I turned and looked back at the man who held my hand and my heart. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see what I have under this dress…or don’t for that matter.”
I turned back as I felt Dylan’s hand clasped to mine sweep across my bottom and onto my lower back. He gave me a little squeeze. “Don’t tease, sugar,” he breathed into my hair, before pulling back a respectable distance and resuming his hold on my pinky with his.
I blushed. Hard.
This man had me wrapped up in him and I never wanted to come undone.
“Dyl?” I pushed up off the bed and called out again, “Dyl, You okay?”
Silence.
“Dylan?” Cold fear washed over me. The second he stood from bed, he’d looked pale and made a run for the bathroom. The sounds that followed were hard to listen to. His sickness was getting worse and instead of waking and spending an hour cuddling in bed, he’d head straight to the bathroom and vomit until there was nothing left in his stomach. I hated so much that I couldn’t help him. I felt useless. He was sick and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.
I turned the bathroom door handle and pushed. “Dylan?” I called as I walked in. His crumpled body, lying face down on the floor, made my heart stop in its place. "Dylan!" I screeched, my heart falling into the pit of my stomach as I ran to his side and dropped to my knees. Scolding hot lava pierced my heart, turning my body numb. Fear unlike any I had ever experienced threatened to swallow me completely as my unresponsive body struggled to catch up with the racing of my mind.
I turned him over. Feeling for a pulse, my prayers mixed with pleas for him to be okay. I yelled louder, my dread unbearable, while unable to hear over the blood roaring in my ears. My racing heart was anxious to leave my chest and beat inside his. Forcing myself to move, I shot up off the ground and ran for the phone the moment I found his present, but weak, heartbeat. “Stay with me, Dyl,” I cried, calling 911.
“I need paramedics. Hurry, please!” I grabbed his clammy hand and held it tightly, praying to God, this wasn't the moment I would lose him. Not lying on the cold bathroom floor of our apartment. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end and I'd be damned if I would give up, I wasn't ready to say goodbye and I would sell my soul to the devil himself if I had to in order to afford me more time. I wanted, no, needed more time. "Please hurry! I can't lose him."
“Can you please tell me what the hell is happening?” I begged the older nurse at the hospital reception.
“The doctor will be out in just a minute, dear. I’m sorry but I can’t tell you anything else right now.” She looked at me sympathetically and guided me back to the empty row of chairs at the back of the room. “Can I call anyone for you?”
“I…umm.” I mulled her question around in my head for a moment before frowning. “No. There’s nobody to call,” I told her. Dylan had no one. He had no family, no ties to anyone but me. I was the last person he had. The memory of him would die with me…just like he would. I sent up the millionth prayer asking for more time.
“Miss Torres?” a professional male voice called. I looked up from my hands that lay limp in my lap.
“Yes,” I answered in a croaky voice. “That’s me.” I shot up out of my seat over to the doctor who’d just come from behind the large white doors which separated Dylan and myself for the last two hours.
“Miss Torres. You’re listed as Dylan’s next of kin.” He looked solemn and full of news I didn’t think he wanted to give me. “Can you come with me, please?”
I followed behind him the loud beeps of machines clouding my mind. The strong smell of antiseptic overwhelmed me, bringing back unpleasant memories of a time in my life when I was the one attached to those machines. The beeping reminiscent of an annoying child banging on a table in a quiet restaurant, the sterile smell of medicine to mask the stench of death that lurked behind each curtain. My stomach threatened to upturn its contents at the thought of how close I was to death, and now it felt like I was experiencing it all over through someone else's mind and body, Dylan's.
“Through here, please.” The Doctor led me into a stark white room filled with a small lounge setting and a coffee table with nothing but an open box of tissues on it.
“Why are we in here? Where’s Dylan? What’s going on? Is he okay?” I fired my questions at him thinking the worst. This little room was where they took families to tell them their loved ones had died…I was sure of it. Tears flowed down my face again. Sobbing, I asked again. “Where is he?”