes up again at the thought. Why does the idea of talking to my fiancé render me miserable? He's the person I should trust with anything, yet all I can think of are Keith's purple eyes, brimming with a terrible mix of hope and pain, staring at me from the hologram projection.

Well. This line of thinking will lead nowhere, won't it? It's not like I'm going to discuss my health issues in a flower shop. I can tell Curtis tomorrow or in a couple of days if the problems don't subside. Or after I've had a check-up in a hospital. That's a good idea. No reason to bother him if it's nothing.

Finally, I enter the shop. A swirl of scents assaults my nose, and I'm sure that individually, they're pleasant. Combined like this, they bring tears to my eyes.

"Takashi, finally." Curtis steps toward me and gives me a brief kiss. "Are you okay? You look a little pale." His eyes are full of concern. For a moment, affection flickers through me, but it fades quickly. It always does.

"Overworked. Sorry for being late. Iverson stalled me just as I was leaving."

"As long as you're here now. Come look at what we picked with Oliver."

My gaze falls on the different roses, all in varying shades of cream or white. I want to make an awful joke about how our wedding will be completely devoid of color, but a great bubble of pain renders me speechless. Agony radiates from my chest in pulses, and I claw at my throat, struggling to inhale, but it doesn't work, leaving me to gasp for air. Curtis's eyes widen as he watches my struggle. He remembers to reach for the phone and dial an ambulance, but it's too late. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision and then swallows me whole.