Dreamless in Early Graves (Vic Fuentes / Kellic) ✔️

Chapter 8: The Chemo

I sat, being rather bored, in my private room at the hospital, feeling more exhausted as the minutes passed by. There wasn't anything interesting on tv, the magazines were outdated, and patients in the adjacent rooms were in worse state than I was.

Sort of.

I yawned loudly, almost missing the noise of the door creaking open. I opened my eyes, mid-yawn, and frowned when I saw Vic entering the room.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned him, feeling a little uneasy, considering the state that I was in. "I told you I'd be home again tomorrow. I look like shit right now." I then added, scrambling to get something to cover up my balding head.

I felt so embarrassed that Vic had to see me like that.

Thanks to the chemotherapy, I had been gradually losing my hair. It was a terrible side effect, and usually I'd admittedly be wearing a wig of some sort, but obviously not at this moment in time.

Just as I had hastily managed to grab the scarf that I was wearing when I came in a few days ago, Vic had suddenly grabbed onto my wrists. He gently smiled at me as he slowly lowered my hands and took the scarf from my fingers.

"You look fine to me, don't worry about it." He said softly.

I let out an exasperated sigh and looked away. Vic meant well, he was a sweetheart, but I hated this. I hated being seen like this, which was why I had a private room. And it was also why I had specifically told Vic to not come until I was home again.

It was just a big, fat reminder that this was all so real.

"So. . . what's the predicament?" Vic asked cautiously, pulling me from my sad thoughts.

I looked at him and put on my best smile. "Well, it has spread to my spine." I told him like it was nothing. "And that means no more hiking or skydiving. . . which is probably great news, for you."

Vic chuckled momentarily and nodded. "I guess we'll be going back to doing boring things then, won't we?" He said, throwing me a sideways grin.

And this time, I genuinely smiled. After all, he probably appreciated said 'boring' things more now since that whole skydiving incident. I would never forget how he screamed, though. That was hilarious. It was a good memory.

"Is there anything they can still do for you?" He then asked, his tone going serious.

I frowned a little and shook my head. "This is my last chemo session. It was never going to cure me, but it helped slow down the growth and how quickly it spread. . . for a while. But it hardly works anymore. So, this is the last that I'm getting."

"There's really. . . nothing at all?" He continued to ask, obviously hoping for a positive answer.

I shook my head again and let out a small sarcastic laugh. "No, Vic. It's in my lungs, my liver, my ovaries, my spine, lord only knows where else by tomorrow. . . there's nothing they can do about it, but I've already accepted that." I told him with a shrug.

He didn't seem very pleased with that answer, though. But honestly, he shouldn't be bothered by it. . . I was the one dying, not him.

Once my session was done, a nurse came in to remove the catheter, she prescribed me some medication for the pain that was to come, and said that I could leave basically whenever. . . if I felt up to it.

And I was fine, for now. Just tired. The nausea and other side effects would settle in later, and I hoped to be at home by then.

"Mariana, darling!" An annoyingly familiar voice then called out from the entrance of my hospital room.