My Whole Heart

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

The sound of the alarm was the only way Eric knew that morning had arrived. It had been a solid month now since he’d woken up to the same alarm and found himself in an entirely different world. A world where darkness ruled the night and the day. A world of fear and uncertainty and anger.

A world of blindness.

He reached toward the sound and hit the button to silence it. The instinct to check his phone for new messages was still ingrained so deeply into his muscle memory that he already had the object in his hand before he remembered that he couldn’t see the screen.

A groan began to rumble deep in his chest and he dropped the phone back onto the night stand. “Hey Anya. Read my messages,” he croaked. At least technological advances had reached the point where he wasn’t entirely cut off from the digital world that he had infused his entire being into.

“You have no unread messages.”

Figures. Even his coworkers had stopped asking how he was doing two weeks ago. His boss had placed him on medical leave, a small mercy which at least allowed him to keep his health insurance through this absolute hellish nightmare that had become his daily life.

His family hadn’t even responded to the news, much less tried to contact him. Screw them, anyway. And screw his ex-fiance who had helped him move into this apartment near the hospital. Yet another burst of anger, common these days, raged through the fibers of his being and he let out a howl. “Just make this go AWAY!” He screamed and buried his face in his pillow.

At 29 years old, he’d never have imagined that his life would turn into a never-ending series of tests and treatments and lonely nights. That the man whom he’d lost his family over would drop him in his moment of greatest need. “It’s not FAIR! I didn’t ask to be gay! I didn’t ask for f-ing cancer! I DO NOT DESERVE ANY OF THIS!”

He was fit. He worked out at least five times a week, and ate plenty of vegetables. So why had he been the one given the short end of the stick?!

When the emotions had run their course, he stumbled his way into the bathroom where he located his toothbrush and toothpaste by touch. He was clumsy, still, in applying the paste to the brush, and was unsurprised when he felt very little of it on his lips. Yet he brushed his teeth, combed his short, black hair, applied deodorant, and felt his way back into the bedroom to put on whatever shirt he could locate in the drawer. No sooner had he finished getting ready than a tap tap tap at the door drew his attention.

“Hello, Mr. Bower. Are you ready to go to your appointment?” The friendly and upbeat voice of his nurse, Beverly, greeted him when he opened the door. She was a kind, greying, middle-aged woman who had been nothing but wonderful to Eric from the moment she’d been assigned to him. Frankly, she’d acted more like a mother than his own ever had, which he appreciated.

But that didn’t stop him from scowling as he scrabbled for his white cane. He hated the damn thing, but the doctor had encouraged him to get used to using it until they could restore his sight. “Alright then, let’s go! The van is right in front of your apartment, so it’s not a long walk today.”

She brushed his hand in an offer to guide him, but as usual, he pulled it away. “I can do it myself,” he grumbled, and tapped the ground in front of him with the cane. Beverly locked the door behind him and kindly spoke him forward with ‘watch for the lip of the sidewalk,’ ‘one step down,’ and ‘watch for the van door, sweetheart,’ which Eric begrudgingly accepted. He knew that when he didn’t, those were the times he ended up falling on his face in the parking lot. He made it safely into the van and they were off.

It was less than a five minute ride to the office. Truly he could have walked there in ten if he could see, but after getting lost the first time...he’d agreed to be picked up instead. Feelings of helplessness and depression rolled down his back like cold sweat, and he dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t know what kinds of tests were in store, or what news he’d receive today, but at the moment it all felt like layers of darkness being heaped down on him from every side.

Beverly helped Eric into the waiting room and bid him goodbye with an ‘I’ll be back to get you home when you’re finished, love’ and a pat on the shoulder. He slumped into the uncomfortable chair with his cane tapping the floor, just hoping that today’s nonsense would go by quickly and he’d soon be able to get back to what he usually did all day: sleep.

The door opened, letting in an annoying gust of hot wind. Eric’s lip curled up and he sank deeper into his chair, wishing he had anything to entertain himself. He’d lost his earbuds a week ago and had been too stubborn to ask for help finding them.

Sight wasn’t needed to notice the presence of another patient entering the waiting room. His coughing and labored breathing could be heard the moment the door to the clinic opened. A scowl spread across his face, though not, perhaps, for the reason most would think.

“See,” he thought to himself as he tapped the end of his cane just a little harder against the floor. “That guy actually sounds like he’s dying. Bet he looks like it, too. Probably like 90 years old with a wealth of stories to tell...unlike my pathetic ass that didn’t even make it out of my 20’s…”

That was the real frustration of the whole thing. Aside from his sudden blindness, Eric felt fine. Despite the real knowledge that he was a dead man walking if his tumor couldn’t be treated, it felt so unfair. He didn’t look sick. He didn’t feel sick (yet...the doctors had warned of incurable headaches, seizures, loss of speech and motion, and various other issues that could arise with further growth of the tumor, but he didn’t want to even think about those.)

The horrible breathing became louder and louder until Eric sensed the owner drop into the chair next to him. “Must be full in here,” he thought. “Why else would this guy choose to sit directly next to another patient?”

What really caught him off guard, though, was when the guy spoke. “Sorry,” he gasped between coughs. “I can move if you want. I know I sound terrible. It’ll stop after I catch my breath.”

That wasn’t the voice of an old, decrepit millionaire using his wealth to extend his life past its natural end. He sounded...young. And Eric didn’t really know why he did it, but he replied with, “It’s fine. Honestly, if you’ve got the plague or something, pass it over. At least then I might look and sound like I’m actually dying instead of just secretly dying.” A smirk crossed his lips, more self-deprecating than anything.

“On that note, what are you in for? And how long is your sentence?”

The thin, blonde man attempted to laugh, but it only made him cough harder. Eric instinctively reached out to smack him on the back or something, but quickly withdrew his hand. Slowly the coughing lessened until the stranger was able to speak. “It’s not the plague. Not even something contagious. I won’t be the death of you, sorry.”

The coughing fit had done a number on the guy’s frail body, and Eric could feel him trembling in the next chair over. “Huh. Pity.” He turned his face away, not that he could see the guy anyway.

“I’m Dylan Clarke, by the way. And I’m here to find out how long my sentence is, actually. I’m betting six months. Bad heart and running out of options. How about you?” His voice was soft and light, with just the slightest hint of a lisp at the end. But it also contained an odd amount of sunshine for such a declaration.

Heart problems, eh? That, coupled with such a cheerful tone, left Eric wondering about this guy’s mental status. “Well, Mr. Six Month Heart Problems, mine’s some sort of fast-growing brain tumor bull that has a name I never bothered to learn. Doc says a year if we can’t operate, since I refuse to go through the horror of chemo.”

Which was a long story, probably best not trauma-dumped on the first person to talk to him since he was abandoned in this prison. What was the point? His family didn’t care. His fiance was probably already off with another man, and he could no longer lose himself in the world of video games.

He fell into a bit of a long silence, his sightless eyes staring off into the blackness before him. “No idea how long they want to wait before attempting to operate, though. Maybe I’ll get more information today, I have no idea. Half the time I swear they’re just dragging me here to get me out of my apartment.”

Eric snorted and ran his fingers through his dark hair and shook his head. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly why he had to report to the office every Monday morning. He already knew that part of the reason he’d been assigned Beverly was to ensure he woke up every morning, whether by his own hand or that of the tumor.

“Well, if it helps, you don’t look like a dying man. You’ve got me beat in that department. Maybe that’s something to be happy about?”

“The psych says I need to stop being so negative about the whole thing, but I don’t really see what difference it would make. It’s not like I have anyone around me to get annoyed by it.” He rolled his eyes and smacked the end of his cane on the ground. “Though I suppose you don’t want to hear all of this, anyway. You’ve got your own issues to deal with.”

Dylan shrugged and leaned back, extending his toothpick legs in front of him as far as they would go. “It’s fine. I’m sorry you’re in this terrible club with me. Though I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that already.”

Actually, he wasn’t. It felt nice to have someone acknowledge his pain. Eric let out a deep sigh and tapped his shoe with the end of his cane. “Eh, I’ve not heard it as much as you’d think. It’s only been like...a month, after all.”

A very, very long month. If you’d told him that it had actually been a decade, Eric probably would have nodded slowly and made a snide comment about time forgetting how to exist. Because he was painfully aware of each and every ticking minute of his black imprisonment.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Dylan filled it again. “So it sounds like judgement day might have come for both of us. I-” He paused, wiggling nervously in his seat. “I don’t really know where I was going with that. Sorry I’m so awkward. I don’t really talk to people much. I suck at this.”

“That’s alright. I’m just glad to have someone to talk to at all. But yeah, today might be the day. I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even care. A year, a week, a decade, a day? What difference does it make? This stupid lump of confused cells has taken everything away from me already.”