The Turning Point

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO- "YOU CAUSE PAIN"

William

He was pale.
His eyes, which once carried life, were now too big for his thin face. His yellowish skin looked stretched over his bones, and his head, once proportional, now stood out on a body that the disease was mercilessly consuming. Each breath was an effort, a hoarse and fragile sound that cut through the silence like a dull blade.
That's how Martin was.
He didn't move his body. He didn't feel the touch. He fought against an infection that consumed his lungs, sucking the little strength he had left. And, even without needing to hear it from the doctors, I knew.
He was leaving.
"I'm going to die..." his voice came out so low that, for a moment, I thought it was just the sound of air escaping his lips.
He smiled. Weak. Without shine.
"And I didn't even meet the mother of my children."
He stopped for a moment, his gaze lost on the white ceiling. As if he could see a life that never existed.
"There will be no little Martins running around."
"You're not going to die!" I said, holding his hand tightly.
He didn't feel it. He hadn't felt it for a long time.
And, deep down, I knew he would be gone soon.
"Don't lie to me, Will. I've accepted my fate."
"You talk like you're giving up. You have to fight, Martin! Your parents need you, your sister... I need you! You're like a brother to me."
"They'll be fine," he blinked slowly, as if the simple act of keeping his eyes open was exhausting. "I know you'll take care of them for me. And, for that, I'm calm."
He looked at me for a moment.
"And one day, Will... you'll have your family too. You won't feel lonely anymore. I'll be rooting for you... wherever I am."
My chest tightened.
"Still with that idea? I don't want to get married or have children. I'm like a free bird, Martin. I don't need those things to move on."
He laughed, but it was a brief, dry laugh. Almost sad.
"Free? You could only be a free bird if you flew. But you're always hurt."
He took a deep breath, his cough interrupting his speech. I watched him squeeze his eyes shut, trying to contain the pain.
"Have you ever seen a wounded bird fly, Will? He doesn't fly. He's trapped in his own pain... and dies."
He turned his head to me, and his gaze pierced me.
"There's no freedom in that."
I looked away, unable to bear the weight of those words.
"I just wish I could help you. All these years, and you never left your past."
His grandmother lived near the house where I grew up. She told him my story. Since then, Martin always knew. And he always tried to open my eyes to something I refused to see.
I clenched my fists.
"I can't help it."
"Shakespeare said that to grieve a past grief is to create a present grief."
I gritted my teeth.
"Damn Shakespeare."
Martin coughed again. The nurse came in, took his temperature, and confirmed what I already knew: the fever was returning.
He sighed.
"I'm so tired, Will... I just want it to end. I don't want to be my parents' suffering."
He closed his eyes.
"I just want to rest."
My throat tightened.
"I'm sorry, Martin... I'd give anything to save you."
He gave a small smile.
"I know."
He paused, his breath weak and ragged.
"Now go... I need to sleep. Sleep is the only good thing left to me after that accident."
"Then rest."
He blinked a few times, his eyes heavy, almost closing. But, before fading completely, he murmured:
"Will... there will be a day..."
His voice was weak, distant.
"You'll find someone. And she will be the cure for all your wounds. On that day..."
He took a deep breath.
"You will be free."
And, that night, Martin slept.
He slept a few more times. And never woke up again.

***

"Yes, I found her... and now I'm going to let her go."
I saw her being thrown away.
As if time itself slowed down for me to witness my ruin happening before my eyes.
She flew through the air before hitting the ground with a dry impact.
Far away. Too far away from me.
And I was responsible.
I stood still.
The world around me seemed like a soundless blur until the voices began to tear through the silence.
"Your fault!" Johnson yelled, and I knew he was right.
Cielo screamed her name, pushing people to try to reach her. Someone called for help. Chaos unfolded around me, but all I saw was her.
My Lisy.
My body reacted before my mind.
I ran, pushing anyone in the way. I knelt beside her, my chest contracting so hard that I thought I couldn't breathe.
And then, I sat on the ground to look at her. My heart tightened as I saw her. Her nose bleeding from the blow I had given her, and her head with an open wound. I looked a little more and saw one of her fingers, broken, and I felt so miserable.
My fault.
A wave of nausea hit me hard. My racing heart beat against my ribs as if it wanted to punish me.
I should have left.
I should have ignored Johnson.
I should have held back my demons, but instead, I released them-and she paid the price.
"I'm going to kill you, you bastard," Johnson roared, trying to advance, but was restrained by others.
"Bastard," like Kimberley's mother had called me.
His screams seemed distant.
"Haven't you had enough, Johnson?" Cielo retorted, her voice trembling.
I didn't care. Not about him. Not about anything.
Only about her.
My hands trembled as I caressed her hair, her skin sweaty, cold. And then, I felt something run down my face.
I tried to take a deep breath, but the air seemed thick, too heavy to enter my lungs.
I touched my own face, confused.
Tears.
It had been so long... so long since the last time I cried that I didn't even remember the feeling.
But there, kneeling beside her, I cried.
And I cried like a damn coward.