Fighting Love

★Chapter Thirty Three

In love, two become one. In pain, both bleed for one another

TRISA'S POV

When Troy got the phone call he went numb. All the color drained from his face at the news we all dreaded. I didn't have to ask what the conversation was about a second time. He fell back onto the bed like a log. Even the tears that filled his eyes couldn't fall, and I studied him. My heart sank into my chest knowing his, was about to be ripped out, and all I could do was watch and force myself in before he shut down. I had to be his rock.

Without a word, he staggered out of bed and I watched as he readied himself to go out. He left the room and returned a few moments later, with his Mother's stuff for the hospital. I packed it the night before. Realizing what he was up to, I scrambled out of bed and also got ready, only finding time to wash my face and hauling on a sundress.

"Wait for me," I called to Troy while chasing after his jeep. When he stopped, I hurried in. For a split second our eyes met, his filled with fear. "Babe, we'll get through this."

"Okay," He said in the most unconvincing way. He scurried his gaze back to the road and drove out of the yard. Soon, blasting music killed the silence in the air. I was thankful since I didn't know what to say to him. I couldn't tell him it would be okay because I knew all too well that okay was either a far way ahead, or never seen again. I knew he was trying to compose himself and be strong, but I could see how hard it was.

If only I could take the pain away.

I sighed, following him out of the jeep and across the parking lot. When we entered the ER, he led us straight to Dr. Peters' office. I held in a breath just before he pushed the door open.

"Mr. Wilson, good morning."

"Just fucking bring me to my mom." Mr. Peters flinched at Troy's words and hurriedly grabbed his stethoscope, which he laced around his neck.

"Yes, sir." I glanced at Troy, who rolled his eyes at the Doctor. I held his hands and pushed him out of the doorway to allow Mr. peters to lead us. He walked out, and we followed suit down the milky white hallway. He turned left and led us two doors down another hall. We entered on the right, instantly coming face to face with Janelle.

While Troy stood shocked in his spot, Dr. Peters walked toward the bed and examined Janelle. "Babe, come on," I said. It was as if Troy was in another world. It took me tugging at his arm several times to snap him out of shock.

"I'll leave you to it," Dr. Peters said and hustled out of the room, locking the door behind him. I nudged Troy closer to his mom, stretched out on the white sheets, then took a seat on a chair a few tiles opposite the bed. Troy dropped the bag at the bedside and sat at the edge. His face held a pained expression, and even I wouldn't dare ask how she was doing, lest he let his anger out on me.

"You better fucking wake up," I heard Troy say. He caressed her sleeping features, unpainted this time. The first since we met, her face was bare and peaceful. She was a stern woman and her presence frightened me. Yet now, she reflected a pale existence, dull and too grim to stare at. "Mom, please. Kick death's but and come to me because I can't." By now, the tears on his heart were ejecting salty emotions, silently running down his face.

"Oh, God!" I couldn't bear it. At least I didn't have to watch the life drain out of my mother. I knew this was a tough moment for him. I leaped toward the bed and pulled him into me.

He sobbed.

He gripped the sides of my dress in anguish.

"Baby, please hold it together till we get home, we have to drive."

"I can't." He clutched me tightly, almost pulling me onto the floor with him.

"It's okay to cry, babe," I whispered. "I got you. I will be strong for you if that's what you need." With this promise, I had to hold my tears back, though I felt his misery. Just as he was strong for me when I needed him, it was my job to do the same when he was in need.

Moments later, the clearing of a throat behind us grabbed my attention. It was a female nurse, uniformed in blue scrubs. "Sorry to interrupt, but it's time for Mrs. Wilson to get her medication."

"Oh, sure," I said. I struggled to drag Troy to the other side of the room, but the nurse asked us to leave.

"See yourselves to Mr. Peters' office," She said. "He wants to see you before you leave." I nodded and led Troy through the door. He was so much taller than me that my hand could only reach around his chest and not his neck. Hence, we hobbled our way through the halls and into the office.
When we got in, Mr. Peters handed me a box of tissues to dry Troy's tears. As we sat in the two chairs at his desk, I patted the teardrops under Troy's eyes.

"Based on the observation, we concluded that Mrs. Wilson will need a blood transfusion," This grabbed both Troy and I's attention, but we stayed quiet for him to finish. "Being that she is anemic and lost so much blood, we need to get it back to help her wake up."

"Then what are you waiting for, give it to her," Troy urged.

"Mr. Wilson, you know that St. Rushmore doesn't work like that. You need a donor before we can proceed. Many patients would love..."

"Fine, take my blood, Just fucking save her."

Mr. Peters flinched in his chair. "We need an O Negative donor, it's rare and unfortunately you aren't. We have a shortage of that blood type in the blood bank, so you can't trade for it either "

"Check me then, she can have mine if I match." I let out. Troy opposed, but I waved him off.

"We will check right away. In the meantime, try to find someone else just in case." Mr. Peters stood from his desk and we left his office. Troy stayed back to make some calls. I prayed I was a match, so he didn't need to find anyone else.

We went a few floors up via the lift and entered the blood bank. I gave my information and signed a document, then he sent me into a room. Miss Morgan, good day," A middle-aged man greeted, "call me, Sir Roache," He grinned.

"Morning, let's just get it done, please." I was not In the mood for small talk and polite conversation.

"Sure, you will feel just a sting, and then it's over," He said, "we'll fax the results to Dr. Peters." I allowed him to do his work and in a matter of minutes, I was finished and on my way back.

When I reached the office, Troy was still where I left him. He rested his face in his hands. "Anyone?" I asked.

"No," He nodded.

Mr. Peters' entrance seized our attention. We watched him like a hawk as he snatched papers from the fax machine on his desk and scanned them. His shoulders fell.

"What?" Troy and I begged in unison.

"You're not a match."

Silence entered the room and held us. What else could we do? "No, no, Fuck!" Troy cried. I stood next to him and held him. He buried his face into my tummy. I could feel his tears splitting my skin.

"There is one other person I can think of, who I'm sure is a match," Dr. Peters let out.

"Who?" Troy begged. Dr. Peters's face held an expression I couldn't read. I could tell it was someone he feared to mention, but I wasn't sure.

"Uh, I will just give you the information on a piece of paper." He searched his desk for the paper and used a pen from his coat pocket to scribble something. "I have a few other patients to attend to, so just come back later when you decide or with another donor."

He handed the piece of white paper to Troy and gestured for us to exit his office.