The Thing that Differs Us...

Coma.

two weeks later: 

A nurse came in with a clipboard in her hand when I was  sleeping. I've never left Addison alone ever since he's came into the hospital. I never will, until he comes out.

'Hello, ma'am.'
I was sitting on a chair by the hospital bed where Addison lay. My head was collapsed on the side of it. My head picked itself up and my eyes looked at the nurse. 'Hi.' I yawned.
'I have some information about your boyfriend's injuries.' She started.
'Yes, please.' I was prepared.
'So when the bullet hit Addison, it went in his chest...' she cleared her throat looking at her clipboard 'Fortunately, the bullet just missed the heart. Your boyfriend is very lucky.'
'Okay. Okay.' I took deep breaths, rubbing my eyes.
'But there is some rather bad news. Unfortunately, the bullet hit Addison's lung. Which has resulted in a deflation of the lung.'
Oh no.
'But, the bullet stopped there. Which is rather good news otherwise it would've hit his spine. He is, indeed, very very lucky.' she continued.
'Wh-what about his lung?' I stuttered.
'We'd have to do surgery in order to remove the bullet and inflate his lung.'
'Okay,' I scratched my head 'is he going to be okay?'
'I don't know, ma'am. Judging by his spread of cancer I don't know how he'll cope-'
'Wait,' my heart starting pounding harder, my world, my existence stopped working 'what... cancer?' I shook saying the word. Chocked on the last sequence of letters. It almost came out as silent.
'Don't you know that your boyfriend has been diagnosed with stage 2 lymphoma, about a month ago?'
My hand found its way onto my mouth. I looked down at Addison, who was laying there still. The mask still tight around his jaw. 
'Didn't he tell you?' She questioned.
I shook my head. My eyes stung. My lungs inhaled deep breaths of oxygen. Trying to keep myself under control. This can't be happening. Please let this not be happening. I looked up at the nurse again.
'Tell me about... the-the... the cancer' tears rolled down my face.
'Well, the cancer was found in his stomach. The diagnosis was gastric cancer, haematemesis. Which when early in the course of the disease, didn't you find the individual to be in pain? Or loss of appetite? Any weight loss you noticed?'
'No... I didn't.' I said quietly.
'Apparently, he was in pain a week ago. He came in and complained that the medication wasn't doing anything. So he was told to have another PET scan. We have the results but haven't told him yet. He hasn't come to retrieve them.'
'What are the,' I wiped my tears 'results?'
'Cancer has spread to his right lung. He's in stage 4. It spread very slowly.'
There was a long uncomfortable silence in the room.
'What will happen to him? Symptom wise and side effects of the medication?' I shuddered.
'Well, he has been taking antibiotics to try and reduce the size of the tumour. Unfortunately, it has obviously overdone that medication and spread to the lung. We will now take further action and use chemo. Biopsies. Endoscopes. The side effects of the cancer would be vomiting blood. Weight loss and fevers. He would lose his hair from the chemo too.' she sighed. 

'Which lung was deflated?' I was about to burst into streams of tears.

'His left one. The right lung holds the tumour,' she took another deep breath 'His parents know. They live in a different part of this village and say they haven't seen him in over 6 months. They've paid for the medication so far. That is all I know, ma'am.' 

'Th-thank you.' I muttered 

'I'll give you a minute.' she quietly left the room. 

I sat there. By the bed. By the person who I have. The only person I have. His constant exhale of breath into the oxygen mask gave me shivers up my spine to think it would stop at any moment. 

'Why didn't you tell me?' I sobbed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. 'Why?' I repeated over and over again. Asking the same question to him. 'Why?' 

I felt this urge to run home. My home. I left the hospital. Running. Running to Addison's apartment and picking up the keys. Then, dashed to my house. I unlocked the door, shaking rapidly from the adrenaline. I struggled to get the key into the lock. My throat was wheezing and coughing from the extensive marathon I had just run. My arms and hands felt tired but full of all these mixed emotions of hatred, anger, sadness, shock, that gave this unbelievable amount of energy to them. I burst through the door. Slamming it shut. My body just stood there, in the middle of the living room of memories. The arms of my fucked up body gripped my baby hairs near my hairline. I felt the urge to scream. So I did. I screamed so loud, I thought that the force of my shout would pull out my vocal cords along with it. My hands suddenly found themselves in a kitchen drawer. They finally found what they wanted and held the sharp object shakily close to my wrist. The neverending stream of tears rolled down the sides of my face. I couldn't cut. I wanted to. But I couldn't. There was this some kind of force that kept me from cutting. I was desperate to cut. Please. Let me cut myself. Slice my arms to shreds and ribbons like there's no tomorrow. No next week. No never. 

I'm worried. Worried about him. Worried about myself. Mainly because I took a pregnancy test and it came out positive because I haven't had my period in over a month. But that's not the issue here. Addison is the issue. He's been here for nearly 3 weeks and no change. Please. Come back to me, Addie. I need you.