Infinity: Based on a True Story (5 page)

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.

“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.

Little does he realize that I’ve gotten over taking the OPX seriously. It’s destroying my body and at some point it began to ruin our relationship.

John focused less on our marriage and more on keeping me alive, which wasn’t bad but it wasn’t a great feeling either.

He lost the true meaning of the partnership we agreed to keep and turned into somewhat of a dad. This disease, it changed him—but only because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. He had to sacrifice some part of him for that.

The Onyx Pleura changed our connection with each other— made me question our love. It changed every single thing, and for that I hated that I’d hacked up blood on our perfect honeymoon cruise.

I wanted the memory of that night, just the two of us, loving each other, without this disease in between.

Why couldn’t everything stay peaceful?

Why couldn’t I just be healthy?

Out of the billions of people in this world why did I have to be one of them to go through this? I wouldn’t wish this disease on my worst enemy, so all I ask is why me?

What did I do?

Why do I have to keep suffering?

Why do I have to be the one to die?

Why?

Just tell me what I did wrong…

Just tell me why…

Why, God? Why?

T
he OPX isn’t working
.

I feel horrible. Nauseous. Tired. I need to vomit. These are only some of the side effects, along with hair shedding, body aches, and shaky hands.

My eyes flutter open and I spot John watching me, most likely contemplating whether I should continue or finally call it quits. But he’s stubborn. He won’t give up. One of these bags will be the cure I need, he says.

It just has to be. One of them will work.

But I know they wont.

I want to tell him…

Baby, I’m dying.

Baby, let me go.

Baby, forget about me.

You deserve better than this.

But he won’t. Not John. Not ever.

My eyes seal. I don’t know when I’ll have the energy or the will to wake up and face him again, so I murmur a quick prayer:

A
llow
me to die in my sleep, Lord. Let it be easy. I’d rather not suffocate, if you will. Make it easy on everyone, so they won’t have to look into my eyes and witness my last breath.

Please, God, that’s all I ask.

P
ast

F
our Years Ago – Max
& I

C
raves was crowded
, as usual. I was surprised Max and I had even gotten a table. Taking a look around the bar, I noticed all of the waitresses, in their short black dresses, passed by us and gave Max the “look.”

One girl, with mocha skin and bleach on the tips of her curly hair, winked as she came closer. Before I knew it, she was at our table with a notepad in hand and a smooth smile on her lips. That smile was directly pointed at Max.

“Hi,” she sang. “I’m Janelle and I will be your server tonight. Anything you need,” she murmured, looking from his eyes to his lap, “and I will be more than happy to provide it.”

I scoffed and Max looked at her, astounded by her audacity, but didn’t say a word—at least not about the way she was flirting with him right in my face. “Right… uh, let me get a coke and rum.”

She nodded, glancing at me unwillingly. “And you, ma’am?”

The word
ma’am
came out rude and sarcastic. “Strawberry margarita, heavy on the rocks. I’d prefer
Jose Cuervo
. I know how bars these days like to give the cheapest tequila just to save money. Can’t afford a headache right now.”

I beamed at her, my face oozing with sarcasm. Her eyes narrowed just enough for me to notice and I placed the palm of my hand under my chin, eyes focused on hers.

She took off in an instant, zip lining towards the bar and requesting our first round of drinks, glancing over her shoulder at me before snatching her gaze away.

“She’s fucking kidding, right?” I asked as I turned to face Max again, laughing.

He shrugged. “Chicks dig me. Can’t help it.”

“It’s rude, if you ask me.”

“It’s cool, though. You handled it nicely.” He chuckled, most likely at the immaturity of it.

I blew his comment off, shaking my head and sitting up. “It’s clear that this is supposed to be time shared between the two of us. She shouldn’t be trying to ruin that. Homewrecker.”

“Hold on. So you’re actually calling this a date?” His eyes widened, his face amused.

“No,” I corrected him quickly. “I just mean… well, if I saw a guy like you at a table with a girl like me I would assume it’s a date and I definitely wouldn’t flirt with the guy. What… is she looking to start drama?”

“Shannon,” Max murmured, and as he did the waitress was back at our table with our drinks, “it’s girls like her—the ones that constantly seek drama and attention—that I don’t have time for. Do you want me to prove just how little her comment meant to me and how much more this night with you does?”

I cocked a brow, spotting the waitress step back and fiddle with the napkins in her apron. She was listening, exactly what Max wanted. “How?” I whispered, hesitant.

His head moved to a slight tilt and after taking a sip of his drink he turned toward the waitress and said, “Listen, love, my lady doesn’t like the fact that you’re flirting with me. Now, considering I’ve wanted this night to happen for a while now, I think it’s best if you just stick with doing your job. The last thing I want is for her to be upset with me tonight. I have way too much planned for us and I just can’t allow
you
to ruin that for me.”

The girl’s bright brown eyes expanded beneath the dim lights, her entire demeanor taken aback. I gasped, eyes just as wide as hers, my mouth parted. Did he really just say that to her? For me? And did he really just call me his
lady
? That was easy pussy for Max and just like that it was gone.

“I… understand,” Janelle said, “and it won’t happen again. So, can I start you off with an appetizer or would you like to go straight into dinner?”

She was embarrassed. I could tell by the flushed look in her cheeks and the way sweat prickled at her hairline. Max, as if nothing ever happened, ordered what he wanted to eat and since he was taking the moment lightly, I did as well. I wasn’t expecting an apology from her. It would’ve just made things worse.

Believe me, dinner was unbelievably awkward each time she came back to the table, pretending to be in a cheery mood but not quite sure how to handle us anymore, but I couldn’t fight off the smile that lingered. Max turned a girl down for me. That seemed kind of rare for him to do.

“That was so mean,” I whispered to him after we finished dinner.

He shrugged. “Hey, it’s true. Tonight should be perfect, right?”

He reached across the table to grab my hand, using the other to scoop up some of the icing that fell off my carrot cupcake. Using the finger with the icing on the tip, he brought it to my lips, spreading them apart with his middle finger and allowing me a taste of the white frosting.

The sweetness spread across my tongue, my womanhood clenching from the seductive move. It was smooth and casual, as if he’d done it plenty of times before.

I wanted him to know I wasn’t some boring broad in bed. I had to keep him on edge—keep him wondering—so I swirled my tongue around his long, thick finger until every dab of sweetness was gone. As I did, his eyes filled with heat and desire, his body tensing beneath his shirt.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, slowly pulling his finger away.

I licked my lips before picking up my drink and taking a small sip. A smirk claimed my mouth.

“I hope you realize I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight.” He literally blurted it out. I was sure he didn’t mean to say it, but it was out there—up in the air—and he didn’t dare take it back.

I throbbed helplessly, my nipples pebbling beneath my lace bra. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“No,” he continued in a murmur, “I don’t think you understand just how much damage I may cause.”

“I’m sure I can’ handle it,” I teased.

“It wouldn’t be wise to test my ego right now.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because the only thing you’ll be sure of by morning is that I was nothing but a threat to that amazing body of yours.”

I may have been a mess between my legs, and surely the drinks weren’t making it any better. If anything, they had me tempted even more, making me loose and ready—oh, so ready for Maximilian Grant to slide between my legs.

“Go on,” Max urged, pointing at my cupcake, “don’t stall. Finish up so I can get you the hell out of here.”

I giggled, picking up my fork. I couldn’t fight the warmth that coursed through me—the urge to pick up the entire cake and cram it in my mouth.

I could’ve left it there or even gotten it to go, but I knew I wouldn’t eat it while with Max—mainly because we would be doing other things to occupy our time together—and also because I was a strong believer in not wasting food.

After spending weeks without enough food, hoping to scratch the surface by finding a job at fifteen, I vowed never to waste a crumb.

Starving was no joke.

“Here,” I broke the cupcake in two pieces, handing him one half. “If you help me eat we can get out of here a little faster.”

He accepted the cake but said, “Take your time, Shakes. I was joking. I want to get you the hell out of here, but we have all night. Enjoy the good condition you’re in right now. It won’t be that way later.” A cocky grin tugged at the corners of his lips, one that had me way too eager to get to his place and see just what kind of “condition” he could put me in.

M
ax’s apartment was nice
—but more like a bachelor pad than anything.
Figures
.

This was Mr. Grant. The twenty-four year old every girl wanted in her bed. He’d take them on dates, to places like
Crave
or a quaint, upscale bar like Capri
,
and he’d get them a little tipsy.

I knew that because that was the state I was in as we barged into his place, lips locked, and my arms thrown around his neck.

It was odd that as I snatched off his shirt and started to unbutton his pants, I was also observing his home. It was neat and clean, chrome and Carolina blue as his signature colors. The bar stools in front of the island counter were blue, the counters a smooth grey marble. His L-shaped sofa looked beyond comfortable, good enough for him to explore my body on.

But I preferred the bed.

“Where’s your room?” I asked as his mouth landed on my cheek.

“Back there,” he groaned, breathing heavily. He didn’t point in any direction, causing me to laugh a little.

“Take me there,” I whispered.

He stopped kissing me, nodding as he reluctantly released me. Grabbing my hand and leading the way towards a beige door, he pushed it open and went in the direction of the bed, freeing my hand.

“Sit here. Wait for me.” He placed me at the edge and I sat, looking up into his eyes.

He walked out of the room seconds later, disappearing into the front of the apartment. Cabinets squeaked opened and then closed from a distance, glasses clanking.

Laughing, I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Give me a sec,” he called with mischief in his voice.

I sat back, placing my palms on the cozy blue comforter and smoothing it out. Moments later and music sounded from hidden speakers in the room, catching me by total surprise.

One of my favorites by Miguel streamed through and then in walked Max with two glasses of pink moscato.

My heart pounded as he appeared in the entryway with no shirt on. I couldn’t help carrying my line of sight down his body, focusing on that delicious V that never failed a man, especially a man like him. So cut and lean in all the right places. His smooth, olive skin enhanced the curves over his abs, the sparkle in his deep brown eyes.

“Here,” he murmured, stepping closer and handing me one of the glasses.

“Pink?” I questioned, studying it.

He shrugged. “Pink moscato. Got it for you. You don’t like it?”

“I like pink moscato.” He took the spot beside me as I took a sip. “I hope you didn’t put anything in this…”

He laughed out loud, finding my remark utterly humorous. “Like what?” he asked, cocking a brow, highly amused.

“Date rape drug, ecstasy or something to get me to willingly sleep with you.”

“Pshh.” He shook his head, fighting a grin. “You’re insane, woman. I’d never do that to you, or any woman for that matter.”

“Hey,” I took a look around his rather large bedroom, “with a place like this, I’m sure something’s gotta give.”

He swapped glasses with me and quirked a brow, taking a sip from my previous glass and proving nothing was in my drink.

“Normally this place does the trick. As soon as they’re in here and the music comes on, panties come off like they’re visiting the gynecologist.”

“Oh my God,” I snorted. “You are so fucking disgusting! Do you know that?”

He leaned towards me, placing a kiss on my shoulder and murmuring, “As long as you like my disgusting side, I’m okay with that.”

My eyebrows moved up as I drank more of my wine. Max downed his in one solid gulp, standing up and placing his glass on top of the dresser.

After dimming the lights he turned in my direction, eyes fixed on me. They glittered down my frame, softening as he came my way. And as he did, my eyes softened as well, my body weakening for him.

Without even knowing it, my legs were slowly spread apart and he was between them, grabbing my glass and sitting it on the nightstand as he moved me towards the head of the bed by the hip.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough for you to finish that,” he breathed, the tip of his nose running down my jawline.

“But I wanted to… I guess… I don’t know.” I was in a mild stupor, mesmerized, stuck as I looked into his warm, brown eyes.

“You can finish as soon as I’m finished with you.”

“By that time it’ll be warm and nasty.”

He laughed. “I’m glad you think we’ll be at it long enough for your drink to get warm. Smart not to underestimate me.”

In that moment we were like magnets. Connected. Unable to be pulled apart unless someone dragged us out and sent us separate ways. But even then, it wouldn’t have kept us apart. We would’ve found a way to come together again.

Finally, it arrived. The very thing I’d been waiting for.

He held me tight, lips molding with mine as he rocked against me. My back hit the cool pillows, and Max slid upward.

In an instant he flipped me over and I was on top of him. He took off my dress, tossing it aside when he had gathered the material in his hands.

I positioned myself on the center of his lap, taking in this moment. My hormones were raging, my body hot like lava running fresh from a volcano.

I was tipsy, carefree. I’m sure he wanted it that way. Not that I hadn’t taken all that into consideration. Max wanted me as loose and relaxed as possible, considering the terms we were on.

I had been postponing this—holding off—but I could no longer deny it. He was already sexy, but with each drink he became even sexier.

He knew I was into him.

And I knew he was into me.