The Girl Who Once Lived

Chapter 7

His PoV

    Pulmonary fibrosis. The doctors told me I only had three to five years to live, but if I was lucky, I could live longer. However, I refused to receive medical care. I don't want to raise my mother's hopes. She should use the money she has for my brother's education, not for his dying son. I'm fine with dying, regardless.

    I took a sip of beer and shook my head.

    So, who am I fooling? Of course, I wished to live for Lily Heart. I wanted to cover the holes between her fingers with mine. I wanted to hear her laugh for as long as possible, but I did not want to be selfish. If I indulge in my dreams, I'll leave her heartbroken. I'd rather see her smiling with her musician friend than let her suffer from my loss in the end. She deserves better. Someone who isn't dying.

    "Bruh, I wasn't expecting you to throw your farewell party so early," Alejandrino joked. He blew the cigarette smoke directly into my face while smirking. When I swallowed the smoke by accident, I tightened my grip on his shoulder and coughed. It entered my nostrils, and I felt the familiar sensation when it reached my throat. It was refreshing, though. A somewhat distraction

    "You're a lucky bastard; you're the only one who's invited." I pounded his chest while snatching the cigarette from his mouth. We were in my studio room. After discovering what had occurred, he came banging on my window after midnight. I didn't realize this black ass jerk cared so much.

    "Nah... Nah..." He lifted his hand, dismissing the idea and shaking his head. "Perhaps I was your sole friend all along. What? Are you going to make me your successor, pasta guy?" he teased me, imitating my Italian accent.

    "Says the one who eats watermelon and chicken every day!" I blurted out.

    "Bruh, that is racism!" He pointed at me, crossed his legs, and sat on the couch next to me. He wore a white big shirt and loose jeans, with a white bandana knotted over his head to disguise his enormous forehead. He is not a rapper, but he is showing off his gold chains and teeth tonight. "Man, I can't believe they didn't teach you that at school! You better take that back or I'll kick your ass off!"

    "You started it, dumbass."

    "It's because!"

    "Because what, jackass?"

    "You're not letting me cut this goddamn long pasta, man! I just want to eat happily and enjoy this wonderful pasta?" He mouthed the unfinished spaghetti my mother made for our dinner, exaggerating once more. This guy was so bored all the time that he developed a habit of complaining about how racist I was in everything we did. That is how we form bonds.

    "Fine. Calm your butt down and finish that."

    He gave out his customary laugh and took the cigarette from my mouth, throwing it out the window. I gave him a 'What the fuck?' look. He tapped my shoulder and put the canned beer on the table. "Seriously, bruh. You should not do this, you know. Isagani, you have a knack for painting that many females want to, but all imma tryna to say is that... you should not waste your life like this, Isagani. Man, you are dying..."

    "Dude, are you high? That's what the doctor said, yes."

    "I'm effin' serious, bro. I didn't attend the practice when the news came out that you were fucking hospitalized. What do you think my reaction back then? You, hardheaded bastard! I'm fully aware of your condition. I respect your decision not to have some medical treatments. I got no say to that, aight. But what do you think is my black ass doin' here in the middle of the night, huh? Of course, I fuckin' care! I do, man."