Until The Last Breath

chapter seven

Travis's POV

The changes were subtle at first. Little things I noticed when Taylor wasn't paying attention. She'd get tired a bit faster, sometimes falling asleep in the middle of a conversation, her words trailing off until her head would lull onto her pillow, and she'd be out cold. I'd catch her wincing more often, hiding her pain behind forced smiles that she thought I couldn't see through. But I noticed. I always noticed.

The weird thing was, I felt like I was getting stronger. The nausea wasn't hitting as hard, and the dizziness that had once left me feeling like I was trapped on a rollercoaster was beginning to fade.

Some days, I could actually eat without feeling sick. I was starting to walk down the hall for longer stretches, with nurses giving me nods of encouragement as I passed by. I was hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, I was finally getting better.

But Taylor? She was slipping away.

It killed me to see her like this. Every time I looked over and saw her pale, exhausted face, the guilt twisted in my stomach like a knife. She'd given me strength on days when I didn't think I had any left. Now she needed me, but I felt completely helpless.

One afternoon, I got up and shuffled over to her bed, careful to mask how easy it felt now. I'd barely caught my breath by the time I reached her, whereas last month it would've taken me out for the day. I settled into the chair next to her bed and reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, you," I murmured, watching her slowly open her eyes. Her gaze was hazy, like she was trying to focus but couldn't quite get there. She smiled weakly, her lips barely moving.

"Travis," she whispered, her voice rough and tired. "You're up again... that's good."

"Yeah. But I don't care about me," I replied softly, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. Her hand felt cold and small in mine, more fragile than it had ever felt before. "How are you feeling?"

She looked away, her eyes drifting to the ceiling, avoiding my gaze. "Oh, you know... the same. Just... tired."

I swallowed hard, not wanting to push her, but I could feel the words bubbling up. "Taylor, I can see it. You're not okay."

She closed her eyes, a long breath escaping her lips. "I know."

Her words hit me like a punch to my gut. I pressed my lips together, trying to stop the sob that was growing in my throat. She couldn't be giving up. What would I do without her?

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One afternoon, she opened her eyes and looked at me with a faint smile. But even her smile looked different, worn out, like it took too much effort to reach her lips.

"Travis... you don't have to stay here all the time, you know," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

I shook my head, swallowing hard. "I want to stay. I need to."

She tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough, deep and raspy, shaking her whole body. I reached for the water bottle, bringing it to her lips, and she took a small sip, her hand trembling. It was such a simple act—helping her drink—and yet it felt like the most important thing I'd ever done. Like if I could keep her hydrated, if I could make her comfortable, I could somehow save her.

She leaned back, closing her eyes, and her breathing grew shallow again. I didn't know if she was asleep or just too tired to keep talking. I sat there, staring at her, trying to memorize every part of her face—the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes brushed her skin, the faint freckles on her nose. It felt like I was trying to hold onto her in a way that went beyond just sitting by her side. Like if I could just remember her well enough, she'd always be with me, even if she kept slipping away.

The doctors stopped by more frequently that day, whispering to each other, glancing at her charts, giving each other those sad, knowing looks that made me sick to my stomach. One of the nurses came in with another syringe, and as she injected it into Taylor's IV, she looked at me with a look I couldn't decipher. Pity, maybe. Or sorrow. She didn't say anything, just nodded before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Taylor stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and she looked up at me. "Did they... did they say anything?" she asked softly, her voice cracked and weak.

I shook my head, unable to lie, but not knowing how to tell her the truth. "They just... they're just making sure you're comfortable, Tay. That's all."

She looked away, her gaze drifting to the window, and I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. "I don't want to... I don't want to be comfortable. I want to be... I want to be okay."

I squeezed her hand tighter, my own tears blurring my vision. "You're gonna be okay, Taylor. You have to be."

The day dragged on, stretching painfully like every minute was holding its breath, refusing to pass. I stayed close to Taylor's bed, watching her drift in and out of sleep, her breaths shallow, each one an effort. She looked so much weaker than she had even yesterday. Her skin was almost translucent under the hospital lights, and every movement seemed to take something from her, like her strength was slowly seeping away.

Every time her eyes fluttered open, I felt a jolt of relief, even if she barely looked at me, even if she didn't have the energy to speak. It was enough just to know she was still here, even if only in these small, fleeting moments.

At one point, she stirred a little more, her eyes focusing on me. She looked like she wanted to say something, so I leaned forward, holding her hand gently.

"Travis..." Her voice was faint, almost a whisper, but she gave me a small, weak smile. "I'm... glad you're here."

I forced a smile back, squeezing her hand. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

She closed her eyes, breathing slowly, like just saying those few words had exhausted her. I wanted to do something—anything—to make this easier for her, but I was as helpless as she was. All I could do was sit there, holding her hand, letting her know she wasn't alone.

A little while later, a nurse came in to adjust her IV, giving me a sympathetic smile as she checked Taylor's vitals. She must have noticed my eyes, red and puffy from crying, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she just nodded at me, like she understood.

Taylor's hand twitched in mine as the nurse adjusted the IV line, and I could see the flicker of pain on her face. It made my stomach twist with guilt, like I was somehow responsible for every wince, every tiny gasp. I knew it wasn't my fault, but that didn't stop the feeling.

When the nurse left, Taylor opened her eyes again, her gaze a little clearer this time. She looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second, it was like we were back to the way things used to be, just two kids who'd found each other in this place, clinging to whatever small fragments of normal life we could find.

"You... you look tired, Travis," she murmured, her voice still soft, but there was a hint of her usual teasing.

I laughed, the sound rough and shaky. "You're one to talk," I whispered, reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair from her forehead. She leaned into my hand, her eyes closing as she let out a soft sigh.

We stayed like that, locked in the silence, until her breathing started to even out again. I knew she'd fallen back asleep, but I didn't let go of her hand. I kept holding it, like it was the one thing keeping her grounded here with me.

Time passed in a strange way, slipping in and out of focus. I didn't know how long I sat there, watching over her, my own exhaustion pressing in on me like a weight. But I couldn't leave her—not even for a second.

Hours later, as the day began to dim, I felt her fingers tighten slightly around mine. She opened her eyes, blinking against the fading light.

"Travis..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"I'm here," I said, leaning in close. "I'm right here."

She managed a small nod, her eyes unfocused. For a moment, I thought she might have fallen asleep again, but then she whispered, "Thank you... for staying."

A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. "Always, Tay. Always."