Infinity: Based on a True Story Page 5

  I blushed ridiculously hard, avoiding the conversation of the events that we both knew would take place later on that night.

  “Come on, the fire dancing is about to start.” I gripped his hand, rushing forward. A crowd greeted us after we took the long corridor down and I pushed through, making sure to hold onto John’s hand during the rather annoying process.

  When we finally met at the front of the deck, meeting Sonya and Danny, I released his hand to clap mine together, bouncing on my toes as a man spewed a fierce ball of fire in the air.

  “Finally!” Sonya shouted over the music. She stepped to my side, cupping my face in her hands. “Guess what!”

  “What?” I asked as her face turned serious.

  She released my hand and held out hers, and when I spotted the large white and silver rock on her ring finger I squealed and then hollered.

  “Holy fucking shit!”

  A few people looked our way, some with rude glares and some laughing, but I was only one more shot glass away from being drunk out of my mind so, of course, caring was futile.

  “Sonny!? Is that what I think it is?” I asked, meeting her grey irises.

  She nodded, ecstatic. “It is! Danny just proposed… right at the table.” She points over me to the table we sat at for dinner only moments ago.

  I look over her at Danny who smiles bashfully at me. He’s so shy, and a bit of an introvert, but he’s perfect for Sonny.

  Sonny is the outgoing one, the one that will defend her own honor as well as the honor of everyone else she loves. She’s loyal as long as you are loyal to her and she doesn’t take any shit. Which is why Danny was good for her. He respected and loved her for who she truly was, despite her loud mouth and crazy attitude.

  “Congrats!” John appeared over my shoulder, studying her stunning, round-cut diamond. “Man,” he said, looking at Danny who stepped to Sonny’s side. “You did good!”

  Sonny nods, holding her hand out, “It’s almost better than yours, Shannon.” She busted out laughing and I gave her a sarcastic look, holding up my ring finger as if it was my middle one.

  John joined her in laughter, looking down at me and saying, “I’m gonna grab us something to drink.” He looked up at Sonny and Danny. “You two want anything?”

  “I’ll come with you.” Danny responded. They walked away and Sonny and I watched them momentarily depart from us with tiny smiles on our lips.

  “You think it’s too soon?” Sonny asked as soon they were out of earshot. She turned in my direction, face-to-face. She had three inches of height on me, her body perfect for the modeling she wanted to pursue after college. “I mean, I know I just turned twenty-one and have my whole life ahead of me, but I love him, Shannon. I really do. When I think about my future, he’s always in it.”

  I looked up at her, grinning. “Then you don’t need my approval, Sissy.” I held her shoulders. “If Danny is who you can see yourself sharing a future with, then hold onto it. People are engaged for years before they finally get married anyway. John and I just decided to go with it.” I shrug. “Do whatever makes you happy.”

  She nodded, twisting the new ring around her finger. “You’re right.” She squealed, “But oh my God! Look at it!” She held her hand out, studying it in awe. “He did a good job, my Danny. At least he has good taste.”

  I laughed at the way she looked toward him, watching him order drinks from the bar with so much shine and sparkle in her eyes you would have thought she was watching shooting stars.

  “Come on, love bug,” I tugged on her hand, turning for the dance floor. “Let’s go dance and show them just why they want us to be their wives.”

  Sonny grinned like a Cheshire cat, holding onto my hand and hurrying to the floor with me. When we met near the middle, we danced to a song by Rihanna. The beat pulsed deep in my veins, and I absorbed the bass of the music.

  I drank it up, feeling it maybe a little too much.

  I hadn’t noticed that John had come up behind me several seconds later, grinding against me as I shook my hips, dipping and grinding, jerking just enough for him to get hard and strain in his dress pants. My arms clasped around the back of his neck, the back of my head resting on his chest.

  I started to go low again, feel him rub against me, but the urge to cough caught me by total surprise. At first I thought nothing of it. It was only one cough, right?

  Wrong.

  That one cough turned into two and then six.

  And after six I lost count. It was a continuous cough, one I couldn’t control no matter how hard I tried. I was afraid, not because I wasn’t sure what it was, but because I knew exactly what it was.

  Panicked, John handed me the water bottle in his hand and I downed it. It didn’t help. In fact, I think it made it worse.

  Gripping my arm, he pulled me away from the dance floor, away from the watching crowd, and rushed down the empty corridor.

  “Shannon, are you okay?” I heard him ask, but I couldn’t respond.

  It felt like something had been lodged deep inside my throat and it wouldn’t budge. The water wasn’t loosening the stone stuck inside, nor was the way John patted my back and then lifted my hands above my head in hopes that it’d stop.

  I held on tight to his arm, seeing the terror swirling deep in his eyes, the horror etched all over his now-pale face. I wanted to tell him that everything was okay, but that would have been a lie. And even though I wanted to, speaking was impossible.

  A few long seconds passed before Sonny’s face appeared in front of me, her eyes drowned with just as much worry as John’s, quite possibly more.

  “She can’t stop coughing!” John shouted.

  “Shannon, honey, take deep breaths,” Sonny begged of me.

  I nodded, doing my best to draw in those needed breaths and it worked… but only for a little while.

  I released one last round of coughs and it was the worst of them all. My throat, sore and tight, felt like the claws of a tiger had scratched it. But finally the coughing eased up. I gathered breath, but when I looked down at my hand, I saw nothing but red.

  My palm was covered in blood, smothered like I’d just dipped it in red paint. Sonny gasped, looking down at my hand and then up at me. Her eyes darted to the corner of my mouth and the blood that’d collected there.

  “Oh my God… Shannon,” she whispered. “A-are you okay?” Never had I seen Sonny become so speechless.

  And never had I seen John move so quickly. He picked me up in his arms and jetted down the corridor, bursting out the door that led to the deck and getting me to a doctor.

  We stayed in that small, cramped room the whole night. Other than a sore throat I felt fine. But the results showed differently. The doctor felt it was something much worse—something he couldn’t diagnose on a boat.

  We landed in Cancun and I was sent to a hospital immediately. John requested for me to see the best doctor. That doctor, of course, had no clue what was happening with me either but he had an idea, and that idea happened to be true.

  Assuming it was cancer, he suggested I go to an oncologist and John requested to see the best one around. He never settled for less, a good thing sometimes.

  It turned out it wasn’t cancer either, so I went back to the previous doctor who sought help from other specialists.

  After spending four days and nights at the hospital and hating that I had to miss the rest of our cruise, I was finally diagnosed.

  Dr. Juarez walked into the room with a clipboard in hand, shutting the door behind him as he greeted us. John hopped up, way to anxious for results. Sonny remained seated in the chair beside me, squeezing my hand hoping only for the best as Danny rubbed her back.

  “Do we have good news?” John asked, nearly breathless.

  Dr. Juarez’s smile faded and to avoid having to say it out right, snatch it off like a Band-Aid, he picked up his clipboard, read over it, and then lowered it, meeting my eyes.

  His became somber as he said, “After running a f
ew tests on the black masses we found on your right lung, we’ve come to the conclusion that you have what is called Onyx Pleura Disease. It is very hard to cure, but there are ways to rid you body of it.”

  Sonny gasped dramatically and I’m sure she was squeezing my hand tighter but I hardly felt it.

  In that moment, as Dr. Juarez explained the blood I’d coughed up on the cruise and informed me that this type of disease was extremely rare, I felt like I was drowning right there in that hospital room. Not just metaphorically, but with Sonny’s abundance of tears. John’s tears. Even Danny’s tears.

  My life, just like that, seemed to be snatched away from me.

  All that I fought for… all that I went through… I just couldn’t get a break. My childhood was miserable, and I basically had no opportunity to be a normal teenager or young adult, but I thought the storm had finally passed. Boy, was I wrong.

  I’d just married the most wonderful man—ready to take on the world, bear his children, grow old together.

  Live freely.

  Blissfully.

  But it was gone.

  All of it, the future and all that it held for us, disappeared just like that.

  Although Dr. Juarez said there were surgical ways to remove or reduce sections of my lungs and that there was a chance of it going away, I didn’t believe it.

  All hope for me was lost. Then I began to ask myself… What was the point of me being born?

  Why be created just to die only twenty-four years later?

  Why did I fight and claw to stay alive all those years, if there was no life to look forward to?

  As I sat on that bed, blanked out and on the verge of tears, I couldn’t help but think about all the things I had yet to experience. I’d just started getting into traveling and that was because of John. He made a way for me and Sonya to live—to be happy for once—and even so, it’d taken me a while to accept that I didn’t need to be afraid of what would come the next week or month.

  I wished then that I wouldn’t have hesitated. Paris. That was a goal of mine. We were supposed to travel there next. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen anymore either.

  Our lives as children and teenagers were dark, lonely, and horrible. To finally have some light shone on us—to be brought out of the darkness—was a blessing. We deserved it, and during it all I was patient.

  I’d pretty much become a mom to a sister that was only three years younger than me. I sacrificed so much, not only for myself, but for Sonny. For a better future for her. I worked my ass off day and night, fought for her and myself until I bled. I did it all. I was a conqueror.

  I could’ve given up, but then I thought… I can’t leave her in this world alone. I was all she had left and she knew that. It almost seemed she was thinking the same as I was because in that moment our heads turned, our attention averting from Dr. Juarez to each other.

  I fought hard to hold in the tears—to be strong for her—but it didn’t even last a second. Because it wasn’t pity that I saw in her eyes that day. It was grief. It was a loneliness that she knew was coming and that she didn’t want to have to prepare for.

  So I broke down, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes shutting as she climbed on the bed and held onto me. I still wanted to play my role as big sister—as mom. As her guardian.

  As she wept, I pulled her forehead to my chest and allowed her to soak my gown. I cried too, but not as hard as she did. She hiccupped and sobbed. Broke down like never before, but I just couldn’t manage to break the dam.

  This was way worse than when we found Mom on the kitchen floor with a needle deep in her veins. Worse than when we found out our father was dead, the man that took care of us most. He looked out for us and guided us, teaching us right from wrong, but losing to his demons in the process. He had a lot of good in him. Unfortunately the bad overshadowed his kind heart.

  My life… it was heart-shattering.

  It whipped at my pride.

  My strength dwindled and hung by a thread that night.

  It was the worst night of my life.

  Later that night, after Sonya and Danny booked a hotel and left to catch some sleep, John sat in a chair in the corner, no words spoken for hours. His elbows were perched on the top of his thighs, his hands covering his face.

  It hurt my heart to know the pain he was in. I couldn’t see his eyes, but when I called his name, he lowered his hands slowly, finally revealing himself. His eyes reflected the chaos of the day.

  Seeing him like that, so pale and distressed, brought the tears I tried so hard to fight, right out of me. He stood and walked to my side. Taking the chair, he leaned forward and a slow tear crept down his cheek. He was trying to remain content and luckily he wasn’t failing at it.

  “I can’t believe this,” he murmured. “You… not you. Why you? Why…?” He asked why so many times that night, and I knew he wasn’t just talking to me. He was also talking to the man upstairs.

  That night, John felt betrayed.

  He was hurting. Angry. He didn’t want to accept the truth so he made sure that as soon as we landed home, I went straight into taking OPX. No surgeries could be done without a lung. No one wanted to risk wasting one for a girl with an 8% survival rate.

  John fought with me, taking each day at a time. It took a toll on my body. My emotional wellbeing. My mind. My insecurities grew in size. I no longer felt like the free-spirited girl that was married to the love of her life.

  I felt trapped in a glass box, as many eyes showed sympathy that I didn’t like or want. It overwhelmed me. Every person that I ever cared for seemed to press or lean on the glass, wanting to help, wanting to get closer, but I didn’t want them near.

  I resisted. And I knew if they kept pressing—kept pushing and closing in and telling me to fight—that the glass would break and I’d be cut and bruised, left with nothing but shattered glass and broken hearts surrounding me.

  And with a piece of that broken glass, I’d slit my wrists.

  I’d be gone. I’d make the process quick. Make it happen already so they wouldn’t keep waiting around for me to die. I’d contemplated killing myself dozens of times, but I wasn’t that selfish.

  I fought for John.

  For Sonny.

  It was for them, because I knew they would never forgive me for giving up—for ending it and not giving them more time to be with me, to accept my departure.

  I was no longer staying alive because I wanted to. I’d given up on myself a long time ago.

  I loved them. And if staying alive for now was making them happy then so be it. I’d hang on just to see another smile on their faces. I’d fight just enough.

  “I will be here with you,” John whispered the first night I laid in this hospital. His breath ran warm as it passed my ear. “I promise you, Shannon, while you fight, I will fight. I will be with you no matter what.”

  “Even when I’m walking around looking like a poltergeist?” The thought of it made my body shudder with the sobs. No matter the situation, no matter how many tears I shed, I had to make the situation light.

  He let out a small huff of a laugh, holding me tighter. “That doesn’t matter to me, baby. None of that has ever mattered to me. You’re a beautiful woman inside and out”—he lifted my head, forcing me to meet his eyes—“ and I will never give up on you. You hear me?” His voice was stern, causing a tug in my chest. It was good. Hard to describe, but good.

  “I will be here. You won’t be fighting alone. You don’t have to pretend this isn’t happening. You don’t have to joke around about it or even take this situation lightly. I know you’re scared. I know you’re hurting. You can cry with me. You can be angry and if you need to lash out, do so with me. I’m angry too, but this is life, baby. This is us…” He smiled, giving me a boyish, heartbreaking grin that I couldn’t resist joining in on. “Through thick and thin. For better or for worse. Always and forever.” He pressed his lips to mine, causing the furnace in my tummy to spark.

&nb
sp; “Always and forever,” I whispered.

  “To infinity.”

  He kissed the top of my head and sighed as he hugged me, but my smile had faded and my face had stiffened as I remembered the last person that said that those words to me.

  Maximilian.

  He knew I was sick, but he didn’t know the details and had no clue that I’d progressed to such a horrible stage in such a short amount of time. I was losing this battle and he had no idea.

  I told him white lies, like how the OPX was working—because at one point it was working and I was beginning to feel so much better—but I didn’t tell him that after two months of it I began to feel worse than ever before.

  Terrible body aches.

  Migraines.

  Forgetting the simplest things.

  And worse, coughing up heaps of blood and soon finding out that the black masses were spreading to my left lung.

  I was running out of luck, and when I finally told Max the truth—that I was going to die—he came to me. He found me. And to his face, I told him that we could no longer see or talk to each other. I did it so he wouldn’t have to worry, and although he kept his distance for the most part, Max never accepted it. I chose John… but as soon as Max left, I regretted it.

  I’ve always regretted that decision, but John is my husband and he was dedicated to keeping me as healthy as possible and nothing less would do. Back then I needed that.

  But the worse I got, the more I knew I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t getting any better. I was slowly but surely deteriorating due to my damaged lungs and nothing could stop it. But there was something that could make me feel better… and that was seeing Max.

  John was too afraid to touch me. Too afraid to even kiss me. He was afraid that any kind of exertion would cause me to lose breath and die right in front of him.

  He was overreacting, but that was John. My worrybot. I still loved him. I loved that he cared so much at first, but now I can’t stand it.

  The smothering and nagging, for me to take the OPX seriously. The way he tells me not to eat this or that, like I’m a child. I know he’s trying to help, but the reality is, I am going to die, regardless of what I eat or say or do.