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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Selena Kitt

My Ending © 2009 Sommer Marsden

eXcessica publishing

All rights reserved

My Ending

By Sommer Marsden

“It wears you down,” he said evenly.

I raised an eyebrow but remained silent. It was our first meeting. And if I wanted this job, it was best to let him speak. Not put my own spin on things or start spouting treatment plans. I nodded my head and waited for him to continue.

He laughed. An open laugh that lit his haggard face and showed me a ghostly glimpse of the man he’d once been. “Like a rotten tooth thumping away in your head. Or the phantom pain of a severed limb. I’ve talked to people. Lots of people. Compared pain stories, if you will. It’s a funny thing. It can be almost comforting.”

I felt a stab of unease at that statement but kept my face as blank as possible. “How so?”

“You get used to it,” he muttered, levering himself up on the hospital standard bed. His arms shook, but he made it. “Sorry. I hate using that damn button. It makes me feel so helpless. Rather use the little muscle tone I have left.” Another laugh.

Again, I nodded, running my finger along the seam of my skirt. I would keep myself as neutral as possible. The job was a dream. Something I could do half asleep with both hands tied behind my back. The pay was phenomenal and it was purely maintenance. Keep his meds straight, monitor his vitals, proper diet. Daniel Sutton had refused any more treatment and all alternate options for his cancer. He was a man waiting to die.

I focused my attention back to the conversation. “So you find comfort in your pain now, Mr. Sutton?”

“Daniel, please. No. Not comfort so much as I’ve grown used to it. It becomes a constant. Reliable. I think if I woke up tomorrow one hundred percent myself, I’d feel a certain sense of ... unease.”

“What helps you?” I asked trying to steer the conversation to a place I felt more comfortable. Less unstable. Pain as comfort? In all my years of nursing, I had never heard someone phrase it quite that way. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Euphoria.” He smiled again, just the tiniest bit of color staining his gaunt cheeks. I tried to ignore how impossibly blue his eyes were. Alight with a special kind of light all their own. The same color as a raw piece of turquoise. I also tried to ignore how enormous they looked set in his too-thin face.

“How do you attain euphoria?” I asked, guardedly. Uh-oh. Is this the part where he tells me he shoots up heroine and I’m expected to make his scores? Inject it for him? Or is this the part where he tells me he cuts himself and I can watch?

“Two things at this point. Red wine.” Another laugh. “And sex.”

Uh-oh, again.

Reading my look, Daniel Sutton rose up even faster and waved his emaciated hands. They looked like two pale starfish swaying in front of my face. “Oh, no, Michelle! Shit. I knew I would phrase that wrong. You’re not expected to ... I mean, I don’t think you would. I don’t want to hire you for that,” he said on a breath and collapsed onto his bed. The momentary excitement too much for his frail body.

I almost laughed. God help me, it was funny, but I feared he’d be insulted. Instead, I calmly stood and rearranged him on the bed. I fitted two large pillows beneath his head and used the foot pedal to raise the hospital bed. When we were facing each other, I smoothed a lock of hair off his forehead. He’d need a cut. And a shave, I saw. His hair was the color of espresso. Most likely it had once been shiny like sable. Now it was dull and lank. Maybe a good shampoo while we’re at it, I thought. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said. He said it slowly as if stunned by my touch. Had his other nurse been a closet hypochondriac? They did work in the business but were rare. A patient who seemed thrown off by a simple touch most likely had a nurse who shunned contact other than what was absolutely necessary. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“It’s fine. Do you need anything before I go? I’m sure you have other interviews...”

“No. None. It’s yours if you want it. You’re it.”

“I am?”

“I liked your name,” he said simply.

“My name?” Careful, Michelle, you’re starting to sound like an idiot. “Michelle Angelos? Can I ask why?”

“It reminds me of angels,” he whispered, his lids drifting closed. Ridiculously long lashes rested on the bruised looking skin beneath his eyes. “I think about them a lot lately.”

* * * *

While Daniel slept, I wandered the house. I wanted a glimpse of the man before the disease. It happens so often. People are swallowed by their illness. Lost in their pain and suffering. Only shadows of the former self remains. I prowled quietly so I wouldn’t wake him. Peeking in on his past and all the things that remained of who he was before cancer came to call.

In the living room was a wall of photographs in frames. Most of them were outdoor adventures. Fly-fishing in one photo. In another, Daniel was rock climbing with another smiling, brawny man. A group photo on a boat—the location resembled the Florida Keys. Camping at the Grand Canyon. Even I recognized the Grand Canyon, as geographically challenged as I am. In each, Daniel Sutton, was a sun god. A hale and hearty man. A grinning man who had most likely caused many a young woman to swoon and quite possibly offer herself up in ways she had never imagined she would. Breathtaking. Strong. Handsome. Virile. The images were hard to reconcile with the animated corpse in the upstairs master bedroom. I blinked back a tear, surprised at myself. Surprised at the emotion that suddenly clogged my throat and messed with my vision. Even for those of us who like to believe we have seen it all—there are some that get us right in the soft spot. Right where we live. The place that makes you think, Dear God, don’t let it ever happen to me. Amen.

I evaluated his meds in the kitchen. Looked over doctor’s instructions and notes that were on the kitchen table. Checked his fridge for food. I ran my fingers over the door jambs and archways. Clean as a whistle. He had to have a cleaning service. Either that or I would be expected to clean. Normally a huge no-no on my list, I found that if he asked me to I would, without argument. Daniel would require very little actual care. He simply needed to not be alone. On all levels, I realized, but pushed the thought away. He wasn’t going through treatment. He was waiting to die. A little light cleaning would keep me occupied and hopefully keep my brain from dissecting his situation. And him, if I was completely honest.

I shook my head and checked the clock. He’d been asleep for a little over an hour. I’d check him and then try to make sense of the jumble of meds and supplies and paperwork my predecessor had left behind. Looking back, I think I just wanted to look at him, but was too troubled by that truth to examine it. I’d just peek in on him. No big deal. It was the kind of thing a nurse should do. Spot check her charge and ensure his comfort and safety. I could sneak in and just check. I’d had years of practice being quiet.

He was awake when I went in, though. No need for quiet. He sat smiling and hollow-eyed. I realized I felt comfortable already. Unusual for me. I usually needed time to adjust to my client, his attitude, his sadness level, whatever was eating him from the inside out. I wasn’t used to a simple kind of ease with my patient. Or the happiness I felt for no damn reason in my chest when I looked at him.

“I have an appointment shortly,” he said, his voice stronger than before the nap. “Her name is Daphne. She should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

I experienced a brief stab of jealousy and shook it off. Now where had that come from? My mind conjured up a photo of Daniel from the wall of photos. A strong and solid man laughing in the sun. Smiling at whoever was behind the camera like life would never weigh him down. Like illness was an impossibility. Daphne. Another momentary blip of something unidentifiable deep within me. I forced a smile. “I’ll go down now. I can wait in the living room. You’re due for your meds anyway. If the chart in the kitchen is any indication, that is.”