Recovery, chapter one
summary: Ian dies of cancer. His mother and Anthony have to deal with discovering the truth behind his death.
warnings: sadness and foul language.
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: I do not own Smosh.
A/N1: Thank you for joining me for this sequel to Ordinary! All of your support means a lot to me. I was just wondering, is anyone here a fan of BBC Sherlock? I have a fanfiction.net account where I have a few stories for that show posted. Let me know if you're interested in your comment below and I'll give you a link to my profile.
A/N2: This is just a brief summary of what happened in Ordinary in case you can't remember it or didn't read it (I honestly don't think you have to read Ordinary to understand this story). Ian found out he had terminal cancer and made the decision not to tell his family, friends, or fans, for awhile, but then eventually ended up not telling anyone except for his doctors, therapist, and his mom a few days before he died. In this story, Anthony lives with Kalel, and Ian lived alone, and broke up with Mel back in February to spare her some pain. Anything else important will be explained as you read. Thanks for reading!
Many stories begin with such thoughts and phrases as 'It was an ordinary day,' or 'It was an average day,' or 'It seemed like nothing could possibly go wrong,' and then comes the adventure, the romance, the tragedy. But twenty four year old Ian Hecox wasn't having a normal day; to the average human being, Ian Hecox hadn't had a normal day in over six months. Ordinary wasn't what Ian had, it was what he wanted, his only true wish. One that would never come true.
But the stories of Ian's friends and family, the stories of sadness, loss, and defeat, those all started on an average day to them. Specifically, July eighth, 2012, the day Ian Hecox collapsed in his home, then was transported to his local hospital, where, preceded by painkillers from nurses and a catharsis from his own self, he died, and became another victim of the world. He had one last thought, a thought of his poor mother, and then came nothing. Or maybe heaven, or maybe hell. Rebirth, becoming a spirit, becoming a star. No one really did know what would happen to him, or all the other dead souls, did they.
No one knew the final thought of Ian Hecox. No one ever found out. If they were asked what he was thinking, they might've guessed it was of his mother, or they could've said he was in too much pain to think, or anything, really. Because who knew him? Who really, properly knew him? Knew his soul, his thoughts, his body, his secrets. Everyone had pieces, but no one could complete the puzzle. No one ever could, not ever, no matter who the puzzle was. But they all try, all throughout history and undoubtedly for the remainder of their existence, they try. To learn, to discover, to cope, to care, to build. And on this ordinary day, July eighth, 2012, it came time to start building. Building the memory of a fallen friend, a memory, like all memories, that would one day be lost (but that's not important).
Mrs. Cheryl Hecox was having her average day, starting with a quick run to the grocery store, followed by a cup of tea and a good book with plans to later tend to the back garden. That average day ended rather quickly, however, at just a few minutes to nine in the morning, when her phone rang. It was a nurse, who in haste explained that she was needed quickly at the hospital. Jane, knowing her son was affected by cancer, got in her car and rushed over, not knowing the seriousness of the situation. To her, her son was ill, but not gravely, and saw this visit as worrisome, but not an ending. How wrong she was.
"Hi, I'm here to see my son, Ian Hecox." Cheryl said to the young receptionist, who nodded and typed the name into the computer.
"Room 134, that's down the main hallway, then take a right." She said, and Cheryl rushed down the hall. As she passed by rooms, counting room numbers on white doors, she worried, but not exceedingly, not as much as she should've been. When she looked ahead, at the door she knew to be the one that said 134, she saw a nurse stepping out, shaking her head.
"Excuse me!" She called out, then stepped closer. "That's my son's room. Ian Hecox."
The nurse gave her a pained look. "I'm sorry, Ian's not , um, available for visitors right now."
"Why?" Cheryl asked, confused. "What's wrong?"
"You just- you can't see him right now." The nurse shifted in her white loafers. She was young, she never told anyone that a family member of theirs had died.
"Why can't I?" She said, panic making her voice a little louder. "Let me see him." She was demanding, taking a step forward. The nurse sighed.
"Mrs. Hecox, I am so sorry, but your - your son has past away."
Cheryl stared at her, shock and anger on her face. "No. No, I don't believe you. Let me see my son."
She made to step forward again, but the nurse put up a hand to stop her. She pushed the woman slightly to the side, and stormed to the door of Ian's room.
"Mrs. Hecox, wait!" The nurse called out, running over and grabbing her arm. Another nurse at the end of the hall, this one a tall man, saw the commotion and jogged over.
"Let me see my son! You let me see my son!" She screamed, her voice hoarse as the nurses grabbed her as gently as they could, pulling her away from the door. "He's not dead! No, no! He can't - he can't be dead."
Her screams were dissolving into strangled sobs as reality started to take hold of her. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, and the world became shifting whiteness as she began to shake. She stopped struggling, and embraced the taller nurse, who rubbed her back with a sad look on his face. The other nurse, eyes red with tears, nodded to him, and walked away.
From the distance, Doctor John Marrow stared at the woman, an awful feeling settled at the back of his throat. He realized it was Ian's mother right away, and now, watching her struggle, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He had silently supported Ian's decision not to tell his friends and family about his condition, because when he lost his little sister to leukemia, he would've wanted the same. Less suffering, just a surprise, a quick shot of pain. But watching the broken woman before him made him feel as though he should have further pressured his patient into preparing her for this moment.
Cheryl was being led to a bench then, by the male nurse, but Marrow quickly stepped forward, not wanting her to reach it. The bench sat across a window in Ian's room, and from that part of the hallway, passerby could see his still figure lying on the bed, pale and sickly.
"Mrs. Hecox?" He addressed her softly, as she kept crying for her son. "My name is Doctor John Marrow. I treated Ian."
Cheryl removed a tissue from her purse and wiped her face, then temporarily stilled her quivering lip. "My son?" She questioned in a hoarse whisper.
He nodded. "I think it's time you knew the truth about his illness." He said solemnly. "I feel it would be better to discuss this in my office."
"Yes." She agreed, slight shock slipping into her sad expression. "Yes, I want to know what's really going on here. Lead the way."
"Um, I would, Ma'am, but there's a - a window as we walk past." He glanced over his shoulder. "Through which you can...see your son."
She stared at him a moment, then looked over to where he had glanced, across from the bench not too far from the white door to his room. She slowly stepped around him, walking towards the window, and he only stared on, not daring to speak. When she stood in front of the window, she became completely motionless, looking upon her only son, lying sick and dead in a lonely hospital room.
Then she closed her eyes slowly, and sighed. It was the kind of sigh that rattled her bones, reduced her proper posture. It was a sigh that Doctor Marrow recognized too personally, as that was the sigh his own mother gave after she lost her only daughter, when she was just four years old. It was the sound of pure, agonizing pain. Of uncontrollable sorrow. Of silent defeat. He had heard Ian telling him he would not confess to the disease, he had heard the beep of the machine when the boy's heart stopped, and he had heard Cheryl scream and sob knowing her son was dead. But of everything he'd heard in this situation they were all forced into, nothing hurt him more than that sigh.
Cheryl opened her eyes after a moment and turned back to the doctor, attempting to mask her sadness with a determined look. "Tell me about my son."
He nodded, and took her to his office, leaving the frail body behind on the bed. When arriving, he sat in his own chair, behind his desk, and she sat rather uncomfortably in the metallic chair across from him, unaware of how much Ian fathomed it. She gave him a hard look, expecting answers, and he cleared his throat.
"On January eighteenth, Ian came in to see me, saying he wasn't feeling very well. He displayed the usual symptoms of a stomach virus, or really a large number of diseases. I gave him an MRI to ensure nothing was seriously wrong, but when I saw the tumors, I knew." He looked to her, struggling to keep the pain off his face. "Your son had stomach cancer, which is extremely rare and incredibly difficult to deal with. Surgeries and chemotherapy, at that stage, would have only increased his life expectancy by a year or two, at most, and he wasn't covered by his insurance for that, nor could he pay it himself. He knew he was going to die."
"You mean June." She said in a soft voice, after a quiet moment passed. "He told me July fifth, after our block party, so he must've found out in June."
He held back a sigh, not knowing how to tell her what he needed to say. "No, Ma'am, I meant January. Mr. Hecox - Ian - wanted to keep it to himself for awhile, as to not hurt anyone, and not feel different or pitied. I had no idea he would wait that long to tell people."
Her eyes watered and she closed them, ringing her hands. Marrow noticed the habit and was reminded of her son, and for a moment he hated himself for ever getting into that mess. The whole ordeal had caused him nothing but pain.
"He-" she shook her head, unable to process what was going on. "He lied to us."
"I'm sure he never meant to hurt you." Marrow said, wishing for this poor woman's pain to vanish.
"Were you - were you close to him?" She asked after a couple of deep breaths. "Did you talk to him a lot?"
"No, I kept our relationship professional." He answered honestly, but knew he felt far more affectionate towards Ian than he did towards his other patients. Ian was his first cancer patient, and he reminded him of his little sister, which hurt him in unspeakable ways. He kept his distance, stayed professional, because he couldn't look at the young man without thinking of his own loss. "But I inferred quite a bit from our meetings over the last six months. He was a good man."
His throat was dry. He never wanted to speak aloud again. She nodded, staring at her hands folded in her lap. "Now what?" Was the only thing she could muster.
"You don't have to get into the business of anything right now." He said, pitying her. "You can wait outside Ian's room, or in the waiting room, until you want to talk to a nurse, a lawyer, everyone you need to regarding your loss."
"I'll stay outside his room, watch over him." She said, knowing she could see the body from the bench in the hallway.
"Alright." He stood. "Mrs. Hecox...I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." She said in a tired voice, and she left his office to sit in front of Ian's room, guarding him like his angel, while he continued his work around the hospital, fighting back a migraine.
She spent a very long time on that bench. Sometimes she just stared at her son, but mostly, she cried. She wrestled with his secrets and his death, and very quickly forgave him, because she was his mother, and that's just what she had to do sometimes. She called her daughter after awhile, and told her what happened, and she was shocked and sad, but not as sad as someone properly close to her brother should've been. She sounded only like a distant friend, one who was giving condolences to a grieving mother.
It was a few minutes past two in the afternoon when Cheryl knew who she needed to call. There was a very large part of her that didn't want to, just to save the poor man from the huge amount of pain he would soon experience, but she knew that wasn't an option. Taking out her phone, she made the most difficult call of her entire life.
***
Anthony was sitting at home on the most average of all Sunday afternoons. Well, he would call it average if he was asked, but he knew it wasn't. There had been so much wrong over the past few months, that average was becoming something new, something unpleasant.
It started early May, when Ian fainted while they were working. Turning around, seeing people rushing towards his fallen friend, was without a doubt one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Then, finding out he had low blood pressure, and having to take care of him and his work, put a lot of stress on him. He had extra editing to do, more effort to put in than ever before. Ian was just not feeling his best, and he owed it to him to help. And, in his mind, his friend was barely ill.
He was sitting at his computer, editing, when he thought of Ian. He had called the previous day, told Anthony he had food poisoning. He, of course, knew Ian was sick for awhile, but never said anything, never needed to, convinced he was fine. Lately, though, he started looking worse, to a point where Anthony was becoming alarmed. He almost said something when Ian called, but thought it foolish and held his tongue.
His phone suddenly rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked down at it, confused, seeing it was Ian's mother.
"Hello?"
"Anthony, dear. It's - it's Cheryl." Her voice was gentle, nervous.
"Cheryl, is something wrong?" He asked, worried.
"Ian - Ian passed away this morning."
There was nothing. No computer in front of him, no phone in his hand. No air in the room. He was alone, completely and horrifically alone. His best friend for twelve years, his former roommate, his brother, was gone. Dead.
At some point, the phone slipped from his hand. He had stood only to fall onto the ground, his chair rolling a few feet away. He was sitting on the floor, face red, sobbing, but for a few minutes, he didn't even realize it. He could only think of Ian, only see his face when he closed his eyes. And when he did realize he was crying, he only broke down further.
"Anthony!" Kalel ran in, frightened and concerned upon seeing him on the ground, but he paid no attention to her, unable to process the world after just being informed the worst news he'd ever received. She sat down next to him, engulfing him in a hug and trying to ask him what happened, but he couldn't force the words out, so she held him until his sobbing wore down.
It was several long, painful minutes later before he saw the place around him once again, and several more after that before he could control his tears. He, a wreck, finally stopped sobbing, his face wet with tears, his body hot and sticky with sweat. Kalel tried talking to him again, but he couldn't listen, staring at his phone on the carpet next to him. Thoughtlessly, he picked it up. Ian's mom was still on the line, quietly sniffling, most likely crying after hearing his wailing.
"Cheryl?" He asked, voice hoarse.
"Yes, dear?" She asked back quietly.
"Where are you?" He needed to be with her. Or with him.
"Sacramento General Hospital."
"I'm coming over, now. I'll see you soon." He hung up without saying goodbye, then looked up to Kalel, who was shaking with anxiety. He stared at her, tears rising back into his eyes, knowing he had to break the news to her.
"Babe." He whispered, the tears falling again. She nodded, eyes wide. "Ian - he-"
She looked as though she understood and nodded again, thankfully preventing him from saying it. He bent his head, choking and crying for a minute more, then stopped and stood, she along with him. They were clumsy and weak, both faces wet.
"I'm going to the hospital." He said, trying to sound stronger than he was.
"I'll drive you." She volunteered, wiping her face. Her makeup was running.
"No." He shook his head. "I'm going alone."
"Anthony, I can't let you drive like this-"
"No Kalel." He said with finality. He couldn't go with her to do this. And he couldn't let her see him like this. He was a wreck, and he knew he would get worse.
In the car, he cried again, loud sobs that made him feel stupid and childish, but he couldn't stop himself. His mind raced, thoughts and emotions hitting him so fast and so hard that he couldn't draw any real ideas or conclusions. The only thing he did realize was that he didn't even know how his friend left.
He felt like the ride to the hospital barely happened, it went so fast. Last time he drove there, the day Ian fainted, it seemed to take years, many torturous years. When he got there, he was in a daze, and walked in the direction the receptionist told him to go until he saw Ian's mother ahead of him, sitting on a bench in the hallway. He walked closer, and she noticed him, fearfully looking directly across from the bench. He took another step and realized what was there.
"Oh God." He muttered, staring through the window. There lay his pale friend, a shell of his former self. He was white as the sheets he was tucked into, dark circles around his eyes and a thin face exemplifying how tired he was at the end of his life. "What happened?"
"He - he had cancer." Her voice broke on the word, but she didn't cry, having done that for hours already. He stared at her, mouth slightly open in shock.
"I - I can't believe it." He said, astounded. "Can people even have cancer without knowing it?"
A man he hadn't noticed before stepped forward, a doctor with a tan and a white coat. He looked exhausted.
"Yes, but not in this case. Ian had a rare terminal stomach cancer. He knew." He said, and Anthony became confused.
"No." He said slowly. "If he knew, he would've told me."
The doctor gave him a sad look, pity on his face. "He just wanted to protect you all. He knew for awhile, he never said anything."
"No." Anthony said again, looking over to his friend with a lump in his throat. "No."
"Anthony, he didn't tell me until Thursday." Cheryl whispered, tears filling her eyes. "And when he did, he didn't even tell me it was terminal. He didn't want us to be in pain."
"No. Cheryl, please stop." He begged her, desperation rising within him.
"He loved us, he was scared." She said, voice squeaky, and the tears started to slip down her cheeks.
"No, no he had low blood pressure." Anthony said, feeling his heart racing. He was scared then, truly frightened, and he wasn't quite sure why. "It's not that serious."
"That was a lie, Anthony." She said, barely able to speak anymore. "He lied to us."
And she broke down sobbing again, and Anthony never felt more pain in his entire life. Cheryl wasn't a woman who sobbed. Cheryl was Ian's mom, a nice suburban lady who had a simple little life, a happy one. Not this. Not this pain, not this horror.
But he couldn't believe Ian had cancer. He just couldn't. Ian would tell him. Ian would say something. If he knew he was going to die, he was going to say goodbye. Maybe.
The doctor cleared his throat, and Anthony pushed that small, wriggling doubt from his mind back into his subconscious, and looked to the man.
"Mr. Hecox - Ian - he wrote this for you." He said, and extended his hand to reveal a folded slip of paper. Anthony took it and stared at it, but made no move to unfold it. There was no way Ian knew. There was no way he made some letter as a goodbye.
"He was a good man." The doctor said, pity still clear on his face, and Anthony looked over to the window, at his friend's body, the sound of Ian's mother crying next to him.
"Yeah." He muttered, but could say nothing more. The doctor nodded his head respectfully and walked away, and for a moment, Anthony and Cheryl were alone. Alone, except for Ian.
He stared at the body, knowing what his mother and the doctor said was true, but not wanting to listen, not wanting to believe them. Half of him couldn't even believe this whole thing was real. His mother was still crying behind him, and he felt his chest constricting.
"I can't be here." He said softly, fear and sadness in his voice. He was scared, confused, upset. He needed to get out of there, he needed to be home. He tore his eyes away from the window, looking at Ian one last time, then turned and rushed out, not saying a word to his crying mother.
He drove home, mind blank, with dry eyes. He didn't think, didn't mourn, didn't cry, temporarily pushing all thoughts and emotions away so he wouldn't break down. When he got home, he walked past Kalel, ignoring her sad and questioning look, and went immediately to bed, kicking off his shoes and not bothering to undress. He curled up on his side, buried underneath his blankets, and stared at his wall.
Kalel walked in, standing at the door, and he could feel her presence, but didn't say a word. After a moment, she walked away, knowing it would be best to leave him alone, and he stayed silent only a minute after that before crying again. His greatest friend, dead. And maybe he even lied about it. He cried himself to sleep.
warnings: sadness and foul language.
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: I do not own Smosh.
A/N1: Thank you for joining me for this sequel to Ordinary! All of your support means a lot to me. I was just wondering, is anyone here a fan of BBC Sherlock? I have a fanfiction.net account where I have a few stories for that show posted. Let me know if you're interested in your comment below and I'll give you a link to my profile.
A/N2: This is just a brief summary of what happened in Ordinary in case you can't remember it or didn't read it (I honestly don't think you have to read Ordinary to understand this story). Ian found out he had terminal cancer and made the decision not to tell his family, friends, or fans, for awhile, but then eventually ended up not telling anyone except for his doctors, therapist, and his mom a few days before he died. In this story, Anthony lives with Kalel, and Ian lived alone, and broke up with Mel back in February to spare her some pain. Anything else important will be explained as you read. Thanks for reading!
Many stories begin with such thoughts and phrases as 'It was an ordinary day,' or 'It was an average day,' or 'It seemed like nothing could possibly go wrong,' and then comes the adventure, the romance, the tragedy. But twenty four year old Ian Hecox wasn't having a normal day; to the average human being, Ian Hecox hadn't had a normal day in over six months. Ordinary wasn't what Ian had, it was what he wanted, his only true wish. One that would never come true.
But the stories of Ian's friends and family, the stories of sadness, loss, and defeat, those all started on an average day to them. Specifically, July eighth, 2012, the day Ian Hecox collapsed in his home, then was transported to his local hospital, where, preceded by painkillers from nurses and a catharsis from his own self, he died, and became another victim of the world. He had one last thought, a thought of his poor mother, and then came nothing. Or maybe heaven, or maybe hell. Rebirth, becoming a spirit, becoming a star. No one really did know what would happen to him, or all the other dead souls, did they.
No one knew the final thought of Ian Hecox. No one ever found out. If they were asked what he was thinking, they might've guessed it was of his mother, or they could've said he was in too much pain to think, or anything, really. Because who knew him? Who really, properly knew him? Knew his soul, his thoughts, his body, his secrets. Everyone had pieces, but no one could complete the puzzle. No one ever could, not ever, no matter who the puzzle was. But they all try, all throughout history and undoubtedly for the remainder of their existence, they try. To learn, to discover, to cope, to care, to build. And on this ordinary day, July eighth, 2012, it came time to start building. Building the memory of a fallen friend, a memory, like all memories, that would one day be lost (but that's not important).
Mrs. Cheryl Hecox was having her average day, starting with a quick run to the grocery store, followed by a cup of tea and a good book with plans to later tend to the back garden. That average day ended rather quickly, however, at just a few minutes to nine in the morning, when her phone rang. It was a nurse, who in haste explained that she was needed quickly at the hospital. Jane, knowing her son was affected by cancer, got in her car and rushed over, not knowing the seriousness of the situation. To her, her son was ill, but not gravely, and saw this visit as worrisome, but not an ending. How wrong she was.
"Hi, I'm here to see my son, Ian Hecox." Cheryl said to the young receptionist, who nodded and typed the name into the computer.
"Room 134, that's down the main hallway, then take a right." She said, and Cheryl rushed down the hall. As she passed by rooms, counting room numbers on white doors, she worried, but not exceedingly, not as much as she should've been. When she looked ahead, at the door she knew to be the one that said 134, she saw a nurse stepping out, shaking her head.
"Excuse me!" She called out, then stepped closer. "That's my son's room. Ian Hecox."
The nurse gave her a pained look. "I'm sorry, Ian's not , um, available for visitors right now."
"Why?" Cheryl asked, confused. "What's wrong?"
"You just- you can't see him right now." The nurse shifted in her white loafers. She was young, she never told anyone that a family member of theirs had died.
"Why can't I?" She said, panic making her voice a little louder. "Let me see him." She was demanding, taking a step forward. The nurse sighed.
"Mrs. Hecox, I am so sorry, but your - your son has past away."
Cheryl stared at her, shock and anger on her face. "No. No, I don't believe you. Let me see my son."
She made to step forward again, but the nurse put up a hand to stop her. She pushed the woman slightly to the side, and stormed to the door of Ian's room.
"Mrs. Hecox, wait!" The nurse called out, running over and grabbing her arm. Another nurse at the end of the hall, this one a tall man, saw the commotion and jogged over.
"Let me see my son! You let me see my son!" She screamed, her voice hoarse as the nurses grabbed her as gently as they could, pulling her away from the door. "He's not dead! No, no! He can't - he can't be dead."
Her screams were dissolving into strangled sobs as reality started to take hold of her. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, and the world became shifting whiteness as she began to shake. She stopped struggling, and embraced the taller nurse, who rubbed her back with a sad look on his face. The other nurse, eyes red with tears, nodded to him, and walked away.
From the distance, Doctor John Marrow stared at the woman, an awful feeling settled at the back of his throat. He realized it was Ian's mother right away, and now, watching her struggle, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He had silently supported Ian's decision not to tell his friends and family about his condition, because when he lost his little sister to leukemia, he would've wanted the same. Less suffering, just a surprise, a quick shot of pain. But watching the broken woman before him made him feel as though he should have further pressured his patient into preparing her for this moment.
Cheryl was being led to a bench then, by the male nurse, but Marrow quickly stepped forward, not wanting her to reach it. The bench sat across a window in Ian's room, and from that part of the hallway, passerby could see his still figure lying on the bed, pale and sickly.
"Mrs. Hecox?" He addressed her softly, as she kept crying for her son. "My name is Doctor John Marrow. I treated Ian."
Cheryl removed a tissue from her purse and wiped her face, then temporarily stilled her quivering lip. "My son?" She questioned in a hoarse whisper.
He nodded. "I think it's time you knew the truth about his illness." He said solemnly. "I feel it would be better to discuss this in my office."
"Yes." She agreed, slight shock slipping into her sad expression. "Yes, I want to know what's really going on here. Lead the way."
"Um, I would, Ma'am, but there's a - a window as we walk past." He glanced over his shoulder. "Through which you can...see your son."
She stared at him a moment, then looked over to where he had glanced, across from the bench not too far from the white door to his room. She slowly stepped around him, walking towards the window, and he only stared on, not daring to speak. When she stood in front of the window, she became completely motionless, looking upon her only son, lying sick and dead in a lonely hospital room.
Then she closed her eyes slowly, and sighed. It was the kind of sigh that rattled her bones, reduced her proper posture. It was a sigh that Doctor Marrow recognized too personally, as that was the sigh his own mother gave after she lost her only daughter, when she was just four years old. It was the sound of pure, agonizing pain. Of uncontrollable sorrow. Of silent defeat. He had heard Ian telling him he would not confess to the disease, he had heard the beep of the machine when the boy's heart stopped, and he had heard Cheryl scream and sob knowing her son was dead. But of everything he'd heard in this situation they were all forced into, nothing hurt him more than that sigh.
Cheryl opened her eyes after a moment and turned back to the doctor, attempting to mask her sadness with a determined look. "Tell me about my son."
He nodded, and took her to his office, leaving the frail body behind on the bed. When arriving, he sat in his own chair, behind his desk, and she sat rather uncomfortably in the metallic chair across from him, unaware of how much Ian fathomed it. She gave him a hard look, expecting answers, and he cleared his throat.
"On January eighteenth, Ian came in to see me, saying he wasn't feeling very well. He displayed the usual symptoms of a stomach virus, or really a large number of diseases. I gave him an MRI to ensure nothing was seriously wrong, but when I saw the tumors, I knew." He looked to her, struggling to keep the pain off his face. "Your son had stomach cancer, which is extremely rare and incredibly difficult to deal with. Surgeries and chemotherapy, at that stage, would have only increased his life expectancy by a year or two, at most, and he wasn't covered by his insurance for that, nor could he pay it himself. He knew he was going to die."
"You mean June." She said in a soft voice, after a quiet moment passed. "He told me July fifth, after our block party, so he must've found out in June."
He held back a sigh, not knowing how to tell her what he needed to say. "No, Ma'am, I meant January. Mr. Hecox - Ian - wanted to keep it to himself for awhile, as to not hurt anyone, and not feel different or pitied. I had no idea he would wait that long to tell people."
Her eyes watered and she closed them, ringing her hands. Marrow noticed the habit and was reminded of her son, and for a moment he hated himself for ever getting into that mess. The whole ordeal had caused him nothing but pain.
"He-" she shook her head, unable to process what was going on. "He lied to us."
"I'm sure he never meant to hurt you." Marrow said, wishing for this poor woman's pain to vanish.
"Were you - were you close to him?" She asked after a couple of deep breaths. "Did you talk to him a lot?"
"No, I kept our relationship professional." He answered honestly, but knew he felt far more affectionate towards Ian than he did towards his other patients. Ian was his first cancer patient, and he reminded him of his little sister, which hurt him in unspeakable ways. He kept his distance, stayed professional, because he couldn't look at the young man without thinking of his own loss. "But I inferred quite a bit from our meetings over the last six months. He was a good man."
His throat was dry. He never wanted to speak aloud again. She nodded, staring at her hands folded in her lap. "Now what?" Was the only thing she could muster.
"You don't have to get into the business of anything right now." He said, pitying her. "You can wait outside Ian's room, or in the waiting room, until you want to talk to a nurse, a lawyer, everyone you need to regarding your loss."
"I'll stay outside his room, watch over him." She said, knowing she could see the body from the bench in the hallway.
"Alright." He stood. "Mrs. Hecox...I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." She said in a tired voice, and she left his office to sit in front of Ian's room, guarding him like his angel, while he continued his work around the hospital, fighting back a migraine.
She spent a very long time on that bench. Sometimes she just stared at her son, but mostly, she cried. She wrestled with his secrets and his death, and very quickly forgave him, because she was his mother, and that's just what she had to do sometimes. She called her daughter after awhile, and told her what happened, and she was shocked and sad, but not as sad as someone properly close to her brother should've been. She sounded only like a distant friend, one who was giving condolences to a grieving mother.
It was a few minutes past two in the afternoon when Cheryl knew who she needed to call. There was a very large part of her that didn't want to, just to save the poor man from the huge amount of pain he would soon experience, but she knew that wasn't an option. Taking out her phone, she made the most difficult call of her entire life.
***
Anthony was sitting at home on the most average of all Sunday afternoons. Well, he would call it average if he was asked, but he knew it wasn't. There had been so much wrong over the past few months, that average was becoming something new, something unpleasant.
It started early May, when Ian fainted while they were working. Turning around, seeing people rushing towards his fallen friend, was without a doubt one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Then, finding out he had low blood pressure, and having to take care of him and his work, put a lot of stress on him. He had extra editing to do, more effort to put in than ever before. Ian was just not feeling his best, and he owed it to him to help. And, in his mind, his friend was barely ill.
He was sitting at his computer, editing, when he thought of Ian. He had called the previous day, told Anthony he had food poisoning. He, of course, knew Ian was sick for awhile, but never said anything, never needed to, convinced he was fine. Lately, though, he started looking worse, to a point where Anthony was becoming alarmed. He almost said something when Ian called, but thought it foolish and held his tongue.
His phone suddenly rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked down at it, confused, seeing it was Ian's mother.
"Hello?"
"Anthony, dear. It's - it's Cheryl." Her voice was gentle, nervous.
"Cheryl, is something wrong?" He asked, worried.
"Ian - Ian passed away this morning."
There was nothing. No computer in front of him, no phone in his hand. No air in the room. He was alone, completely and horrifically alone. His best friend for twelve years, his former roommate, his brother, was gone. Dead.
At some point, the phone slipped from his hand. He had stood only to fall onto the ground, his chair rolling a few feet away. He was sitting on the floor, face red, sobbing, but for a few minutes, he didn't even realize it. He could only think of Ian, only see his face when he closed his eyes. And when he did realize he was crying, he only broke down further.
"Anthony!" Kalel ran in, frightened and concerned upon seeing him on the ground, but he paid no attention to her, unable to process the world after just being informed the worst news he'd ever received. She sat down next to him, engulfing him in a hug and trying to ask him what happened, but he couldn't force the words out, so she held him until his sobbing wore down.
It was several long, painful minutes later before he saw the place around him once again, and several more after that before he could control his tears. He, a wreck, finally stopped sobbing, his face wet with tears, his body hot and sticky with sweat. Kalel tried talking to him again, but he couldn't listen, staring at his phone on the carpet next to him. Thoughtlessly, he picked it up. Ian's mom was still on the line, quietly sniffling, most likely crying after hearing his wailing.
"Cheryl?" He asked, voice hoarse.
"Yes, dear?" She asked back quietly.
"Where are you?" He needed to be with her. Or with him.
"Sacramento General Hospital."
"I'm coming over, now. I'll see you soon." He hung up without saying goodbye, then looked up to Kalel, who was shaking with anxiety. He stared at her, tears rising back into his eyes, knowing he had to break the news to her.
"Babe." He whispered, the tears falling again. She nodded, eyes wide. "Ian - he-"
She looked as though she understood and nodded again, thankfully preventing him from saying it. He bent his head, choking and crying for a minute more, then stopped and stood, she along with him. They were clumsy and weak, both faces wet.
"I'm going to the hospital." He said, trying to sound stronger than he was.
"I'll drive you." She volunteered, wiping her face. Her makeup was running.
"No." He shook his head. "I'm going alone."
"Anthony, I can't let you drive like this-"
"No Kalel." He said with finality. He couldn't go with her to do this. And he couldn't let her see him like this. He was a wreck, and he knew he would get worse.
In the car, he cried again, loud sobs that made him feel stupid and childish, but he couldn't stop himself. His mind raced, thoughts and emotions hitting him so fast and so hard that he couldn't draw any real ideas or conclusions. The only thing he did realize was that he didn't even know how his friend left.
He felt like the ride to the hospital barely happened, it went so fast. Last time he drove there, the day Ian fainted, it seemed to take years, many torturous years. When he got there, he was in a daze, and walked in the direction the receptionist told him to go until he saw Ian's mother ahead of him, sitting on a bench in the hallway. He walked closer, and she noticed him, fearfully looking directly across from the bench. He took another step and realized what was there.
"Oh God." He muttered, staring through the window. There lay his pale friend, a shell of his former self. He was white as the sheets he was tucked into, dark circles around his eyes and a thin face exemplifying how tired he was at the end of his life. "What happened?"
"He - he had cancer." Her voice broke on the word, but she didn't cry, having done that for hours already. He stared at her, mouth slightly open in shock.
"I - I can't believe it." He said, astounded. "Can people even have cancer without knowing it?"
A man he hadn't noticed before stepped forward, a doctor with a tan and a white coat. He looked exhausted.
"Yes, but not in this case. Ian had a rare terminal stomach cancer. He knew." He said, and Anthony became confused.
"No." He said slowly. "If he knew, he would've told me."
The doctor gave him a sad look, pity on his face. "He just wanted to protect you all. He knew for awhile, he never said anything."
"No." Anthony said again, looking over to his friend with a lump in his throat. "No."
"Anthony, he didn't tell me until Thursday." Cheryl whispered, tears filling her eyes. "And when he did, he didn't even tell me it was terminal. He didn't want us to be in pain."
"No. Cheryl, please stop." He begged her, desperation rising within him.
"He loved us, he was scared." She said, voice squeaky, and the tears started to slip down her cheeks.
"No, no he had low blood pressure." Anthony said, feeling his heart racing. He was scared then, truly frightened, and he wasn't quite sure why. "It's not that serious."
"That was a lie, Anthony." She said, barely able to speak anymore. "He lied to us."
And she broke down sobbing again, and Anthony never felt more pain in his entire life. Cheryl wasn't a woman who sobbed. Cheryl was Ian's mom, a nice suburban lady who had a simple little life, a happy one. Not this. Not this pain, not this horror.
But he couldn't believe Ian had cancer. He just couldn't. Ian would tell him. Ian would say something. If he knew he was going to die, he was going to say goodbye. Maybe.
The doctor cleared his throat, and Anthony pushed that small, wriggling doubt from his mind back into his subconscious, and looked to the man.
"Mr. Hecox - Ian - he wrote this for you." He said, and extended his hand to reveal a folded slip of paper. Anthony took it and stared at it, but made no move to unfold it. There was no way Ian knew. There was no way he made some letter as a goodbye.
"He was a good man." The doctor said, pity still clear on his face, and Anthony looked over to the window, at his friend's body, the sound of Ian's mother crying next to him.
"Yeah." He muttered, but could say nothing more. The doctor nodded his head respectfully and walked away, and for a moment, Anthony and Cheryl were alone. Alone, except for Ian.
He stared at the body, knowing what his mother and the doctor said was true, but not wanting to listen, not wanting to believe them. Half of him couldn't even believe this whole thing was real. His mother was still crying behind him, and he felt his chest constricting.
"I can't be here." He said softly, fear and sadness in his voice. He was scared, confused, upset. He needed to get out of there, he needed to be home. He tore his eyes away from the window, looking at Ian one last time, then turned and rushed out, not saying a word to his crying mother.
He drove home, mind blank, with dry eyes. He didn't think, didn't mourn, didn't cry, temporarily pushing all thoughts and emotions away so he wouldn't break down. When he got home, he walked past Kalel, ignoring her sad and questioning look, and went immediately to bed, kicking off his shoes and not bothering to undress. He curled up on his side, buried underneath his blankets, and stared at his wall.
Kalel walked in, standing at the door, and he could feel her presence, but didn't say a word. After a moment, she walked away, knowing it would be best to leave him alone, and he stayed silent only a minute after that before crying again. His greatest friend, dead. And maybe he even lied about it. He cried himself to sleep.