Since I had found out I hadn’t spoken to him. He had been lying to me all along, I could see something was wrong but he was never willing to tell me, and now that he did I was too hurt. He had been acting strange for the past few months, he’d “cut” his hair, and he never ate anything when I was around. It was odd. I knew Ryan and he was not like this. He had been getting weaker and paler as time went by. His dazzling bright sky blue eyes weren’t the same, he didn’t look at me the same way he did before. He had lost a lot of weight in the past few months and his back would hurt. His perfectly golden tan turned into a grayish pale tone and his perfect dirty blonde hair was gone.
He had cancer. He had lung cancer to be exact. I had been asking him if something was wrong for a long time and he had always said everything was perfectly fine. Until a few weeks ago, when he told me what was going on. He said he had cancer and that he was not likely to survive it. He explained to me that his cancer had been already too advanced when he started getting the treatment, he’d already been in stage three, it was spreading to other parts of his body. I remember not being able to hear this anymore. I walked out of his house, the closer I got to the door the faster I walked, I could hear him scream my name as loud as he could, I couldn’t look at him now, I just couldn’t, and I was not willing to. He had been lying to me all this time.
The memory still remains. I can still remember when he told me he had cancer. His dry, pale but perfectly shaped lips moving, making sounds that turned into words, as the sound of his sweet, soft, charming voice came out, and I heard those heart breaking words. I was in shock, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even breath. I felt dead. I remember standing up, still not being able to understand what was going on, not wanting to either. I started walking towards the door, faster and faster as I got closer. Running away when I walked out of the house, his house.
I couldn’t believe he was doing this, now. He never told me anything, I wish he would’ve told me before, but now it was too late, I felt like my whole life was a lie. I was too hurt to look at him. I couldn’t believe why he didn’t tell me before. We had spent the past year together and he had not ever said a word about this.
Weeks went by. I hadn’t spoken to him since he’d told me three weeks ago. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to him, I did, I missed him. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be able to. He was getting sicker and sicker everyday. He knew he wasn’t going to survive; at least that’s what he told me. I know this wasn’t his fault, he didn’t choose to be sick but I couldn’t deal with it, it hurt me seeing him like this, and it hurt me even more that he hadn’t told me before. It’s not that I didn’t love him anymore, I did, and I still do, but I just couldn’t do this to him or myself.
I regretted everything. Not visiting him, not talking to him, not writing letters for him, not being there for him, and not doing everything I could for him. But what I especially regretted is not letting him know how much I loved him. I regret not telling him I loved him enough, I regret not making him know how much I loved him, I regret not making him remember it, I regret not making him believe it. But now it was too late, I remember going to the hospital, finally being ready to talk to him, finally speak, tell him how much I loved him, how much I had missed him, and how sorry I was for not being there for him when he needed me the most.
That’s when I decided to go. I arrived at the hospital, I ran to his room. There I stood in the doorway, I saw him. We made eye contact for the first time in weeks. He smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. I couldn’t stand looking at him; I burst into tears as soon as I touched his warm silky hand. We smiled at each other in a loving way. I didn’t have words, I opened my mouth but no words came out. Not even a sound. I felt the tears pouring down my face, finding their way down my slightly pink and warm cheeks.
