Crash (Josh Franceschi fanfiction)

Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

-one week later-

Love.

That is what I was feeling while I lay in bed that morning. It wasn't just any morning, it was my wedding day.

The sun shone through the gap in the curtains, engulfing my husband-to-be in a golden glow. He looked like someone sent from above, like an angel. So I just lay there and let love wash over me as his chest rose and fell continuously in a slow, serene slumber.

The bedsheets rested loosely on the bottom half of Tyler's naked body, and his arms and torso were beginning to form goose-bumps due to the lack of covers on a chilly English morning. I reluctantly went to pull more of the covers over his bare chest, worried my actions might wake him.

He stirred only slightly, but I decided to get up myself anyway. I was far too excited for what was to come to possibly go back to sleep. I went and took a long shower then searched for an easy outfit to wear.

I decided on jeans, ankle boots and a big knitted jumper. With the seasonal weather getting colder, I decided adding my favourite patterned scarf would go the extra necessary mile to keep warm. I love winter because you can wear as many layers as you like, parkas, coats, hats, scarves, woollen socks, and look adorable while keeping warm. Not that it mattered what I wore that morning as I would be in a big fancy frock in five hours anyways.

Returning to the bedroom, I found Tyler now awake, lazily humming Here Comes The Bride as I walked over to him. He smiled as I placed a kiss on his cheek, then brought my hand to his own lips.

"Guess what?" I started.

"I think I can guess this one. We're getting married, aren't we?" He spoke against the back of my left hand, smile growing wider on his face.

After a few seconds he let go of my hand and reached for the drawer of his bedside table.

"It's getting tougher these days," he muttered as he took a couple of the pills he'd been given to numb his headaches.

"You'll keep pushing along though, you're strong," I told him, unsure of what else to say. Tyler nodded and rose up to find clothes. He dressed in his suit, despite my suggestion of changing into it when he got to the church - he said he wanted to feel like the groom for every possible minute of this day.

After cooking breakfast together - he did the eggs and I did the bacon- Tyler said he felt nauseous. Kneeling beside him in front of the toilet, I reassured him, and mostly me, that he was fine as he vomited into the toilet-bowl.

I gave hopeful theories of things like "maybe the bacon wasn't cooked properly" or "you might have taken the wrong dosage of your meds" but he just kept being sick and it was endless, longer than normal to be throwing up for.

About forty-five minutes later he'd finished and was sitting, drained of energy and facial expression. As a quick decision, I helped him to the car and was driving towards the hospital while Tyler began repeating "I'm okay," in an attempt to reassure me. From the tone of his voice, we both knew he wasn't.

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One of the increasingly familiar doctors of the specialist branch came into Tyler's curtained off section of the large, multi-patient room.

They'd been doing check-ups and tests while Tyler had dozed off, but now he was awake, they could talk details.

"So," the short-haired female, Dr Grace Salderford began. "I'm sorry to say this is the turning point."

"It's the beginning of the end, then?" Tyler looked up from our entwined hands to the doctor.

"Yes, I suppose that's a way of putting it," she smiled sadly. "We can't tell you exactly how long you've got left, Sir, but don't expect much more than a week."