The Ending I Want

I’m dressed in my pajamas, and I’ve just finished taking off my makeup when the headache hits.

And it hits bad.

Fuck. No. Not now.

The weight of the pain in my head has me sinking to my knees on the cold tiled floor. Leaning forward, I cradle my head in my hands. The pain is so bad and intense, worse than anything I’ve felt before. Tears are streaming down my cheeks.

“Look, Boston, I’m sor—Jesus, Taylor, what’s wrong?” Liam is by my side in an instant, panic clear in his voice.

Why did he have to come in now?

I don’t want him seeing me like this. The last time I had a headache at his place and he saw it, it was bad enough, and this attack is much worse.

The attacks are getting worse and worse, Taylor. You know what that means.

I just need him to go. I need to be alone.

I try to part my dry lips to tell him to go when the wave of nausea hits.

I’m going to be sick.

Pushing away from Liam, I crawl to the toilet. I lift the lid just in time.

Liam’s there, beside me, his hands gathering up my hair and holding it out of the way, while I vomit dinner up.

“It’s okay, babe. Get it out of your system. You’ll feel better for it.”

This time, I will.

But it will happen again.

And again.

I feel like crying.

Liam will probably just think I’m sick with a bug.

But I’m not.

I’m sick because I’m dying.

I’m a liar and a fraud.

Liam is holding my hair back for me, caring for me, and he doesn’t even know the reason I’m like this.

I hate myself in this moment.

Hating myself isn’t a new concept to me. But, somehow, this hatred feels different to the hatred I’ve felt for myself ever since my family died.

Liam’s other hand starts to gently rub my back.

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve to be here with him.

The sickness subsides to light retching. When that calms and I feel ready, I reach for the flusher.

I rest my arm on the toilet seat and lay my still throbbing head on my arm. “Go—now. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m going nowhere. Have you been feeling ill long?”

I mumble, “No.”

Another lie.

“Do you think it was the food from the restaurant? Because I feel okay. But I should probably go check on my grandpa.”

“It wasn’t the food.” It’s the ever-growing tumor in my head. “It’s just one of my headaches. They make me sick sometimes. I’ll be fine.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Another pain hits out of nowhere, like lightning striking through my head, splitting it open. I cry out in agony as my arms cradle around my head, trying to cushion the pain.

Stop. Please stop.

“This isn’t just a headache. Jesus, Taylor…you’re scaring me. I’m going to call a doctor.”

I feel him start to move, and that forces a quick response from me. I release an arm from my head, and I grab his arm, stopping him. “No,” I whisper. “No doctor. Just need my pills. It’s just…a headache. My pills always fix it. It’s just like the one before, remember?”

“No, it isn’t. This is worse, Taylor. Way worse. You’re throwing up and crying from the pain—”

“Please, Liam.” I lift my head a little, squinting at the brightness. I try to look at his face. “I just need my pills.”

He stares at me for a long moment, indecision written all over his face.

I let go of his arm and lift my hand to his face. I press my palm to his cheek. “I’ll be okay. I just need my pills. Please, Liam.”

He presses his hand to mine that’s still against his face. “Okay,” he exhales.

When he moves his hand from mine, I let mine drop, and Liam gets to his feet.

I think he’s going to get my pills, but he comes back with a toothbrush with toothpaste on it and hands it to me.

“I thought you’d want to brush them now because I’m carrying you to bed. Then, I’m getting you your pills, and you’re not moving for the rest of tonight and probably not tomorrow either.”

I don’t argue. I just put the toothbrush in my mouth and brush my teeth the best I can.

When I’m done, Liam takes the toothbrush from me, rinsing it and putting it on the sink.

He comes back to me. Bending down, he slips one arm under my knees and his other arm around my back. “Put your arm around my neck, and hold on,” he says softly.

I lift my arm and hold on to him.

Liam stands with me in his arms. I rest my head against his chest.

The smell and warmth and strength of him soothe me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble against his shirt as he walks.

“Don’t be.” He reaches the bed and gently lays me on it. “You’re sick, babe. You can’t help that.”

He brushes my hair off my forehead right as another wave of pain hits me. It’s not as bad as the last time, but it still hurts. I close my eyes against the torment, my face contorting.

“I’ll get your pills,” Liam says. I can hear the concern still in his voice. “Are they in your handbag?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

I hear him moving around. Then, I hear running water in the bathroom.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside me. “Here.”

He puts the pills to my lips. I open up, letting him drop them into my mouth. He slides a careful hand under my head, lifting it a little, and presses the glass to my lips. I take in some water, swallowing the pills down, and then my head is lowered back to the pillow.