4: The bad news

Isabella

I tried to be very positive as I stared at my mirror. I wasn’t going to overthink myself to negativity. I have to be positive. I was about to hold my doorknob to leave the house when a knock came in.

I signed and opened the door revealing my hot neighbor. Yes, I wouldn’t stop referring to him like that. Hell, I’m sure everyone here thinks he’s hot.

“Hi Micah,” I smiled, and he nervously scratched the back of his neck as if forgetting the reason why he was there.

His brown hair looked so soft as silk, his eyes were enticing, and the man had an overall sexy body that I found myself drooling completely forgetting that I was nervous to go see my results from the hospital today.

“Hello Isabel,” He called that like always, even with the times I had tried to correct him.

“Want to come in?” I moved the door a little wider.

“Yes,”

“I mean no,” He rushed getting me confused.

“Okay,” I simply said almost shutting the door.

“I wanted to know if you were fine,” He rushed to say, and I smiled nodding my head before responding in words.

“Okay, that’s it,” He waved and left my entrance.

“That was weird and nice,” I thought and closed to door, recalling the not so awkward moment before stepping out of my apartment.

*

I arrived at the hospital, and a sigh escaped my lips when I was called by the nurse that it was my turn to see the doctor.

“Have a seat, Isabella,” He said kindly as I walked into his office. He took his eyes off the monitor and turned to stare at me with a worried expression.

“Just say it, please,” I said impatiently as if it wasn’t going to break my heart if the news was bad.

“I’m really sorry,” He handed over the envelope to me. I received it with a shaky hand, and I could hear a loud pitch sound in my ears like a bell ringing as the doctor’s mouth continued to move.

“Glioblastoma,” My mouth shook, as I said them. It was written on the papers. My eyes navigated confused.

“Five months to live,” I read my vision became blurry. I read those words, my throat dried up like it lumped it. I tried to breathe, but it was hard. I knew the doctor kept speaking, but I couldn’t comprehend what was happening around me.

My heart suddenly felt heavy, my throat was dried up, and my lungs didn’t feel like they could function probably anymore. I couldn’t breathe.

“Was this the end for me?”

“Was this it?”

“Was my life coming to an end?” I thought, holding my chest trying to breathe

“Miss Colin” I heard a faint voice from far away.

“Is this how my story ends?” I thought, slowly losing consciousness…

…….

“How do you feel now,” The familiar doctor asked.

“Where am I?” I asked, slowly getting off the bed I lay on.

“The hospital, you lost consciousness,” the doctor explains calmly. Slowly the memories started to flood back in, it was like a movie playing in my head.

“Do I really have glioblastoma,” I asked hoping he could say it was all a prank, or a joke, or anything but not glioblastoma.

But deep down I knew it wasn’t, and when he struggled to say anything, another round of tears rolled down my cheeks.

“You need to avoid any stress and have as much rest as you can,” He stated

“Also it would be best you commence treatment as soon as possible,” He continued.

“Can I be left alone please, “I said more tears rolling down my eyes. I felt hurt, my chest hurt. I wanted to scream. I wanted to wail helplessly.

I cried to my heart satisfaction, but none of it could bring back my health. I want to live, I do. I didn’t know what time it was when my phone beeped and it was a message from Mr. devil asking for an update on a time like he was blind to not notice my absence.

“It’s all his fault, I’m dying because of him. I’m going to die because of him,” I whispered like a psycho finding someone to blame. I grabbed my bag in anger and immediately stomped out of the hospital ignoring the nurse’s call as I hailed a cab and asked him to drop me at Dominic Group’s company.

I walked into the office, and I could hear everyone muttering and talking in whispers. I knew it wasn’t about me but it bothered me to know, so I paid attention listening to them.

“He’s getting married to her,” I heard a female say.

“I heard it’s happening this week,” Another said and a man beside her gasped in shock.

“Isabella,” a lady called noticing my presence, and I turned to her

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around?” She said looking at me.

“Errands,” my response was void.

“Who’s getting married?” I asked looking at the ladies who were gossiping earlier on.

“Mr. Tristan. He is getting married to Miss Allen,” She whispered, I didn’t want to hear anything more of it, cause his name alone made me boil.

I walked straight to the elevator and headed to my desk. I looked over to the glass staring at his office to see her there. The soon to be bride. She sat on his lap giggling while he laughed a little at her saying words I couldn’t hear, as they took a photo.

I looked at them in pain but looked at him in anger. He doesn’t deserve to be happy, he doesn’t deserve to live while I die. I worked my ass for this office, beyond my schedule and outside office hours. And the devil gets to live? Does he get to fall in love? Does he get to be happy?

“No way,” I answered subconsciously

“Not when I’m going to die,” I looked at him in anger, my eyes welled up again.

“You don’t get to be happy Mr. Tristan. You don’t get to live while I die. Because if I’m going down, you are sure as hell going down with me,” I stare at him walking out of my desk and heading to the elevator, as I find a new motivation to live which was driven by anger and Pain.