Dear Theo,
We agreed to write letters to each other. But when it comes to words, I’m pretty much useless. I never say the right things, or worse, I end up saying things I don’t even mean. I hate the fact that I’ve complicated your life. I feel like a leech. What’s worse is that I feel selfish for wanting you to stay with me for as long as possible forever. I can’t cook. I’m disorganized. I’m a tad bit selfish. I’ll end up drinking all your wine. I’m not going to look pretty every day. I don’t really have a career. I run away from problems. I get sad every year around August because that’s when my mother died. I might accidently ruin your clothes (you wear too many sometimes anyway). What I’m saying is I’ve got a lot of faults. I’m trying to work through them for myself and for you too because I love you. (Holy shit yes I wrote that, it’s in ink and there is part of me that wants to cross it out but I’ll leave it for now.) We can add slightly immature to the list… and rambling.
So to end my first and last letter, I would like to give you one of the only two things I’m good at. My music…my finished music. I meant to finish the song I wrote for you so long ago, but I got carried away. There was a piano here. I snuck out every once in awhile at night to go there to work on these. I hope you enjoy them. I hope I get to play them for you.
Always,
Felicity Harper.
I flipped through the book, seeing page after page of notes. She had filled the whole book. It was like having musical gold in my hands.
“You like it?”
Glancing up, I saw her staring at me tiredly, her lips chapped, her skin pale, yet she had never looked more beautiful to me.
“More than you know,” I said softly. “Welcome back.”
She frowned. “I’m so so so sorry, Theo! I’m so sorry! I regretted it the moment I did it—”
“Shh.” I hugged her, kissing her temple. “I think you’re the one people need to be apologizing to.”
“So that was real?” she whispered. “I have a tumor? I wasn’t losing my mind, I had a tumor.”
I nodded and she just held on to me. “You knew yourself better than any else,” I muttered, and she laughed or sobbed—it was too hard to tell.
“What happens now?” She wiped her eyes.
“You get treated, and we move on.” It was all I could think of. She had been living with a bomb in her head… and it was all coming to an end.
Felicity
Theo slept on the couch they had put in the suite-styled room they moved me into. He had all but threatened the nurses to let him stay. Seeing him curled up into a ball, I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to have him.
“I mean he’s okay, but don’t go overboard.” Cleo grinned, her tone sarcastic, leaning against the wall opposite me with Mark beside her.
Mark smacked her. “Don’t mind her. She just has to get the last word.”
“You were both trying to warn me about the tumor,” I whispered, and they smiled. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you just say it?”
“Because, Felicity, we aren’t real. We say what you think and you never considered the tumor, so we couldn’t say anything about it.”
“So once it’s gone, you’re gone too.” I frowned, missing them already.
“How egotistical? You’re going to miss yourself?” Cleo laughed.
Mark once again smacked her, and she pushed off the wall, glaring at him. He walked over to me. “Just know, tumor or no tumor, you still have issues, Felicity. Except now it’s the same as everyone else. Try not to have too many regrets, okay?”
“Prends soin de toi.” Cleo waved. Of course her last words would be take care of myself. To the very end, they played their roles. Mark was fun and Cleo was reasonable.
There was a bright light, and I turned my head and opened my eyes to see Dr. Knight checking my pulse.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was asleep?”
She nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of it for a few more days.”
“When do I get surgery?”