Chapter 60
The rest of the week passes between nightmares, tears, and one certainty: I need to kill this passion. Liana revealing they’re together again broke me. I put on a short yellow dress, comb my hair, and I can swear the sun shines differently. Maybe it's hope being born within me. Today is the day my mother will donate blood to check our compatibility. My father has been sending messages since 5 AM, completely anxious.
I grab the car keys, and within minutes, I'm leaving the building. I try to suppress the smile forming on my lips, but it’s practically impossible; it opens on its own. What I dreamed of most has happened. If Liana is compatible, she will donate her marrow willingly, without me begging to be saved. I finally confirmed that, even after everything that happened, she still loves me.
I enter the hospital and greet all the nurses. I sit down and look at my wristwatch, which reads exactly 8 AM. The doctor approaches and sits next to me.
“How are you feeling? Have you experienced any more fatigue or new bruises?”
“I’m fine, Doctor, and now the possibility of my mother being compatible makes me very happy.”
“Yes, we are waiting. The blood will be analyzed as soon as we collect it, but Clayre, don’t forget to take care of yourself, and remember we may get any result, positive or negative.”
“I confess I put all my hopes on a positive result.” I smile broadly and tilt my head to check who’s entering.
I’m disappointed to see it's just another patient and lean back in the chair, waiting. Fifteen minutes later, I'm restless, rubbing my hands together, my feet gently swaying while I chew on the side of my cheek. The doctor goes to another patient while I remain waiting. After the anxiety has eaten away at my whole being, I decide to call Liana, but she doesn’t answer.
People pass by in the hallways, the light through the windows changes direction as time goes on, and I persist, waiting. My gaze is fixed on the white wall, my body no longer moving, and the disappointment of waiting for her brings a sense of rejection. What happened? Why hasn't she given any news? Doesn’t she say anything?
My phone vibrates in my hand, and it’s the tenth call from my father, but I stopped answering after repeating three times that I was still waiting. I get up from the bench, lost, disillusioned, and feeling empty. In my muscle fibers, in each heartbeat, I felt hope embracing my body. The feeling of gratitude was overwhelming, but now, there is nothing left. No electric threads of strength, no expectations, and any chance of healing is murdered.
“The truth is, no one will save me. Maybe I’m seeing it all from the wrong perspective, and in the end, I’ll save myself when I rid myself of all the pain of rejection I feel. My mother's indifference all these years. Jack’s rejection eliminating my dreams of love. And in the end, when I take my last breath, will I be alone?”
I wander the hallways, looking at each face suffering, each quiet whisper pleading with God for life, each tear for a loved one, and when I realize it, I'm in the only place where I find comfort now—the chapel, in front of the image of God.
I clasp my hands, close my eyes, wipe away the tears, and sigh.
“Hi God, maybe it’s a bit late to ask for forgiveness, right? Or maybe not. I’m tired of hoping, of wanting the cure and not getting it. Of seeking comfort in another heart. I’m going to die, right? Why does it hurt to confirm this, if it’s the only certainty we have in life? Could I make one last wish? Don’t let me go sadly, in a bed, suffocated by loneliness, or even dead from feeling. After all, we don’t always die when the body stops. And, even though everything seems so chaotic, I want to thank you for what I have, for my father, and just don’t let him be too sad when the day comes. Amen.”
I wipe away the last of my tears, and the crying stops, as if the stock had finally run out, leaving only the prostration that lingers too long. When I finally react, my phone vibrates. I check the screen, and it’s a message from Liana: “Sorry, daughter, I can’t do this. They’ll find a donor for you somewhere. I hope you understand.” Why did she leave me waiting? Why did she make me happy and then kill my feelings?
I wanted to scream, say that this bullshit makes no sense, but I would just become more bitter, more lonely, and waste the remaining time drowning in pain, in the black waters of my own mind. I remain inert until nightfall, sitting on the bench, searching for comfort that doesn’t come, and when all the lights come on, I stand up. I leave the hospital and go straight to the apartment. After parking the car in the garage, I head to my refuge, the sea, just a few steps away.
I sit on the fine sand, admiring the stars as the night breeze cools my body. The sound of the sea is a natural sedative, and gradually I feel the desperation subside. All I want is to have my apple tea, listen to music, and sleep a few hours to forget this dark day.
I stand up and turn to leave, and instantly my gaze falls on him again, watching me, atop his motorcycle, wearing his leather jacket. Today is a terrible day to be a stalker; after all, I’m tired of repressing the things that hurt me. Indignant at his audacity, I lose control. With heavy steps, I walk toward him.
It’s impossible that he’s here after I gave my mother a chance. What does Jack Bourbon think I am? I stop a few meters away, and he gets off the bike, with a look of compassion, holding the helmet in his arm.
“Clayre, I’m just looking out for you,” he clarifies, but to me, it doesn’t make a difference.
My body burns, and it's not from desire, but from anger. I can feel the muscles tense, my fists clench, and a mocking laugh escapes uncontrollably.
"Go away, what part of 'I hate you' didn't you understand? I don't need you to take care of me, I don't want anything from you, not your fake feelings or cheap displays of pretending to care."
"What happened?" His gaze studies me, worried, but I won't fall for his lies.
"I bitterly regret the day I agreed to live in your house. Every day I had to look into your eyes, and when I felt desire. I also regret staying like an idiot in your arms, listening to your fake declarations that you would be with me until the end." I stop, take a deep breath, letting all the rage out. "The worst of it all is knowing I let you be my first man. I don't need you to take care of me, I just need you to never look for me again."
His expression becomes apathetic, his gaze evasive, and determined to start a conversation, he puts the helmet on the bike. When he opens his mouth to speak, I turn and walk away.
"Liana Stuart and Jack Bourbon are dead to me."