A/N: Dedication to Chasingcars24 because I have tried to write funny stuff and NOBODY has ever laughed, or at least, they've never told me they have. And she laughed! At least, virtually, about the 'cold shower' thing from last chapter. So ya!
Who ships hendall? Anyone? I'm thinkin' I do. I love Payzer. I'm still in denial about that.
Thank you all for everything, I love you all so much! You are what drives me to write.
Last thing> Don't forget to vote &or comment!!!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Yellow Blood
There comes a point when a lie catches up with you, when there’s no valid excuse or cover up, when you’ve been caught so completely that there is no use in denial.
The denial comes anyway, because you've been ignoring the truth for so long that you don’t know what else to do, you don’t know how to admit it anymore, don’t know how to navigate without the shield of your lie protecting you.
~Roza Fallow
“You have cancer,” it was not a question.
“No,” I didn’t hesitate with my reply, but this only seemed to make him angrier as he realized what my quick denial must mean and he continued.
“He doesn’t know.” Asim didn’t have to clarify who he was talking about; it was quite clear already.
“I tell William everyth-” I began, once again defensive, but the pain in my stomach intensified, cutting me off. I felt my knees buckle beneath me, heard the gasp leave my throat as I struggled to breathe. It took mere seconds before I felt something enter my mouth, sickly sweet, hard, and all too familiar on my tongue. I clamped down instinctively and it took all of my self control not to immediately swallow. My pain medication.
Slowly absorbing, it was several minutes before the sucker was gone and several more before I was coherent enough to thank the man. When I did, he simply repeated, softer now than before.
“You have cancer, Roza.”
I hesitated, pausing a moment before it seemed to click that he already knew.
“Yes.”
“They don’t give someone Fentanyl unless they are going to- Unless they are too far gone.”
“Yes.”
“You are dying.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t know.”
Again, I paused, trying not to cry.
“No, Asim, he doesn’t know. Outside of the doctors, only Mrs. Bransen knows. And now you.”
He looked conflicted, but that seemed quite an obvious reaction. He slowly slumped to the couch in contemplation, but it took him a long time to respond. When he finally did, I felt a sense of de’ja’vu, as if I’d already heard his words.
“You have to tell him,” his tone was just as resigned as my answer.
“I know,” and then the tears came, silent and quick down either cheek I swept them off as swiftly as I could, “Just not yet. Let him have just a little bit longer, please. I think- I think he loves me, Asim.”
“Of course, he does.”
“I just- promise me you won’t tell him. Let me tell him?”
