In Your Arms

In Your Arms Chapter Four: An Unprevailing Treatment

Betty's POV...

I look around the room I'm set up in, the plain
white walls and the dull blue curtains of it making the mood in the small space even more depressing. I look to my left where I see Juliet sleeping soundly in the crib generously provided to us by the staff—which only concludes the gut feeling I have telling me that I probably won't make it—and smile weakly, her small tuff of dark, brown hair on the top of her head messy as her tiny lips were parted the slightest bit, tiny snores escaping from them.
I hear the muffled voices of Jughead and Dr. Gomez (the Neurologist) from outside of my room and I sigh. I've been here for about a few days, and rather than feeling better, I feel worse. I know. I know that, no matter how much Jughead reassures me and denies it, I know that I'm not going to make it. I have a gut feeling, even an instinct, if you will, that I'm not going to survive this deadly tumor.
I pick up Jughead's jean-jacket, pulling out the gold key to my locked drawer in our bedroom that I snuck into it, twirling it around in my fingers. I want him to find it in his coat pocket, though it's been in there since the day I had to leave home for this place, so it worries me that he may never find it. However, lucky for me Jughead Jones is nothing short of a great detective, so I still have a bit of faith.
I hear the door begin to creak open and I quickly slip the key back into the pocket of his jacket, leaning back against my pillow and staring outside through the window in the room, as if I'd been in this position the entire time Jughead was outside my door.
He quietly thanks the doctor, closing the door and turning back to me, smiling a sadden smile. His nose is red along with his eyes, and I can tell that he was crying in the hallway. Most definitely regarding an update to my current state of being.
"Hey," he whispers, choking back and sob and more tears, "How are you feeling, Baby?"
I hesitate, and then sigh, "Tired," is all I admit. We never lie to each other, and even here, on my death bed, I intend to keep that vow.
He nods, his lips sealing together and turning from a light pink to a pale white. I move over in the bed, patting the empty space beside me and beckoning him to lay next to me. He looks at me reluctantly, and waits until I nod my head on assurance before laying down, cuddling me in his arms.
He kisses my temple, inhaling a quivering sigh and I rub his arm, nestling my head into the crook of his neck.
"You're going to be okay," he whispers, though it feels like he's reassuring himself rather than me.
"Juggie...you.." I break away from the sentence as he looks me in the eyes, pain and agony clear in his blue ones.
"Hm?" He hedges, swallowing as he never breaks our gaze.
"Never mind," I respond, wrapping my arms around his waist as I lay my head on his chest, his arms cradling me in response as he kisses my hair multiple times.

Jughead's POV...

I listen to the dripping of Betty's IV fluid, and the constant pattern of her breathing, to my relief never faltering. She'll get through this. She has to.
The words of the doctor echo in my mind again and again as I stare down at the love of my life, tears brimming my eyes and—since she's asleep—I let them fall.

"Mr. Jones," Dr. Gomez said, her eyes filled with sadness and despair. I gulped, bracing myself for the bad news that I knew was coming—although there's no way in hell that I wouldn't have been able to be ready to hear what came out of Dr. Gomez's mouth regardless of how much I had drearily prepared myself for this moment.
"The treatment...Betty's treatment isn't making the situation better. Rather the opposite, actually. It sadly has no affect on the tumor, and all it's doing is making Betty more exhausted and weak. I'm sorry, but I think it'd best to take Betty off the treatment and just wait for her time to come."
Tears streamed down my face as I was unable to control myself, and I sucked in a sharp breath as my breathing came in different gusts of air.
"T-there's really nothing you can..?" I trailed off as she shook her head, her eyes flickering from mine and staring at the tiled ground.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jones, but the only option we have left is to wait for Betty to pass away. I assure you, we tried everything we could," she added, and I just stared at her. I refused to nod my head because that would mean I was accepting it. That I was accepting Betty's...death.
"How much longer does she have now?" I croaked, my voice cracking and breaking as I spoke.
"We estimated that she has about four days remaining before she passes. This brain tumor is very, very deadly, and very few people survive it," she stated bluntly, not sugar-coating anything.
"Thank you," I said, patting her shoulder, "Thank you for not giving up on Betty and for doing the most you possibly could to help her."
"It's my job, sir, but it's not a problem at all," she replied, walking down the hallway while I pushed the door open.