Purposefully Accidental: The Interlude

Chapter Nine

I hadn't spoken to Freddie much.

After the heated argument in his bedroom, I didn't know how to even approach him. I felt embarrassed by my outburst. Guilty for raising my voice at him. Angry at myself for letting my irrational fears get the best of me.

Freddie and I had never been mad at each other before. We'd never really argued. Even during our short-lived relationship and the subsequent break-up in college, we'd never blown up at each other before. He'd always been very mild-mannered and easy—at least when he was with me.

But I was still so... angry at him.

It was a foreign feeling that I didn't know how to deal with. So I didn't.

It wasn't like he'd tried, either. He hadn't really been to my room and keep me company like he'd sometimes do. He'd offered to eat dinner together a few times, but I'd declined with a pointed silence, and since then Garcia would bring the food up to my room. I was afraid that I'd feel that anger again when I saw his face. But worse than that—I was scared that I'd see that same anger on his face when I looked at him.

It was absolutely shitty to withdraw from the only friend I had at this moment. But, oh, god, I couldn't stand him. I hated that he'd dismissed my anxiety so easily, and I hated how it made me feel foolish for worrying about my brother and for my own mortality.

So, while I'd waited for my surgery day, I'd been holed up in my room, spending my hours on the phone with my family in a rotation. Mom. Dad. Leann. Cole. Tony, as well... but not so much. I didn't want to disturb him too often while he was resting and getting better. And he was getting better. He'd give me updates every day. Last time we'd been on the phone, his coughs hadn't sounded as intense anymore, and he wasn't feeling as lethargic. The rest of my family were doing well—still safe and isolating. Every night, they'd call and tell me they wished they could be in New York to be with me for my surgery.

As the date got closer and closer, I could feel my initial fears of being under the knife dissipating. I wasn't feeling much of anything anymore, to be quite honest. I just wanted to get through this thing, get this tumor out of my body, and move the fuck on. If it was or wasn't cancer—that was for future me to deal with. I didn't have the energy to think, or to feel, or to care about anything. I just felt so drained from all the worry and stress I'd been feeling.

On the way to the hospital, Freddie accompanied me—bringing with him a duffel bag full of spare clothes. Things were a bit more complicated with the lockdown and everything—we had to be at the hospital a few days early to get tested for COVID and then isolate. Freddie wouldn't be able to go back and forth between the hospital and home, so he'd have to stay with me during my whole hospital stay—before, during and after the surgery, to be safe.

When I finally spoke to him for the first time since the argument, it was to tell him that he didn't have to stay with me at the hospital. He looked at me and frowned like I was speaking in a foreign language.

I barely remembered going through the final round of pre-surgery check-up. They poked and prodded me one last time to confirm that I was in a good condition to undergo the procedure. I was fit, and my tumor had considerably shrunk, allowing for an easier and more efficient removal, and before I knew it... it was finally the day.

They let Freddie see me one last time before I was wheeled into the operating room. I couldn't say anything to him—I wasn't able to find the words. I should thank him and tell him that I was sorry, that the silence that I had initiated felt shitty, even though a part of me was still angry at him. There were words stuck in my throat that I couldn't say out loud. Eventually, he squeezed my hand with watery eyes, and I squeezed back, because he was all that I had right now.