I'd Live For You, If Only I Could (Completed)

Eleven

This is instead of The Things I Love About You. I hope y'all don't mind. Love you ❤️💚💛💙💜

By the end of the next week, I was back at school. I have been back for nearly a full week, and every day has been torture, as the elevator is down and no one is willing to accommodate for me being late to every class. In an attempt not to be home alone all the time, with my parents working so much to pay for all my hospital bills, I follow either Scott or Kirstie to their activities. For Scott, baseball. For Kirstie, theater. I always prefer going with Kirstie, because to be blatantly honest I just don't care about sports. Today, I trail slowly after Kirstie down the first of six flights of steps.

"You okay, babe?" she asks, walking backward down a few steps and nearly falling down them.

"Other than the cancer eating my lungs away? Yeah, fine." She turns back around, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Sorry. I really am fine. I promise." She nods curtly and rubs at her eye. "Kit, are you crying?" We are on the landing now, and she whips back toward me before engulfing me in a bone-crushing hug that I would remember for the rest of my life.

"I'm gonna miss you, Pumpkin." I smile briefly at the name before letting my smile fall away and moving her away to breathe.

"If afterlife exists, I sure as hell will miss you too." She wipes away her tears and says, "Okay. We still have five flights left. Let's do this thing." She offers me her arm and I link mine through it, and together we go down the stairs, side by side, step by step, until we are at the ground floor, me gasping so hard I can barely see straight and her holding me up by my shoulders while I try to catch my breath.

"Can you make it all the way to the theater?" she asks. The thought of walking all the way to the other end of the building now seems more daunting than ever.

"What if...I just sit over there...and meet with you af...ter." I say between heavy pants.

"Whatever you need to do. Practice goes until four thirty, so if all goes well you can come sit in there when you feel up to it." I nod, forcing my legs forward toward the bench across the room. I collapse onto the wooden structure and sigh in relief when my only task is now breathing instead of also supporting my weight.

"See you later." I say, closing my eyes and resting my hands on top of my head, something my doctors taught me years ago. I listen to the sound of her heels get fainter and fainter until it disappears and focus on nothing but my lungs working.

****

After sitting on the bench for about ten minutes, a guy in a letterman jacket walks up to me, sneering. When he stops in front of me, I say, "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, I think you can." He glances around quickly before grabbing me and pulling me in the direction of the basement. I try to yell, wondering how suddenly no one is around, but at the sudden movement I do not have the energy to do more than speak at a normal level. My cart is being drug on its side after us. The basement, too is empty, and I know exactly where we are headed when I see the wall of lockers. "I hope you're not scared of the dark." He laughs pulling the first one open and shoving me inside it so hard I see spots. I try to scream, I really do, but all that comes out is a hoarse-sounding croak. The line connecting me to my tank is shut in the door, cutting off any flow to my nose. I can already feel the difference without the only thing keeping my lungs going. I try to pound on the door or something, anything to make noise and get someone's attention, but my consciousness is already slipping. I am nearly passed out when the door flings open and I fall into Scott's arms, taking insanely deep breaths through my nose as my lungs scream and the line returns to its normal state.

"Mitch, oh my God, Mitch." He just keeps saying my name over and over while I try to maintain control over my lungs. I curl my hands around his arms, looking for something stable to steady myself with, to remind myself that I am fine, that I am going to be fine. That I am still alive and have to remain that way. Even though my nails dig into his skin so hard that there will probably be bruises, I don't stop and he doesn't make me. "Breath. Breath with me." He takes a deep breath and I do the same, and we exhale together. We do this until my breath is even enough to allow me to start sobbing.

****

Scott escorts me up to the theater after I have recovered, and we sit in on the rest of play practice.

"Please don't tell Kirstie what happened." I say quietly as we walk into the back row and sit down.

"Why?" Scott asks, taking my hand tentatively. He seems to relax when I don't object.

"I don't want to add to her stress. She's already taking all AP and Honors classes, and that's stressful enough without finding out that your friend almost died in a locker because of an asshole from the football team. Plus, I don't want her to worry about me more than she already is."

"Fine. I won't mention it if you don't want me to. But don't think for a second I'm not going to find out who did it and kick his ass into next week. Next year, actually."

"Scott, no." I whine, causing him to look at me. "I don't want you to get in trouble for beating someone up."

"I can't...listen to me. You, Mitchell Coby Michael Grassi, are worth anything anyone could ever do to me. That being said, I am going to find that asshole and beat him into the ground until he knows that if he touches you again, or worse, if he touches you again and something happens to you, he will die. Slowly and painfully. Okay?" I pull him down and kiss him quickly.

"I appreciate your over-protectiveness. Just please don't go to prison before I die." He laughs, and I do the same.

"Fine. I will refrain from killing anyone that way I don't get arrested in your lifetime."

"Thank you very much." We both turn forward again and I rest my head on his shoulder for the rest of practice.