Taylor’s eyes have always been full of something. Whether it was the sadness she always thought she was hiding. Or those rare moments when she would let that sadness slip away and allow herself to be happy. Or those times when her eyes were filled with so much lust and longing for me that I couldn’t breathe while looking at her.
But whether her eyes were filled with sadness or happiness or lust, there was always life in them.
Or maybe there never was. I was just seeing what I wanted to see because I wanted her so badly.
“You need to make me understand, Taylor. Because I don’t understand why you are choosing to die.”
“You don’t need to understand.”
“Yes, I do!” I’m yelling now, and I don’t care. Because I don’t know what else to do, how else to get through to her. “I need to understand why you don’t want to live anymore! You’re asking me to stand back and let you die. You’re asking me to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life. Then, give me the reason.”
Her lips come together, her eyes closing on a long blink. “It’s complicated.”
“Then, uncomplicate it.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head.
I explode. “You have to! Because I fucking deserve to know the truth!”
“Because I owe them!” she cries, sitting forward. “I have to die because I owe it to them!” The moment the words leave her mouth, she winces in pain. Her brow creases, and her hand comes up to her head, the heel of it pressing against her forehead, as she closes her eyes.
“Taylor…are you okay?” I keep my voice soft, but inside, I’m panicking and afraid and ready to call for the doctor.
“I’m fine,” she whispers. She lays her head back on the pillow, her hand falling away to lie on the bed beside her, her eyes opening.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry for all of this. I didn’t ever mean for you to see me this way.”
“What you mean is, you didn’t ever mean for me to find out.”
She exhales a tired-sounding breath, her fingers curling into the bed covers again.
Her silence gives me my answer.
My heart is aching with every hard beat it takes. I wrap my arms around my chest. I back up, leaning against the windowsill. “So, what were you going to do? You were just going to leave here and go back to Boston? And then what?”
Her eyes come to mine, the answer clear in them.
Die.
She was going to leave here, leave me, and go home to die.
I’m not a crying man. It takes a lot. But, right now, I want to cry.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes, taking breaths to hold it in.
All I want to do is beg her to change her mind. Beg her to stay. Beg her to live.
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.” Her soft voice is like a thousand knives plunging into my soul.
I drop my hand, opening my eyes. “You haven’t hurt me. You are hurting me.”
Her bottom lip trembles. She bites it. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“What did you want?”
She stares into my eyes. I see a flicker of emotion. Real emotion.
And it gives me hope.
Then, her eyes shut down, taking my hope away with it.
“I don’t know. But I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to hurt you. Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted.”
My hands curl around the windowsill, gripping tightly.
I need to get to the root of this. She’s talking, but she’s telling me nothing. So, I go back to the words she said before. The words she yelled at me.
“You said you owe them. That you have to die because you owe them. Who do you owe, Taylor?”
I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. I just need her to say it.
I need her talking to me.
She pulls in a deep breath. “My family.” Her eyes come back to mine. “I owe my family.”
“Why?” I ask carefully. Because I know how easily she can shut down when it comes to her family.
I’ve always known losing them affected her badly. I know how hard it is to lose people you love. That’s why I never pushed her to talk. I always figured she’d tell me when she was ready.
I just pray to God that she’s ready now. Because I have a feeling that their deaths is why she’s doing this.
Her lips tremble again, tears glistening in her eyes. She bites down on her lips, taking in a breath. “They died because of me. I owe them my life because I took theirs.”
“Babe…I don’t understand.” I keep saying that same sentence, and I’ll keep saying it until I do understand.
And then, when I do understand why she’s doing this, I will change her mind.
“The list…I wrote it when I first found out I had a tumor. My mother knew about the list. She knew what was at the top of it—go to London. I had always wanted to visit here. So, she and my dad said we would take the trip when I was better. They expected me to get better. They never for a second believed I would die. Their belief made me fight to live.” She lets out a sad-sounding breath. “I should’ve died when I was sixteen. If I had died then, they would all be alive now.
“When I was eighteen, I recovered from the tumor, and we planned the trip to England. All packed and ready to go, we were due to fly out at five p.m. the next day. I would be starting at Northeastern as soon as we got back, and my best friend, Marie, was leaving for New York. She had a place at NYU. I wasn’t going to see her until winter break. I begged my parents to let me stay at her house, so we could have one last girlie night together. They said I could, so long as I was home first thing in the morning.