Broken Souls (Souls #1)

Prologue - Destiny

I tighten my grip on his hand when I hear him cough weakly. The cough may have been quiet but it fills up the small, quiet room and echoes off of the walls making it sound louder than it actually is. I turn my head to look at him and immediately I close my eyes shut when I see the condition he is in. I try to hold back the tears which threaten to spill. It hurts to see him in so much pain. He looks as light as a feather and I assume that he weighs less than ninety pounds. His cheeks have hollowed in and his hazel eyes which I remember being so bright and full of life have glazed over and appear to have a distant look to them. His body was not always frail. Before it was strong - and his hands used to be so large that they could have easily enveloped mine. Now his fingers are thin and I can't imagine a football in these hands.

With my eyes closed it's easy to try to picture the man he used to be. It's easy to dissolve the reality that he is too weak to do any of the things he loves. In my mind I see him running backward with his hands positioned above his head, ready to catch the football. It lands solidly in his waiting hands and with ease he rears one arm back and the ball cleanly spirals forward. I can see him squint and bring a hand over to shade his eyes from the sun so then he can see the football as it glides through the air.

He can't do that ever again. He can't do the things he loves anymore. I feel a tear slip out of my eye and glide down my cheek. It slides off my chin and lands on our clasped hands. He feels the tear and turns his head slightly to look up at me. "Don't cry," he rasps. I open my misty eyes and feel when he squeezes my hand to comfort me. It should be the other way around - I should be the one comforting him. He's the one who's lying in bed sick with lung cancer. Not me.

"I hate seeing you in pain," I say softly. "I would take your place if I could," I confess.

"Don't," my Dad tells me firmly. "Don't you ever wish that you were in my place." He stares into my eyes intensely and some of the glazed look dissolves. "Do you understand me?"

I nod my head and try hard to blink the tears away.

He closes his eyes and lessen his grip on our entwined fingers. He's in so much pain, but he tries to mask it for my sake. I can't stand it though. I know that he's hurting.

I swallow hard. In the few moments of silence my mouth has gotten dry. "Let go," I whisper.

"No. Not yet. Waiting."

Those are the only four words he answers with whenever I tell him to let go. There used to be a time when I'd ask him what he was waiting for. He would always say that he was waiting for tomorrow. I would answer afterward by telling him that I'll live years of tomorrows in his honor. And I'll live everyday like it's my last - just like he had. He never lets go though. He hangs on. And each day I know it's a struggle because I can see the pain and tiredness in his eyes. He never talks about the pain. He never talks about the fatigue. He never complains. He just lies down and waits. He waits for his tomorrows.

I saved up money every day from my waitressing job at the local fast food diner to help pitch in for the cost of the treatment Dad needed - which was chemotherapy. Chemotherapy was used to shrink the tumor. It only lasted for a while though. The tumor began growing again. Fast and furious. We didn't have much money after that for another treatment. I could only work so many shifts at the diner and the pay was poor as were the tips. I couldn't come up with all that money needed.

I remember kneeling down in front of my bed every night and counting my earnings - every single coin which was given. Then, after adding up how much I had and then looking back at my goal I used to see how far away I was from it and then tears would form in my eyes. Even though I knew that crying would do no good I still cried. The tears were hot and angry. Helpless and sad. They encompassed everything I felt. The spot which I would lay my head on as I cried would be wet from my tears after I raised my head from off of it. Sometimes I used to fall asleep crying - realizing that even though I was trying my hardest and doing my best it still wasn't good enough. It hurt knowing that.

The clock ticks loudly when it strikes three o'clock and my Dad opens his eyes. I turn to look at him as he stares intently at the wall clock. He continues to do so for a full two minutes and just as I am about to ask him if anything is wrong he gives our clasped hands a squeeze and offers me a watery smile.

"Baby girl, I love you," he says.

I leaned my head down to his so I could hear his soft, hoarse voice and even though he says those words often I still get the same warm feeling inside each time he says it. I plant a lingering kiss on top of his forehead and whisper, "I love you too, Dad."

He smiles up at me after I speak and drags a hand slowly up to my face to cup my warm, tear streaked cheek. "Happy Birthday, Destiny," he murmurs.

I whip my head over to the calendar that's hanging on the wall. It's June fifth. My birthday. I look at the time and notice that it's at the exact time I was born also. I turn to look at my Dad again. Tears are spilling out of my eyes as I kiss him on the forehead again. I place my forehead where my lips used to be and I watch as my tears leak down to his face. This is what all those tomorrows were leading up to - my fifteenth birthday. He wanted to wish me happy birthday one last time before he goes. I'm chanting the words: "This was it, this was it, this was it," over and over again. The words barely make any sense and with my garbled, tear choked voice it barely sounds like words at all. I feel his body relax underneath me and next I hear the loud never ending shrill signalling that he's gone. Nurses rush into the room immediately and push me out. I stand in the doorway and watch inside the frenzied room.

He finally let go. His tomorrow came. And I'll live the rest of the tomorrows in his memory. Forever.