Identical Memories (An OHSHC Fanfic) [Completed]

Chapter Seventeen

A/N: I'll admit that this chapter switches POV a lot, but it's because there are certain parts that can only work well from the POV they're in.

Emi

"What the hell are you doing?" 

Eri, to her credit, held up her hand for the nurse to hold back on shifting her from where she had her legs dangling off of the bed to the wheelchair settled next to it. Her face was pale, but my best guess was the wheelchair was only because it was hospital policy, not because she needed it.

"I'm going home." 

My eyes narrowed, I looked between her, the nurse, and where Kyoya was standing with his back against the glass window between the room and the hall. For once, there was no notebook, clipboard, or laptop in his hands. Instead, his arms were crossed over his chest as he simply studied Eri where she sat. His expression was unreadable, I couldn't figure out if enlisting his help in convincing her she was crazy would be useful. For all I knew, he was in on this. 

"To hell you are," I snapped, stepping closer. "You have to start treatment! I'm no doctor, but I sure has hell know that starting earlier is better! As soon as your bloodwork comes back, they'll clear you, and you'll start prepping. You're not going anywhere besides that bed until he does!" 

Her thin, weary smile cut off anything else I might have said from forming. 

"I'm not taking the treatment." 

I couldn't breathe. 

The stray thought that the fact that it took just five words to make the world stop spinning and my lungs to stop working probably would have surprised most people crossed my mind. As it was, I almost instantly felt light-headed. It was like I was living in one of my nightmares, only this one was impossible to simply wake up from. 

"You're..." 

"I'm not taking the treatment," she repeated, her tone soft, the sort that she used when talking to a kid or a small animal. Her expression in that moment was apologetic. "I won't do it. I'm choosing quality of life, Emi. You remember having that talk, don't you? Last time we made it through this, the doctor made it pretty clear. If this came back, I'd be facing a choice of the quality of the time I had left verses the amount of time. There's no beating something this aggressive a third time. I'm done fighting, I'm done struggling, I'm choosing to enjoy myself." 

As I struggled to think, small, almost gasping breaths managed to pull tiny bits of air into my lungs. 

"Emi?" 

The nurse, abandoning her position at the wheelchair, grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to one of the chairs. My small gasps grew worse, my mouth dry, my stomach twisting in on itself. She didn't want to fight.

Even I knew what not taking the treatment would mean. 

I wasn't ready to face that. 

When I'd locked my hands behind my head, pulling it down to my knees and allowing myself to catch my breath, I started thinking. Searching, really, for any argument I could make. Eri wouldn't do this without ensuring that there was nothing in her way to stop her. I just had to find that one thing she overlooked. She wasn't feeling good, right? That meant there had to be something. 

"Our par-"

"I talked to them," she cut in. "They understand. Besides, how much sympathy will it pull when Otousan reattempts getting himself elected next term? The press will eat it up, I'm sure that's what he's thinking. They're going to go over Niisan's head and take care of it."