Scared (Patrick Stump Imagine Short Story)

Part 10

After throwing up for what seems like the hundredth time in the past few days, you return to Patrick's bedside, a slight sick feeling still in the pit of your stomach.

"Are you alright?" He asks you worriedly. You nod your head yes. "Are you sure?"

"Patrick, I'm fine. I should be the one asking you if you're alright," You reply.

He leans back into the hospital bed, your daughter still sitting on his lap, and sighs, "I've been better. I just finished my first round of chemotherapy."

"How'd that go?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "The actual chemo wasn't too bad. It's the side effects that suck. I'm so exhausted and I feel like you do."

"What do you mean?"

"Nauseous," He elaborates. You nod your head in understanding. "They said I need about three more rounds before they can send me into surgery. Which should be in the next few days..." He averts his gaze out the window and sighs.

"I'm glad you're doing this, Patrick," You say, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers with his. He gives you a slight squeeze of the hand, letting you know he was still there.

A little while later, when Patrick is fighting to keep his eyes open, you decide it's time to go. You pick your daughter up off of him and tell him you'll be back later that day with some dinner to share. He makes some sound of acknowledgment and you kiss him goodbye.

As you're putting your daughter in her carseat, she looks up at you and says, "Daddy's not gonna make it, is he?"

You swallow hard and strap her in, "No, he's going to make it. He needs to...for you and me."

"But he's not, is he?"

"No..." You look into your daughter's eyes, "Gabby, why would you even say something like that?"

"Mommy, I know something is wrong," She crosses her arms over her chest and looks up at you with the most serious look you've ever seen on her face, "I'm four years old. I know Daddy's sick and that he's not getting any better. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were..." You put your hands on your hips, "Gabby, your dad's going to be fine. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. He's going to get the treatment he needs and he's going to come home. He needs to. He can't leave us now. He just can't!" Getting emotional, you slam your daughter's car door shut and hop in the front seat, slamming the driver's side car door behind you as well.

You sit in the front seat for a little, anger boiling up inside of you, before heaving a sigh and turning the car on. Your daughter stares at you through the rear view mirror, her arms still crossed over her chest. You look both ways before pulling out of the parking spot and driving out of the parking garage.

On the way home, you stop at a CVS Pharmacy. You park the car crack your daughter's window down before turning the car off and getting out, locking the car and telling Gabby you'll be right back, that you just need to get something. She nods her head in understanding before you make your way into the drugstore.

You walk down a couple of aisles before you find what you're looking for. You pull a box off of the shelf and look at the back and front before deciding it would do.

You walk up to check out and place the box down on the counter. The cashier meets your embarrassed gaze. Your cheeks grow red and you pull out the needed money, without saying a word to the cashier. The cashier finalizes the purchase and bags the item you bought. You snatch the plastic bag with the CVS logo printed on it in red and rush out of the pharmacy.

*****

You're standing in the bathroom looking down at the box in your hands. You don't want to open it, you don't want to get the results. You're scared.

"Mommy?"

You jump and drop the box, looking to your right to see Gabby standing in the doorway.

She watches the box fall to the floor and stumbles in, picking it up and examining it for a little, though she doesn't understand a word on it. She glances up at you and lifts the box up to you. You take it into your possession and set it down on the counter.

"Are you mad at me?" She inquires innocently.

You shake your head no and squat down so that you're eye level with her. You tuck a piece of her thin blonde hair behind her ear and say, "I could never be mad at you, Gabby."

"You sounded pretty mad in the car earlier today..." She pouts her lips and starts pivoting her small body side to side.

"I'm not mad. I'm just...a little stressed out right now, that's all," You assure her, the corner of your lip twitching upward into a smirk as you try to act strong in front your daughter.

But in reality, you're falling apart at the seams, your world is crumbling before your very eyes. Because for all you know, all this could be a big waste of time. Patrick might not make it. You don't want to think that he won't make it, but you have to. Because it's a fifty fifty chance. He's either going to beat this or the disease is going to eat him alive.

And if he dies, you're screwed. You're going to have to raise Gabby all by yourself, you might even be raising two children by yourself. And you're not ready for that kind of responsibility. You don't just want Patrick around, you need him.

"Mommy, I don't want Daddy to be sick anymore," Your daughter whimpers, jumping at you and hugging you tightly, burying her head into your shoulder, "Why aren't the treemints working?"

"They are, honey," You rub her back comfortingly, "They just take time."

"How much time?"

You sigh, "I don't know."

Your daughter just stays in your arms for a little before murmuring, "I want Daddy to come home. I don't like Daddy being away."

"I know you don't, Gabby. But Daddy will be coming home soon. You just got to be patient," You step out of the embrace stand back up, "Now can you give Mommy some privacy? I need to...uh, use the bathroom," You lie.

Your daughter believes you (she has no reason not to...I mean, who lies about going to the bathroom to a four year old?) and nods her head, leaving the bathroom. You close the door behind her and turn back around, walking up to the counter and picking up the box you purchased from the pharmacy. You bite your lip before ripping open the box and pulling out its contents.

You need to know.