Fighting Thrasher Jones

{31} and

"Drew, can you get me some Advil?"

Rolling off the couch, I nodded and grabbed two pills from the cabinet. Benji accepted the pills, popped them in his mouth, and downed the glass of water I handed him. 

"Thanks."

I nodded again, scrutinizing his expression. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No, I just have a minor headache. I always get a head cold with the change of season," he assured, gesturing to the blazing sun of summer outside.

Taking his word for it, I sat back down on the couch and fiddled with my phone. I supposed we had made up the day before, but I still couldn't forget the way he'd accused me of his injury. I walked on eggshells around him now, only daring to speak when necessary. 

"Wish I had a beer," he muttered and rolled himself to the kitchen. Flicking on the television, he found the sports channel on impulse before jabbing a finger at the remote to change it.

A flashback of the empty bottles of beers lined across the countertop flashed through my mind and I frowned. Not only was he physically hurting, but mentally and emotionally as well.

And there was nothing I could do to ease his pain. 

"Want to go for a walk?" I offered, tying my short hair in a ponytail.

"I can't walk," he snapped icily. I flinched, amending, "I'm...that's not-"

"I know what you meant. Fuck. Whatever, let's go."

I lagged a few steps behind and opened the door for him. We took the elevator to the ground floor in silence before I lead us to the nearby park. Children paused in their play to stare, parents shot us sympathetic looks, and dogs barked at the large wheelchair.

"Why don't we...go someplace else," I suggested. 

Benji clenched his jaw and exited the park without a word. A red bandana billowed in the slight breeze on the handle of his wheelchair and his earring sparkled in the bright sun beaming down on us.

Following him, I bumped into the back of his wheelchair as he brought it to an abrupt stop on the uneven sidewalk. Peering over his shoulder, I found his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  

"Why'd you stop?"

Benji groaned, massaging his forehead between his pointer finger and thumb. "Are you sure it was Advil that you gave me? This headache isn't subsiding."

My heart raced in my chest as I came to stand in front of him. Placing my hands on his knees, I leaned closer and searched his pained eyes. "Benji, I think we should go to the emergency room."

His arm snapped out, tightly grasping my wrist in his hand as his eyes widened into saucers. "No, I'm not going back there."

"But-"

"Enough, Drew," he snapped as his knuckles whitened. "Stop trying to dictate my life. I'm going to die soon and it doesn't matter if I'm here or there when it happens."

"You don't know that! Just because-"

Once again, he interrupted me, saying, "I told them not to say anything to you because I knew you'd react as how you are right now."

I stiffened, ignoring the pain flaring around my wrist. "Who did you...what did you tell...?"

I helplessly failed to form coherent sentences as I struggled to gather the thoughts that were running rampid in my head.

Benji sighed, loosening his grip. "The doctors. I have a few months left to live at most."

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach as the landscape spun around me in dizzying circles. "N-No," I denied, shaking my head, "That's not true. You're just suffering from head trauma. You aren't dying."