It Doesn't Always Make Lemonade

Danny:

I stared at him, waiting for him to respond, but he just sat there, staring at me.

"Jackson. Say something."

"I need some air."

"No! Jackson stay, please," I watched him stand up and he walked out of the room quickly.

"He'll come back. He just needs time to process sweetheart."

I proceeded to drum my fingers on the rails of the hospital bed and after two hours, I knew he wasn't going to come back. I don't want to cry over him. I want to cry for myself and my cancer filled body. If he can't handle it, then he's not worth it. It's not like he's the one dying. I picked up my phone and called him.

"Hey! It's Jackson. You know what to do," his voicemail spoke.

"Hey Jackson, it's me. Please come back and talk to me. I need you here. Call me back," I hung up and dropped my phone on the bed.

I woke up the next morning to another IV in my arm and a red liquid dripping into my arm.

"They started you on chemo this morning," Mom whispered and I gave her a small smile.