Will Newman's last days FIVE FEET APART

Selfish

Here is chapter 11! I've been thinking rlly hard bout how I wanted to end this, and even though it's not quite there yet, it's getting closer and closer. Maybe a twist or two on the way before the grand finale, but ya know, there's only so many ways this can end lmao. If u don't like how this is written, or see any plot holes or whatever, lemme know, feedback is appreciated, just don't be mean, k?

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Stella's pov

I rubbed my hands aggressively under my eyes, while I huffed in denial. My breath was shortening from walking so fast, but I didn't slow down. I needed to get as away as possible from that hospital.

My brain seemed fixated in repeating the moment which I had just lived over and over in my head, like a worn out recording of a favorite song.

(If anyone knows the song that last line came from, I'll love u forever)

Except this wasn't a favorite song. This was quite possibly one of the worst experiences of my life. Worse than when I almost died, worse than when my sister died. Worse than when he almost died.

Because even though this resulted in the same ending, he was asking me to do it. To... end him. No. I couldn't do it. I couldn't .

My feet tripped among themselves and I stumbled to the floor in the middle of the street, but refused any help from anyone nearby.

I just dragged my feet to a bench nearby and broke down in tears there. The memory kept replaying itself over and over and over in my mind, driving me mad.

I pulled my hair, covered my ears, screamed in frustration, shut my eyes. But no. There was absolutely no way for me to not to think about it. My brain was forcing me to make a decision.

I passed my hand along the edge of his drawings, almost tempting luck to get a paper cut, while he stared at me intensely, though patiently, while waiting for my thoughts on it.

But I didn't really know what to say. It was good, yeah, well not, actually fantastic, but what it represented was very disturbing. I didn't understand what he was implying with it.

The piece showed him, dressed in a fine suit, but he was tiny. Not only he was tiny, but he was in a giant hand. My giant hand. I had him gripped by the head, and I was examining him as I held him on top of a garbage can. Out of the trash bin poked a skeleton, dressed in a black cloak, the incarnation of Death, I assumed. Tiny him was looking pretty confidently at huge me, like expectingly, and big me was staring back, with an almost sad expression, but determined nonetheless.

But what did this mean? Why was I holding him over a garbage can that held Death? Just... what?!

"W-what... what is it?" I stuttered.

"A drawing. What do you think of it?" He urged. His voice was weaker than it used to be, but I was kinda pleased that he still had some of his quick witted spark to him, but he was making me nervous.

"I see that, genius."

"Well, then tell me what you think." Wtf was happening, why was he so anxious for my answer?

"It's very well drawn, I guess. But I don't understand what you're supposed to say with it." I said slowly, not wanting to offend him as an artist.

He looked down, disappointed.

"Errrr...." I mumbled rapidly, to maybe stop making him upset. "Lemme try to guess."

He sighed, but didn't say anything.

"Well... obviously there's a subliminal message implied, right? Emmm... the way you're looking at me in it... it's almost trusting... right? Right?" I looked back at him from the drawing, to see him nodding vigorously in response.

"So... you're trusting me with... with something, I don't know. And that cloaked skeleton, it Death, right?" He nodded again, almost excited, but not happily? Like an exhausted excitement, like if he were glad I was figuring it out, but only because it was necessary for me to, not because  he wanted me to. "And Death is... inside the trash, and it's looking at you... with its bony hand reaching out for you... and I'm holding you on top of it... and you are looking at me determined, and so am I, so...."

I stopped. What?!

 "You're looking at me like you want me to... drop you? To Death? To die? You want me to... kill you?!" I took a step back, gasping in horror as I covered my mouth with my shaky hands. No.

"Stella. It wouldn't be euthanasia, it would be assisted suicide, it's legal in some states, we can pull it off..." he blabbered at high speeds, trying to get as much information in my head as possible, before I went into denial.

But I was already in it. How could he be so selfish?! He was asking me to help him die!

"No." I said softly, voice trembling.

"Stella, please!" He pleaded. "I wanna be the one to decide what my last breath is."

"No!" I screamed and ran out of his room, ignoring him as he called my name helplessly.

So here I was now. Lost, not knowing what the next step was, my love expecting me to end him.