Regret Me

Poppy

... "what are these?" Lizzie asked sadly, looking down at the small orange pill bottle in her hands.

"Pain killers," I replied, taking them out of her hand and putting them back, "why were you going through my drawers?"

"I was looking for a hair tie," she said quietly, "what's wrong with normal pain killers? Morphine is really strong."

"I know," I nodded, "it's for period pains."

"No, it's not," she frowned, "what are they for Y/N/N?"

"It's doesn't matter, they're old anyway," I lied.

"Y/N, please don't lie to me," she sighed as I ran my hand through my hair, "why do you have morphine?"

"I- I- it's really not a big deal Liz," I shrugged my shoulders, "I'm fine, look, I'm all right, so why does it matter?"

"Because you're hiding prescription medication," she replied like it should've been obvious.

"What are you trying to say?" I furrowed my brows.

"It doesn't look very good, does it?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"So, I figure it's one of two things," she added.

"And?"

"Either you're addicted to prescription medication, but I don't think that's it because you've done addiction before, and you know what it's done to your life so it's got to be on prescription but then I started thinking about why you would hide something like this from me. I've been nothing but honest since we got back together and now, I feel like you're hiding this big secret from me," she frowned, "are you?"

I thought for a moment and sat down on the side of the bed, "I don't know what you want me to say," I exhaled.

"The truth," she sighed, "please just tell me the truth."

I shook my head and didn't meet her eyes, looking around my bedroom and trying to formulate something to say.

"I really don't like this silence," she whispered sadly, reaching over and taking my hand in hers.

I nodded and bit my cheek, "I um- I'm- I have- fuck."

"What is it?" she asked quietly, a slight shake in her voice.

"I guess you could say I'm dying," I admitted.

"No," she shook her head, "no, you're not. Don't say that, why would you say that-"

"I'm not making it past 60 Liz," I whispered.

"No, what do you mean- no," she exhaled.

"M-my liver," I explained slowly, holding onto her hand tightly but not meeting her eyes, "I have irreversible damage and it's- it's never going to heal. There's no treatment or- or anything they can do. They gave me until sixty. That's when it's supposed to get worse and ... when most people with the diagnosis pass on."

"When did you know about this-"

"Three years ago," I whispered, "it's why I stopped drinking, it's why I have the morphine-"

"Three years?" she frowned, "you've known for three years? Why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I tell you this?" I exhaled, "you want this grand life with old age and grandkids and that's something I can't give you. I don't want to lose you, but I selfishly didn't tell you because I know you can find what you want elsewhere and-"

"I want you," she cried softly, "I don't want anywhere you're not. I- I might not be able to see you go grey, but I want whatever time you've got left. You might get there; you might outlive what they've said. Technology changes all the time."