Teach Me To Live (Teach Me - Book One) (38 page)

I accepted this almost four years ago. I accepted this—until her. Now, I was terrified. I was terrified of living without her, of leaving her to live without me. I was in love with her. I wanted to be her everything. And I couldn’t.

He’d given her to me knowing all the while that I couldn’t stay for her. I would never know His reasoning for this, but throughout all the pain that would be suffered, I was grateful for the gift He had given to me in giving me her.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, already feeling my throat tighten around my words. Even my body fought against releasing this painful truth. Even my body knew the risk I was taking in telling her—in losing her.

She lifted her head from my chest at the seriousness in my voice. Her eyes were sharp with worry as she said, “Okay.”

“I love you, Madison.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, but it was small and worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Will you be here for me, always?”

“I promised you, Austin, I would be all your days.”

Fuck me, she had promised that. But the wording in that was manipulative at best. It was down right cruel at its worst. She’d promised to be my days, but she didn’t know there was a deadline.

“I have something to tell you and I want you to know I’m afraid.” Her brows furrowed and I could see fear burning in the deep brown of her eyes. I loved her eyes. I tightened my arm around her body. “I’m afraid you’ll leave me.”

She shook her head. “Never. Never be afraid of that. I won’t leave you, Austin.”

“But I will leave you.” I whispered and she flinched so hard I felt my body rock.

“Austin?”

I felt my eyes fill with salt water. It burned, but I blinked it back. “I have cancer.”

“Wh-what?” She shook her head, her eyes searching my face. “No. No you don’t.”

“I do, sweetheart,” I nodded. “I’m terminal.”

Again, she flinched. “I don’t understand,” her eyes swept over my face. “You—you have hair.”

I blinked. Slowly. “Stopped my treatment. I haven’t cut my hair since it grew back.”

“Stop!” She lifted herself from my chest, pulling the top sheet with her. She wrapped it around her body tightly, as though it might shield her from the words I spoke. It wouldn’t. Nothing would. Nothing could.

“Madison, please,” I whispered. “I need you to listen to me.”

“No!” She whispered and her voice was shaking so hard, I felt fear spread from my chest into every inch of my body. “No, I can’t do this.”

“Madison,” I called her name as she stood from the bed, struggling violently to pull the sheet with her. When it released, she bent to pick up her clothing with trembling hands.

I swung myself over the edge of the bed and slipped my boxers over my hips, but she was already in the bathroom when I turned. My movements were hurried as I ran across the bedroom to check the handle. It was locked.

“Madison, sweetheart, please . . .” I begged. “Please talk to me.”

The door whipped open and she was standing there, dressed in the clothing she’d worn the day before.

“I have to go.” Her eyes were rimmed with red and I knew she was fighting her tears. “You need to let me go.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, stepping toward her.

She stepped back. “I just—I just need a,” she sucked in a deep breath. “I need a m-moment.” As though to ensure I understood her words, she held her hands out to me—her palms facing upward. She was protecting herself. From me.

I couldn’t let her leave. Not now. Not like this. “Madison,” I moved toward her, stepping into the bathroom.

“Don’t!” She cried, trembling. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t touch me. Don’t—just d-don’t say—anything.”

I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t been expecting this reaction from her. I expected hurt and anger and understanding. I didn’t expect this wild kind of pain and caged rage. I didn’t expect this . . .

“I love you,” I whispered and the sobs she was holding back broke free. She slipped around me, bolting from the bathroom. I stood frozen for seconds—seconds—but she’d already swiped her keys. I could hear the front door of my home opening and slamming closed.

And then I ran after her. I ran like I’d never stopped running track. I ran like my very life depended on it. But she was already in the driver’s seat of her car. Tears were pouring from her eyes and I felt fear burn in my chest for her. She was going to drive—like that . . .

“Madison!” I roared, and her eyes shot to me. “Don’t drive. Not like this.”

She didn’t listen. She started her car and started driving.

She was driving away from me.

It’s been four days since I last talked to her. I’ve wanted to go to her since the moment it happened. But she asked me to give her a moment—and I wanted to give her what she asked for—what she needed. I just hadn’t realized how long a moment was.

In her haste to get away from me, she forgot her purse. I knew that inside her purse was her phone. I knew, because it chimed. Each time it had sounded, it had been her mother’s name on the screen. I didn’t know if she was looking for Madison’s phone or if she was looking to speak with me. Now, as I stared down at the iPhone in my palm, I knew what I had to do.

Thumbing the screen, I tapped her mother’s contact. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep another night.

“Austin?” She answered quietly and I knew, just by the tone of her voice, that she knew. Madison had told her. Surprisingly, I was happy for this. I was happy she had someone she could talk to. As tense as her relationship with her parents had been in the beginning, I knew she had solid parents.

“Mrs. Avery,” I breathed. “Is she okay? Please, I know you must be upset, but I’ve been worried . . .”

She interrupted me. “First, I’ve asked you to call me Karen. Second, you don’t know what I’m feeling, Austin.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. How couldn’t you be?” She sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

“It isn’t?”

“Did you order your sickness from Heaven?”

“What?”

“People get sick. People live and people die,” her voice was trembling. “I just never expected the first man my baby girl fell in love with would be one of those people. No mother expects this.”

My throat felt so tight at the sound of her words. “I shouldn’t have,”

“What?” She snapped. “You shouldn’t have found a way into her life? You shouldn’t have been the reasoning behind my baby girl smiling again? You shouldn’t have shown her that love is worth it all—all of it? You shouldn’t have
what?
”

“I shouldn’t have let her love me,” I whispered. “She will hurt. She’s hurting because she loved me.”

“She
loves
you,” she stole a breath. “She needs you, Austin.”

“I need her so much more.”

“Then come for her,” she said. “What are you doing staying away?”

“I,” I was stunned. “You want me to come?”

“She won’t get out of bed, Austin. Yes, I want you to come.”

“But,”

“I’ll make sure the door to the pool house is unlocked.” She informed. “Don’t knock. Just go in and don’t leave. Don’t leave her like this.”

“I’m on my way.”

I’ve led a life where there has been not a moment of loss. I still had both sets of grandparents and I’ve never lost a friend or someone close. Tragedy had never touched my pitiful existence—before this moment.

Now, I knew the pain of loss and I hadn’t even lost. But I knew I would. And knowing was almost worse. Knowing you were going to lose someone was like staring straight into the face of hope and feeling nothing but despair. It was an agony of the finest torture.

Austin Weir, the boy who lived life to the fullest possible capacity, was
dying.

I just didn’t understand how this was possible.

How could a man who was so bright and filled with so much vitality, be the man who was dying? How could death have touched him when he had so much to offer this world? How?

Since I found out about Austin’s cancer, I’ve been writing. I write every minute of every day. And I sleep. That’s all I’ve been doing. I’ve gone back to the very moment we met and I’ve documented every moment since. I’m not sure if this was my way of preserving all that he was in my life—all that he means to me. Or if I am trying to find a hint, any hint, to the fact that he was sick.

Snippets of conversation came back to me—rocking my heart.

“I didn’t say I’d never hurt you. In fact, I can promise you that I will hurt you.”

“I won’t hurt you physically, Madison. And I won’t hurt you intentionally, but when you get to know someone the way I intend to know you—sometimes hurt—it’s—it’s inevitable.”

“Hurt knows hurt, sweetheart.”

And the real kicker—the hint of hints . . .

“Believe me, the day my hurt becomes clear to you, all this—us—whatever we are, will go up in a cloud of smoke.” His intense azure eyes darkened on my face, the ebony frame of his lashes narrowing around their brilliant orbs. “I’m really liking this whole—us—whatever we are, thing. So, what do you say we leave the messy-bound-to-destroy-us bits out of it for just a little while longer?”

I slammed my journal closed and I curled up in my bed once again. Crying.