“Phoebe, wait!” I cried, running after her, out of the doctor’s office.

But she had already gathered up her things and was moving fast through the crowd, not caring that she was getting jostled.
I ran in and out of the stream of patients to try to catch her but she was faster.
When I got to the top of the steps, she had hailed cab.

“Phoebe!" I called, at the top of my voice.

A tear-stained face looked back at me but she didn’t stop. The cab got away before I could even cross half the steps. Dejectedly I trudged back to the office of Doctor Werner to collect my prescriptions and other stuff.

He gave me a pointed gaze and said, “Whatever you do in your personal life is none of my business but you’d better go confront her directly instead of all these. Shattering love has cruel aftermaths on health.”

“You’re the one who’s responsible for this,” I glared at him.

“I did what was right. Phoebe deserved to know. Your hiding of the facts made things uglier and now it’s up to you to go cajole her and obtain permission from her and your mother. You know our deal,” he told it all in a serious tone.

“I’ll handle my life,” I retorted, striding towards the door.

“Don’t think about yourself only and whatever you do, do take the chemo pills,” he gave a last warning before I slammed the door.

Getting out of that damned place, I took a cab, directing it to Phoebe’s house and sat in it, still fuming.

Soon the anger turned to fear as I debated in my mind as to how I would approach Phoebe’s wrath. I could show my anger and silence the whole world with my sharp looks, but when Phoebe stands before me, her personality and power exceeds mine by a mile and I find myself unable to face her.

Phoebe’s temper was something worth seeing though because I was the one at fault.
I was hiding things from her. I should have realized that Phoebe was stronger than I considered her to be. After all, someone who had to deal with their own death and a life of pain would obviously be strong enough to handle the death of others.
On reaching her house, I knocked on the door, shifting my weight from feet to feet. I was nervous.

Mrs Wellesley opened the door and gave me a weary look. I could see the lines of ageing on her face which seemed to have become more prominent. Was Phoebe troubling her that much? Somehow I had a gut feeling that I was the culprit behind everything. I had to straighten things before they spun out of control.

“Aunty…Phoebe?”

“Up in her room," she held the door open and sighed, “What exactly did you tell my girl again, Daniel? Everything was fine yesterday. She’s crying her eyes out and with her multiple surgeries and biopsies, it isn’t good for her to get upset so very often.”

“I’ll try to improve things, I promise. Please let me meet her, aunty.”

My promise didn’t sound as determined it should have anyway.

Nevertheless, I trudged to her room and knocked on the door, hoping to strike a conversation.

“Get out!” she shouted. “I know it’s you bastard of a man, you coward, liar and fool. I saw your cab.”

“Phoebe, please let me in, we can talk,” I tried to put on m most soothing voice.

“You think you can play games with me? Phoebe isn’t such a girl. Phoebe isn’t whimsical and shallow in her relations. If you are of that kind, I have nothing to do with you,” her anger rose by a degree.

“Look, I need to talk to you and I’ll break down the door if necessary, so open up before I do so.”

The door opened and she came out, her face flushed from crying and her hands were red, her torn bandages seeping with blood.

And then I realized what she had done. She had deliberately tore away the bandages on her hands to the last layer and that had probably injured a layer of skin beneath it. I was lucky that I had come before she could do too much damage.

“What the heck are you doing? You’re hurting yourself? Have you gone crazy?”

"I’m not doing anything wrong I guess, because somebody I know is killing himself for nothing. I’m simply torturing myself," she commented, going back into the room.
I followed and slammed shut the door.

The room brought forth a sea of memories. The first kisses, the guitar, the bath, the intimacy…those all seemed to be a part of some different life which we both had left behind. It was another time, another dimension. We had changed, situations had changed and so had destinies.

I gulped as the rush of memories seemed to smother me.

“We can go back to that life and have those fantasies again. You see. I’m taking treatment too and that hopefully increases my chances of survival. More kisses, more of that intimacy, more love and a perfect life. Won’t you want that, Daniel?” her voice rang out, clear and yet soothing.
It was as if she could read my thoughts.

“That perfect life is a myth. You were right. And besides, I’m happy that you have chances for improvement. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that my condition would improve too. I won’t live beyond one more year and you have a life to lead. I won’t spoil that.”

"Whoa! Look who’s speaking," she gritted her teeth. “It’s a miracle how people change. Not long before, it was me who was supposed to die earlier and yet I let someone get close and love me, knowing that I would break his heart one day. But now when the situations have reversed, he isn’t ready to let me get near or isn’t ready to continue his life.”

“Well, then you also should remember how I coped with the knowledge that you’re dying. You refused treatment, I played along, knowing that it was nothing less than a wish to die early…”

She flinched.

"But now when I’m dying, just seeking the permission to die in a more peaceful and humane way, then you refuse to stand by me. What kind of a friend you are?” I completed my sentence.

“Yes, Daniel,” she came closer till our bodies touched and the same tingle ran through my nerves. even if she felt it, she didn’t react and continued, “Yes, I’m not as strong as you. I’m a coward. I’m afraid to lose you and that’s the truth.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes again and I reached out to wipe them off. I was vaguely aware of the distance between us but when it was all about life and death, what did all those matter?

“You’re a con and a hypocrite,” she hissed. “You come in my life, take my heart, turn me into a lover and then make me believe in life. You restore my faith in God, turn me to an optimist and when you’ve changed me, then you throw me away, and try to escape from everything by committing suicide?”

“I’ve every right to lead my life in my own way, so I decided to end it, to die with dignity, and I’m recently not being very gracious to any suggestions of the contrary," I narrowed my eyes.

“Okay, fine then listen, mister. Just as you have the right to refuse treatment, I have the right to refuse mine too.”

“You will not. Not because of me.” I threatened, afraid that her stubbornness would get the better of her.

“Oh, I will of course. I have the right to lead my own life…now where have I heard that?” she retorted.

I stayed silent, knowing that my refusals would get her more determined.

“Besides,” she gave a dry smile, turning to her drawers. "I’ve kept my secrets too, so you aren’t the only one.”

" W…What are those?” my throat was dry.

“One of my wounds is in a stage two cancer and surgery won’t do any good. I need chemotherapy.”

If I thought my disease was life-shattering, I was wrong. Because at that moment, hearing of her needing chemo, all that resolve and all those walls I had carefully built to contain my mind was crumbling before my eyes.

A/N I don't know who is right or wrong anymore. Can you?