Our Last Time: A Novel (11 page)

Willow

I was already standing
in front of room
209
, and Denise noticed that I was both excited, and nervous. She had shaken her head at me, as if warning me to be careful. She gave me a small smile before I turned away from her.

I had three folders this morning, but Denise had insisted on taking them for me. She said she hadn’t minded, and I had business to take care of behind just
one
door this morning. I hadn’t come back to Wyatt’s room yesterday, and I had to talk to him about what happened. Denise knew that, somehow.

I knocked on his door, empty-handed.

He said those words again that I had loved so much: “Come in.”

His tone was almost urgent. When I walked in, I closed the door, and found him standing near his bed.

He was looking at me, but he wasn’t smiling.

His brow was puckered, and his jaw was clenched. He was in deep thought, and his presence was so much
more
intimidating.

He had socks on this morning, plain white socks. His hair wasn’t styled like it usually was, and he had
five
fingers running through the thick mess.

Was he out of sync because of me? Because of what had happened between us?

He cleared his throat as I straightened out my back. I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible.

“Remember when you said I could talk to you, Willow?” he asked, his voice soft.

I had taken a small step forward. “Yes, I remember,” I answered him, just as quietly.

He took a step towards me as I took a deep breath, and held it. He was about two feet away from me, now.

“I don’t have anyone else, and I really need to talk to you. I need to talk to
someone.
I just don’t want you to miss me when I’m gone,” he told me, his eyes on mine.

I felt like crying as I stared into his eyes for so long through the silence, because it was too late for that. It was already too late.

He hadn’t needed to know that it was too late.

“I’m a nurse, Wyatt. It’s my job. I’m used to death, I live around it. If you die soon in your life, it won’t affect mine,” I said aloud, calmly.

The truth of the matter was, though, that I
would
miss him, and I wouldn’t know how it’d affect me, or my life if he were to die anytime soon.

The walls held behind his silvered-brown eyes were starting to come down as he processed my words, and it was saddening, the emotion I saw through Wyatt’s eyes for the first time. I swallowed hard, and then tipped my chin towards him.

“Come here,” I whispered, opening my arms.

He hadn’t hesitated to hug me. He wanted to. I had known he wanted to. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if I wanted that hug just as much as he did.

“Take your stethoscope off,” he pulled away a little. “Your ID card, too. I want to talk to you, Willow. Not a nurse.”

“Okay,” I agreed, as his functional hand left my waist. I took my ID and stethoscope off, and had placed them both on the counter nearby.

We walked towards his bed, and then sat on the edge, me on the right side of him.

“One other thing, Willow,” he said, turning his head towards me so I’d meet his gaze.

“Yeah?” I asked slowly.

“Don’t kiss me again,” he answered crisply. “We can’t do that again.
Ever
.”

He hadn’t even blinked as he said the words, his face expressionless.

I sighed, nodding.

Deep down, I knew that already. I knew it’d be a bad idea. I just
wanted
to pull through with that mistake. I wanted it so bad, it hurt me internally.

“I won’t kiss you again, Wyatt.”

I’d definitely miss those really, really nice, sweet kisses from him, though.

He grabbed my hand with his right one, and we scooted farther on the bed, then we both crossed our legs Indian style.

We made eye contact; our faces were dangerously close as he looked down at me. “Whenever you’re ready,” I eased.

He squeezed my hand, and I gasped. He noticed it. He noticed absolutely everything.

“You have to be comfortable, too, Willow,” he pointed out. His lips started curling at one side, giving me a little hope, but he quickly meshed them back into a dense, straight line.

I smiled a sad smile. “I’m as comfortable as I’ll ever be, Wyatt,” I murmured.

I felt like a bubble that was about to be popped.

“I don’t know where to start, really,” he said under his breath.

“The beginning,” I shrugged. “What’s the first thing you remember?”

“A blurry image of me, as a boy,” he sighed. “I remember everything about my mom. I know her better than anyone,” he blinked before staring into my eyes.

“What are your memories of her?” I asked cautiously. I felt like a detective that was about to hear a devastating story - except I had genuinely cared for Wyatt, and was afraid of crying in front of him -
for
him.

“Good ones and sad ones. She died today, exactly ten years ago,” he said calmly.

I had taken a quick intake of air. “What about your dad?” I whispered, my voice I had tried to keep as steady as possible.

“He died about seven months ago, in prison,” he said, his tone of voice not as strong as before. He clenched his teeth suddenly, and then spoke, “I hated him, Willow. I could have lived a less worrisome, and more fulfilling life if it weren’t for that man.”

We sighed in unison. I squeezed
his
hand, this time. “He ruined your plans,” I stated. I was so afraid to know how his plans were ruined, exactly. I was hoping it wasn’t the worst - that it wasn’t the
worst
of what I thought it could be.

He nodded, before his eyes drifted away from mine. “I watched him kill the only love I ever had, Willow,” he gulped the sadness away, all that
sadness
welling up inside of him.

I believed I was going to die within, because I felt every inch of pain this man had as I squeezed his hand tighter, and tighter.

“Four times was all it took,” he looked up at me then. “His stained pocket knife, plunging into my mother’s heart that
fourth
time is the
last
memory I have of her. I watched her take her last breath, then that was it. My heart has never been the same since.”

The tears were coming.

The tears were falling.             

Wyatt leaned his head back, refusing to let the tears run down his cheeks like I had done. He took a deep breath as I tried so hard not to sob. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud,” he whispered.

I took a deep breath, nodding, waiting for him to continue.

“Doctor's call what I have a heart murmur, but I call it my unfortunate fate. I’m two heart attacks away from my last. I believe the fourth one will be it for me, I really do. My heart is slowly dying, and it has been since that last memory.”

He sniffed, closing his eyes tight. I couldn’t speak. My tears were falling for Wyatt’s pain, and I realized that I could hate
someone
.

I hated Wyatt’s father for causing his pain, for taking his love. I
hated
him for all the ugly reasons.

“She was beautiful, Willow. I remember her face more clearly than my own. She loved me, even though I wasn’t innocent. She was the light in my eyes,” he said, releasing each word slowly from his lips.

“You loved her more than you love yourself,” I said.

He nodded, and then made eye contact with me. He brushed his fingertips under my eyes, swiping the tears away. “Exactly that,” he whispered, releasing a small sigh.

I understood Wyatt, in a way. I hadn’t witnessed Kennedy’s death, but he had died, and I loved him more than I loved myself. But this pain that Wyatt had…it had been pent for too long. He had lost all hope, I believed.

I mentally noted to visit my parents soon. I was lucky as hell to have them. They made pain bearable, alongside Annette and Caitlyn. I’d be lost without them. I’d be lost like Wyatt.

I never thought it could be worse.

I showed my sympathy with my tears, because I couldn’t hold them in. I would not give him words of sympathy. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel weak. He had to be one of the strongest men I’d ever encountered.

“I tried not to cry,” I admitted. “I wanted to take this talk with strong will, but your heart…” I paused, placing my hand instinctively over his heart as I turned on the bed to face his side. He took a deep breath, staring straight ahead as I felt his heartbeat quicken. “It’s still beating now, and I think it’s beating for a reason,” I whispered.

I wanted his heart to be okay.

I rested my forehead on his shoulder, keeping my hand where it was. He stayed silent for a moment.

“Willow, I want to kiss you when you do stuff like this,” he said in warning, mumbling the words.

“I agreed not to kiss you, Wyatt. I never agreed to not
be kissed
by you,” I clarified to him, because I wanted him to kiss me. I felt like I needed him to.

He swallowed hard. Then he put his right hand over mine, the one I had rested over his heart.

“I don’t want you to miss me when I’m gone, Willow,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I don’t know how much time I have left.”

I wanted to say, “
We have now
,” but that would have been cheesy, and I couldn’t be cheesy in this moment.

I wanted Wyatt’s heart to be okay. I hadn’t wanted to fall in love with him. I hadn’t thought falling in love with Wyatt could be a possibility. I wanted to be close to him, and I wanted to kiss him - especially in this moment we had now.

I had wanted to be the one who fixed his pain, and I hated that.

“Everyone has a last time,” I said, my tone bittersweet.

Wyatt nodded, simply.

I had already had my last time; my last time had been with Kennedy. False hope was another thing I hadn’t wanted to give Wyatt.

But what if he spent his last time alone, and had no one to be his forever by
the end?
He hadn’t deserved to be alone until the end.

I couldn’t be everyone’s forever, though, and I knew that. My caring heart would go numb, and become withered, and hollow eventually. I needed that thing to continue beating for Annette - she was the primary reason why I’d question any of my potential decisions.

“Hugging you again would be nice,” he offered.

“Then come here,” I said.

My hands moved to my sides, and then Wyatt turned on the bed until our knees brushed against one another.

I hugged him around the waist tightly as his one arm slung over my shoulders. His casted arm rested on my thigh as we sat there Indian style, and we hugged.

My face was mashed up against Wyatt’s chest, but it was nice.

I listened to the beat of his heart, and I loved the sound.

I loved it so, so much.

4:16p.m.

I had answered
a call from Caitlyn, and she said she was taking Annette to Paula’s house to spend the night. Paula was Caitlyn’s mother, and Annette thought Paula was a cool lady. I thought Paula was a cool lady, too. Annette enjoyed doing arts and crafts at Paula’s house, and she’d always have fun over there. Maybe it was time for her to spend time with different people.

I had to get some time off soon, so I could take her to see my parents. We hadn’t visited in a while, now.

“Where are you at, woman?” Caitlyn rushed.

I opened my car door to throw my workbag in, and I told her, “Getting in my car to head home. What’s with the urgency in your tone of voice, woman?”

I exhaled, and then plopped down in the driver seat before shutting the door on my side. I took my cell phone I had propped between my cheek and my shoulder, and held it to my ear.

“I have a surprise,” Caitlyn whispered, her lips so obviously close to the receiver.

I rolled my eyes. “If there are male strippers in our apartment when I arrive, your ass is mine. I will kick it multiple times,” I said in warning.

I flipped the visor to check my reflection, and was mortified by what I saw. My eyes widened as I slowly brought my fingertips to the dark, tender skin under my eyes. I groaned, flipping the visor back up.

“No strippers, actually,” Caitlyn assured me, amused. “Not
this
time.”

“Then what is it?” I asked, impatient. I cranked the car up, and started towards the apartments.

“Fuck, Willow. I’m not supposed to tell you; you’re supposed to figure it out,” Caitlyn fired back.

“It’s a Tuesday. What could we do on a Tuesday?” I was more so asking myself, though I hadn’t really had the energy to plot. I was tired, kind of sad, and I also looked like shit.