Ascendance

Elena

I sit in the waiting room, my knee jiggling up and down with angst, my jaw tightly clenched as my eyes flit fearfully around the room. My whole body is tensed up, waiting for the news. Bad news, good news, I was yet to find out. I run my nails up and down my forearm to get rid of some of the nervous energy. I feel the skin become raw, but I don't stop until I can see little red droplets starting to well up. I drop my hand back down. Open the book I've brought with me. Slam it shut again. Rummage in my bag for my phone. Press the home button and stare at the screen, at the unread messages, with eyes unseeing. Turn it off, drop it back in my bag. Take it out again, realizing I've forgotten to check the time. Then decide no, I don't want to know how long I've been sitting here for. Fuck it, I'm anxious enough.

I have given myself a stomach ache simply by being anxious. My stomach is cramping painfully and I know for a fact it's definitely not PMS. PMS does notfeel like this; like an iron fist clenching and unclenching around my intestines. I reach over to the table beside me, pick up the coffee I've made, courtesy of the hospital. It tastes like muddy dirt and it's definitely not helping my anxiety. But I stopped caring about what was good and bad for me a long time ago. I take a sip. It's scalding hot and burns my mouth. I take a gulp, feel the hot liquid searing down my throat, burning in my chest. I cringe, place the coffee back on the table. Open my book. Close it again.

I'm about to open the book again, when the nurse arrives, addressing me.

"Elena Tunny."

I get up stiffly, abandoning my coffee and my book and follow after her as she leads me through a doorway and down the whitewashed hallways of the hospital.

"Your friend is on level 3, room 38," she says hastily.

"Is she okay?" I ask, but the words don't carry, my voice is thick with emotion and my throat feels all blocked up. She doesn't hear. She scurries away down the hall, leaving me to find my own way.

I enter room 38 cautiously, heart in my throat. She lay asleep, her slight frail body half hidden amongst a tangle of cords and tubes. Her luscious waist-length black hair had long since fallen out. But she was still so beautiful. My heart ached to see her like this, to see her looking so sickly and fighting for her life. We'd been best friends for years; since primary school. And for a decade I had loved her. Since the illness had taken hold of her, she had held me at arm's length. I still came to visit her consistently, even when no words were shared. I brought her flowers and little gifts. Sometimes I sat and read to her. Maybe she didn't care, maybe she didn't have the energy. But, selfish as I was, I did it for me. Because I loved her, I felt responsible for her pain. I felt I needed to take care of her.

I walked slowly into the room, sat in the chair beside her bed. I took one of her cold pale hands in my warm shaking ones. Enveloping her bony fingers with my hands, sharing my warmth.

Emma

Through half closed eyelids, I saw Elena enter my hospital room. I pretended I was asleep. I didn't want to have to talk to her. I didn't have the energy for words. The feeding tube was rubbing painfully against my sinuses and I could feel it in my throat. Breathing was uncomfortable, let alone talking. But how could she know any of this? She kept coming back to see me, and I knew I should have been grateful but I wasn't. I was frustrated, because I couldn't speak my truth. I couldn't find the words to express myself. I didn't have the energy or the strength to pick up a pen and write. That zest for life I had once had was gone. I couldn't think of one single thing in the world that would convince me to stay on this Earth and feed my body. Elena loved me, that much I could tell. She'd kissed me once, when she thought I was asleep. A tear welled up in my eye and I fought to hold it back. If I hadn't fallen so deep into this illness, I would have had the energy to kiss her back, but I didn't. How could I let her love me when I couldn't love myself?