If You Loved Me, Why'd You Leave Me?

Chapter 6

Phil woke me up in the early hours of the morning, tossing and turning and kicking my shins. I tried to scoot away but ended up falling backwards off the bed. My leg caught the lamp wire and it came crashing down on top of me, hitting my head. I hissed in pain and mum burst into the room, phone in hand. She looked half-awake but alert and ready to call an ambulance.

When she saw me on the floor rubbing my head, she stopped in her tracks, turned and walked back out of my room as if in a trance. I felt bad as I got back into bed and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. Thankfully Phil hadn't woken, but he still fidgeted annoyingly and I was starting to consider sleeping on the couch. That was until he cried out and I watched his eyes flew open, panic swarming in those bright blue irises. I propped myself up sideways as he took my room in and fixed his eyes on me. And then he buried his head into my chest.

"Phil?" I asked, confused. I awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah." Phil mumbled into my shirt, one arm slowly snaking its way around my waist. I let it. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep; I'll be fine." But he didn't move.

"What was it about?" I asked. "The nightmare, I mean."

Phil was silent for a while until he sighed and muttered: "You."

"Me?" I gasped.

"Yes. You died." Phil's tone was sad, almost scared. My heart was doing loops in my chest. "Only it was me who killed you; I stabbed you through the heart."

"You wouldn't do that." I croaked. "Now go back to sleep, please."

"Of course, I'm sorry." Phil put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. I couldn't tell whether he was asleep or not, but I did the same and soon I was fast asleep, no dreams whatsoever.

***

"Dan's condition has improved since his last attack, I must say." Dr. Stanley took off his glasses, cleaned them, and then returned them to their original spot on the brige of his nose. "But he still does not have a lot of time, unfortunately. Considering he has lasted this long, I suspect he has a month with the amount of strength and willpower you have."

"I have a month to live?" I asked, glancing at mum who had took hold of dad's hand. They both looked like they were about to cry. On the other hand, I was strangely calm and accepted this fact; I had known long ago that I should be dead by the end of the year, and I'd never see my 19th birthday. "When I found out that I was dying, the doctor told me I had about seven weeks left to live. And I'm still here, ten weeks and six days later."

"I understand this, Daniel." The doctor sighed. "But we can only make estimated guesses. We cannot predict when a human is about to die."

I sat back in the chair, thinking about Phil and how he would deal with the fact that I was dead. In one month's time, would he be getting on with his life or would he be sat in his room, crying because yet again someone important in his life had died. But was I important to him? We had only been hanging out for two days, that didn't make us automatically best friends. Maybe we had been once, but things had changed. Did I accept these changes? I nodded, but the doctor took it as though I understood.

"Good. I think that is all for today, I'll look forward to seeing you... soon." Dr. Stanley turned to his computer. I knew by 'soon' he meant in a month's time, when I come into hospital screaming in pain, waiting for my own death. "Oh, and before you go, here." He handed dad a leaflet just as we were walking out the door. I glanced at it and saw that it was for a hospice for adults. Immediately my heart began to beat faster.

"I'm not going there." I told them as they began to look through it together. "I'd rather spend my last days at home, with my family."

"I agree." Mum said, but dad looked at us both wearily before folding up the leaflet and shoving it into his pocket. We had just walked past a bin. "What do you say, pizza night?" Mum suggested and my dad nodded but I had my head down and her words flew over my head. A month. 30 days.

"I want to see Phil." I mumbled, completely ignoring my mum as she asked me what pizza I wanted. "Can I go see Phil? Please."

"Honey, you've been with Phil all week." Mum protested but I shook my head. My chest felt empty and the back of my eyes began to burn.

"I want to see him." I repeated, my bottom lip beginning to tremble. I hated that habbit; it made me look like a child having a tantrum.

"Call him over then, we can't risk you going out too far." Mum handed me back my phone and I called him. It went straight to voicemail. I tried again, with the same result. "I'm sorry dear, but not tonight." Mum opened the car door for me and I climbed in, phone in one trembling hand. I attempted to ring Phil again: still no answer. I stared at the screen for a long time, tears blurring my vision and whole body trembling. My parents were chatting in the front of the car but their voices sounded underwater. My breaths were heavy and I struggled to get them out. One last time I clicked 'call', and one last time it went straight to voicemail.

Anger, fury and depression consuming me, I clenched my phone in my fist and threw it at the front window, the tears breaking free and a howl tearing itself from my throat. To avoid the flying phone, my mum leaned sideways but the wheel went with her and the car jerked to the side. Dad yelled and tried to gain control as mum screamed and I put my head in my hands, unable to breath properly. My throat was raw and dry, my body tense and shaking. My eyes were closed tight and I could feel the car spinning out of control until my body was jerked backwards and the sound of smashing glass filled my ears. When the whole world had stopped spinning, I brought my head up and saw that we had crashed into a tree, most of the branches poking through the shattered glass. Across from me was my dad, unmoving and blood trickling from his forehead. The airbag was slowly deflating, but that hadn't saved him from whatever had happened to his head. Heart in my mouth, I looked over to mum who was moving slightly but a lot of glass had peirced her arms and legs. By her left arm was her phone, untouched and lit up. I took it into my hands and dialled 999, tears spilling onto my cheeks.

"999, what's you emergency?" The woman asked and I managed to croak out everything whilst my heart was pounding in my chest and my whole body was acting like an earthquake. I was in full panic mode, and when the ambulances arrived I had smashed my fist through the glass in an attempt to get out and was screaming at the top of my lungs. Mum had her eyes open but couldn't move. I noticed the reason why was because of the many branches pinning her to her seat and the crushed-in hood trapping her feet. Dad still hadn't moved, and his chest wasn't rising and falling either.

"It's going to be ok, just look at me!" A paramedic had opened my door for me and was leaning over to undo my seatbelt. I sat back and let him, feeling too weak to do anything else. Two more paramedics had gone round to my parents and were shouting over to each other words I couldn't understand. "Hey, hey, look at me. Deep breaths."

I fixed my eyes on the paramedic - a tall, fair-haired man with friendly brown eyes - and let him slip his arms underneath me. Soon I was being lifted up and someone rushed forwards with a stretcher, which I was laid onto. I lifted my head desperately to see the three paramedics struggling to get my parents out, and the flashing lights of the police appearing just as someone pushed my head back down gently and lifted me into the ambulance. The doors shut and I was encased in darkness.