The Sweet Nothings || ✓

'I'M READY. ARE YOU?'

Lana had been unnaturally peaceful when it happened. Her pen had been moving without a hitch in the paper, her office held the wift of coffee that she had drunk only moments ago. Everything was peaceful when Lana Wilson was writing her will in the wake of the day. Then suddenly the door of her office flew open and a
furious looking Damien strode in, clutching onto some papers. Taking a glance at him, Lana slowly turned over the paper she had been writing on, onto its blank white side.

Damien reached the work desk and banged the papers he was previously holding, square on the table top. Lana looked up sharply. But she maintained her cool.

"Shut the door please." She said coolly. Damien gave a disgusted look, but did not make an attempt to move. He was breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down, visibly. Still no looking at the papers, Lana got up silently and went to shut the door. Then she returned to her desk and sat down again.

"You can leave the papers here, I'll see to them. Right now, I am busy with something important." Lana said, picking up her pen again. She had to finish writing the will before she departed tomorrow to Chicago. The plan was a synonym of complete disaster, and Lana was going to go alone. And she knew that she probably wouldn't survive.

Damien snatched away Lana's pen and hurled it across the room.
"LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT THE FUCKING PAPERS!" He screamed.

Passing a hostile look towards Damien, Lana looked down. And for a second, her breath hitched in her throat. There, on the table, were her medical reports, the most recent ones. She could clearly read the doctor's remark written in the corner.

Maximum time: 3 months.
Suggested treatment: Radiotherapy.
(Denied)

Lana looked back up slowly.

"What do you think you were doing, snooping around in my room?" She asked slowly. Damien looked livid now. If possible, then more than before.

"SO I WAS RIGHT! YOU WERE GOING TO HIDE IT FROM ME TILL THE VERY END! TILL YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING DIED?!" Damien stepped back, throwing out his hands in rage. Lana kept sitting still.

"Damien, stop creating a fuss and kindly move out. I have important work to do." She said, shuffling through her drawer to find another pen.

Damien crossed the length of the room in a second, with the speed of light, if possible. He shut the drawer with force and stood beside Lana, making her look up.

"YOU THINK 'THIS', THIS IS NOT IMPORTANT?! YOU ARE DYING LANA. YOU GET THAT? YOU ARE DYING? OR SHOULD I SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?!" He screamed. And then continued.

"If I hadn't gone to your room?! GOD! I WOULDN'T HAVE KNOWN. IT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED AND I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD A CLUE?!" He paused. "It all makes sense now. Why you don't want to talk to me." Damien looks into her eyes.

"You are scared you would hurt me."

And then he rushes on.
"BUT OF COURSE! YOU ARE LANA freaking WILSON! THE SACRIFICING ONE! THE SELFLESS ONE! THE 'when-problem-comes-shut-people-out' ONE! DON'T YOU GET IT?! IT DOESN'T WORK THIS WAY?!" He breathed in. "IT FUCKING DOESN'T?!" He screamed.

Lana didn't say anything. She hardly had anything to say to him just then. Instead she stared at him, taken aback by Damien losing control.

Lana's silence seemed to frustrate Damien more. He reached forward and grabbed Lana's elbow sharply and forced her to stand up. His eyes desperately searched her's.

"Tell me. Tell me this is not true. Tell me you are not going this soon." He asked her. And Lana's vision didn't waver.

"I can't. I can't. It's true." She said softly. And she watched Damien visibly shatter. But instead of withdrawing, he started becoming furious again.