Never Say Goodbye

Chapter 6

I pop my eyes open. "I had the worst dream," I mutter to myself.

"You're awake!" Caleb rushes to me. I am in a white room—a hospital room. No. No. No. No. No. The 'dream' I thought I had was real—is real. Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No. I don't want this to be real. I thought it was a dream. Why can't it be a dream?

"No. Oh, no," I whisper.

"What? What's wrong?" Caleb asks, his beautiful eyes worried. "Please tell me you're better. You have to be better. I need you to be better! Please," he says, tears forming right under his eyes.

"I'm fine. I just thought it was a dream. I should've known better. Dreams don't feel that real. In dreams I don't wish I would die. In dreams a searing pain isn't shooting up my chest. In dreams I am not in a hospital dying," I sob.

"But you're better, right? I mean, you have to be better. Please tell me you're better!" he says, his voice cracking.

"I–I don't know. Did the doctor say what's so wrong with me?"

"He said that you have some heart disease."

"What?" I ask. I can't help my voice from cracking, or the tear that falls down my cheek, or the pang in my chest reminding me that I will die, or the fact that I am now like Hazel in The Fault In Our Stars. "I'm going to die," I whisper.

"I won't let that happen to you," Caleb responds.

"Get away from me," I say.

Caleb looks hurt as he says, "W-why?"

"'"I'm a grenade and at some point I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties, okay?"'" I say, quoting The Fault In Our Stars.

"No. You aren't a grenade. I can't stand here listening to this anymore." Caleb storms out of my hospital room. I try to yell after him, but if I yell too hard, my chest hurts, just another reminder that no matter what, I will die, and I can't even get a boyfriend to stay with me for one minute! I start to sob, but my sobs hurt my chest even more, which, of course, makes me sob harder, which makes my chest hurt more, which makes me sob harder. I can't stop sobbing; I can't stop my stupid broken chest from hurting; I am utterly useless. I need to die. I want to die. But then, I think about being a grenade, and I can't be a grenade. I am not worth that. I am not worth being a grenade. I can't hurt anyone, but I will. I know it, and I hate it, but it's true. I can try to keep Caleb away, but we both know that he won't leave me. Caleb and I know that he won't leave me alone. He says he loves me, but I don't want to be a grenade. I have to make it my mission not to hurt Caleb; I can't hurt Caleb. He can't be pulled into my battle; I will not let him get pulled into my battle. This is my battle, not his. I am not worth it.

I gasp as I realize that the main reason that I won't let him into my battle is that I love him.

"I love you," I whisper.

***

Caleb rushes into my room. "Emma," he blurts.

"What?" I ask, fear injected into my voice.

"It-" He pauses.

"Just tell me! Just tell me! I need to know!" I scream, wrenching out of my bed. I already know something is wrong. My leg aches from moving; my chest burns like fire is being spread through my whole body. I barely notice because my head is swimming with everything that could go wrong.

Caleb sighs. "It's your father. He got shot. Right now they are removing the bullet from-" He pauses, hesitating.

"From where?" I scream, red hot fear spreading through my body, making everything hurt.

"You don't need to know," he responds, his voice shaking.

"Yes I do," I say, gritting my teeth.

"From his heart," he finishes. I breathe in and try to breathe out steadily, but my breath shakes. I shake my head.

"No. No. No! NO!" I scream over and over, my voice getting louder each time, my chest hurting more. But I don't care. I don't care that I will die. My mom is dead; my dad is in critical condition. I only have one parent, who will possibly die. No. I can't believe it! My parents. Memories flash through my mind.

I am with mom and dad at the amusement park, about to go on the biggest, scariest roller coaster. I am standing in line, my mom beside me, my dad behind me. I am sobbing. I'm about five years old. I am completely petrified. When I get to the front of the line, I look up at the twisted rails. Fear takes over me, controlling my actions. I spin around, but my mom catches me. "You have to go," she says. "You have to at least try. It'll be fun. I promise." Tears still flood down my cheeks, but I get in a car. Two seconds later, I'm whooping with joy. I get off the ride and run up to my dad, who is standing there waiting for me. "Thatwassofunthatwassofunthatwassofun!" I ramble. Both Dad and Mom smile.

The memory flushes away, replaced by a new one. I am seven years old this time, at Christmas time. I am opening a rectangular present. "This one's from both of us," Dad says. A smile spreads across my face as I see the pink and purple box that holds a doll that I've wanted forever. "Do you like it?" Mom asks. "I love it!" I scream, giggling and squeezing the doll to my chest. Mom and Dad smile. I didn't know it then, but I realize it now. Mom and Dad really love each other. The memory swipes away again.

Another memory washes over me. This time, I am sixteen, the age I am now. It is the night before I almost get hit by a car. I am having dinner with my parents. "So how was school?" Mom asks. "Fine," I answer. "I have this really great project that I am so excited about. I have to write a story about the Civil War. It has to be at least two pages!" I answer. "That sounds exciting! You done with dinner?" Dad asks. I nod. Dad and Mom take away our plates to start washing them. "I'm gonna go to bed now, Mom and Dad," I inform them. "Okay, Honey." Mom kisses the top of my head. "Good night." That is the last time I hear her voice.

I emerge from my memories.

"Who did this to him?" I scream, tears piercing my face, stinging like acid.

"We don't know. The person who shot him ran away."

I am infuriated. I can't lose both my parents. I can't. A tear slides down my face. "Caleb," I say. "Please. Just leave me alone. I want to be alone. I don't want to be a grenade." He looks hurt.

"You are not-"

"Yes, I am. Just get away from me." Caleb walks out. I instantly feel a twinge of guilt. "Caleb! I'm sorry!" I yell, but he doesn't come. "Caleb!" I scream again. "Caleb!" I have to apologize. I have to. I start to get up. I grit my teeth. Pain spreads through my leg, through my chest, everywhere. "I have to do this. I have to," I mutter. I get up on my uninjured leg. Limping toward the door, I put a hand on the wall. "I can do this. I can do this," I murmur.

I finally reach the door to open it. I step into the hallway. Weirdly, no one notices a sixteen-year-old in a hospital gown limping toward the door to go outside. The pain is agonizing. I open the outside door. Cool breeze hugs my body, making my gown cling to it. Blackness crops the edges of my vision, getting closer to knocking me out. I feel very weak, like I might fall at any time, like I might die.

I realize that this might be suicide, but it isn't. I want Caleb. I need to apologize to Caleb. I need Caleb. Blackness fills my vision. I fall.