Watch Me Drown

27. Results

TW: talk of blood

(Julien's point of view)

"Hi!" Abby wandered into the living room, her phone to her ear. "Yes, this is Abigail."

I had been reading silently, and Abby had been in the office. It was a week after all her testing. Abby walked from the kitchen island to the couch, listening to whoever was on the phone. When she came back over to the couch, our eyes met, and I raised an eyebrow.

"The hospital." She mouthed.

I sat up straight, and made sure to whisper. "The test results?"

She nodded, then circled back to the kitchen. She said "Mhm" and nodded a lot, waiting for her chance to speak. My book sat, open, page down, next to me on the couch. I listened intently, eyebrows furrowed, my bottom lip in between my teeth. This was it. We were finally going to have answers. We could finally help her! I could finally help her.

"Hold on a second." Abby said suddenly. "There's...there's nothing?"

I stopped breathing.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with me?" She questioned.

The waiting was excruciating.

"Nothing at all?" She repeated, in disbelief. I was too.

Her entire face had dropped. Before, she looked incredibly anxious, but a tiny bit excited. Now, her face was blank. She said her goodbyes and hung up, then dropped onto one of the stools at the counter, completely defeated. I got up and went to her, settling, standing, right in front of her. I pushed her head up with my finger under her chin. Her eyes were tired. I stroked her hair.

"They found nothing." She muttered, her eyes now closed. "Nothing in my blood test. Nothing in my MRI. Everything looked normal."

I sucked in a breath and sat beside her. "It's definitely not nothing."

"They said it was probably just my anxiety," She went on. "And that I need to find new fucking calming mechanisms. Ugh!"

Abby put her head in her hands, seething. I leaned back, reminding myself to keep my anger at bay. Later, I would play the guitar, and I would probably do it very aggressively. That would get my anger out somehow. We sat there for a while, noiselessly fuming. Eventually, Abby stood up and stormed into the office, muttering things like "Insanity!" and waving her hands around. The door slammed shut behind her, and within a minute, Olivia Rodrigo's album "Sour" was playing. That was one of Abby's go to albums when she was mad. I decided to leave her alone. I hung out with Dorothea for a long time, chasing her around our bedroom, or tossing balls for her to get, or playing tug of war with her toys. When I heard the music stop, I picked up Dorothea.

"Let's go talk to Mommy." I said to her as I made my way to the office and knocked on the door.

"You can come in." Abby said. 

I opened the door slowly, taking Abby in. She had pulled her desk chair to the window, and her feet were propped up on the window sill. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her face had a numb look on it, her eyes very fatigued. The "Sour" record was still on the record player. I pulled my chair next to hers, and passed Dorothea to Abby. Dorothea curled up in her arms.

"Before, I didn't want answers," Abby said quietly, still staring out the window. "I didn't want to know. But now...even if it's absolutely terrible news, I want it. I need to know. I need to...to...I need something. Anything! I just want to know what's happening."

I watched her as she spoke. I saw things that I hadn't seen before. The circles under her eyes were a deep purple. Her eyes themselves were bloodshot, her eyelids puffy, half closed. Her skin was pale, the last bit of her summer tan clinging to her. She had resorted to any hair style that pulled her hair back. Then, her hair was in a low bun, a few strands poking out. Her lips, normally pink, were closer to white, and chapped. How had I not seen all of these things? She looked unwell. When had that started? I guess I had tried to block it out, tried to forget about her being some sort of sick. Tour was just weeks away. By the time we left, who knows how she would be doing? Uninviting her wasn't an option. The plane ticket was booked, and, in every venue, there was going to be a seat reserved for her. Plus, extra security, to watch over her, as well as us. And I couldn't just leave her like that! Not only was it a bad idea with her health, it would also crush her!  

"Abby..." I said in a low voice. "What does it feel like?"

"What?" She was caught off guard.

"What does it feel like, physically, when you're feeling sick?"

"Um..." She said. "Before I...before I pass out, I can't see anything, and I can't hear anything. I swear I can move, but I'm not actually moving. My body is completely uncontrollable. And, sometimes, it's like there's a...weight on my chest, and it's, well, not hard to breathe, but not easy to."

My eyes were wide. "You can't hear?!"

She shook her head.

"What do, um, the..." Why was it so hard to force the words out?

"You can ask me anything." She reassured me.

"The chest pains. What are those like?"

Abby took a minute to speak. I think we were both remembering that terrible day after the beach.

"It's definitely hard to breathe." She shrugged.

"There's more to it." I said. I knew her.

"Julien..." She was hesitant to tell me.

"Please." I begged. "I want to understand."

She sighed, looked me dead in the eyes, and spoke, very intently. "It feels like I'm being stabbed."

My eyes got wider, and my breath caught in my throat. I blinked a few times, shocked. It made sense why she didn't want to tell me. She petted Dorothea's soft ears, waiting for me to process.

"Really?" Was all I spit out.

"Every time I inhale," She said simply. "And every time I exhale."

Never, in my entire long, messy life, had I wanted to take someone's pain, and make it my own, as much as I wanted to in that moment.

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Sorry for the short updates recently!

Tour will be starting within the next few chapters...how are we feeling about that? 

Also, what do you all think about Abby's test results?