I sat in the bedroom, alone for the first time in ages.

Everyone is angry with me. I still remember the fight we had.

"What do you mean you're not taking chemo?!"

"Mom, it's literally pointless!"

"You're so selfish!"

"No, I would be selfish if I wasted all this time and money on something that won't work!"

"Marie, please don't shout-"

"I'll pay for it, dammit! You need it!"

"Use your brain, I'm a walking corpse!"

I remember her face. She was so angry, but when I said that, she crumbled and wailed. She dropped to her knees and clung to my jeans. I tried to apologize, really I did, but she wouldn't listen to me. Dad was crying too when he picked her up and dragged her away. François, God, I don't even want to remember his face.

I've haven't told anyone yet. A lot of people from Vagu had come all the way here to visit me. They asked me to be king again. I'm not doing it, I've wasted too much time.

I asked the doctors not to tell me the deadline. François didn't want to know either. He's being very patient with me, but I know he's upset. I see the pain in his eyes when I can't eat or feel too tired to really do anything. I feel like I'm burdening him and everyone else.

Lucky for me, I had my first in-person therapy appointment in a few months. I was happy to see them.

"Hello, Lloyd." They still looked the same. "I know a lot has been going on. Would you like to talk about it?"

I just started to cry then. When they said that, it just kinda hit. "I lost my aunt, then my husband was angry with me, I relapsed, then-"

I went on and on. They were really helpful, it felt really good to talk to someone. Still, in the back of my stupid mind, I know it's for nothing. No matter what I do, I'm dead. It's funny. When I was younger, I would dream of my own funeral. Now, it makes me want to throw up thinking about it.

I hugged my little helper. She has no idea why I can't play with her or lift her up so often now, but she still loves me. She shouldn't be wasting her time. My dad picked me up after I finished.

"Lloyd, sweetheart, how are you feeling today? He said you were in pain last night. Are you alright?"

"Better, I guess." I sat in the backsit with Apple on my lap, petting her.

Dad was talking more, I wasn't really paying attention.

"Does mom hate me?"

I think I caught him off-guard. He stopped talking for a whole minute.

"....No, Lloyd. She doesn't hate you." His voice was somber. "Right now, she hates herself."

I tried not to cry. Apple was licking me. She can sense when I'm upset.

"I've been discussing with her about everything. She told me when she, um, unwell when you were little, part of the reason was your condition. She blames herself because she's your mom, and you grew inside her. She broke down when you first realized you were different."

"....but it's not her fault, it was an accident..."

"That's what I told her. And just as she started to finally realize this, the cancer happened."

It made me feel worse. So, so, so much worse. My existence destroyed my mother. In a way, I feel like François. But for some reason, I think mine is worse. She loves me so much that it's ruining her. François' birthgiver never gave a shit about him.

"What do you want to eat, Lloydie?" I could tell his demeanor was fake. "I know you like sweet things. I brought a few muffins from the bakery. They taste so much better in France!"

"No, I'm not really hungry."

"But you've really haven't eaten much."

"My stomach really hurts, maybe later."

I knew I made him upset when he was quiet again. I felt my hands shake.

"Appa?"

"Yes, my baby?"

"Ice cream would be nice."

It almost made me giggle how quickly he turned the car. He started going on and on about how happy he was that I was eating and how he'll love to have a treat with me. I think he needed it more than me.

"I'm surprised, aren't you lactose intolerant?" I could see him smiling. I tried to feed off his energy.

"Yeah, but it's okay! I know you like ice cream!" My voice sounded very childish.

We walked out together. Next to the ice cream shop was a park. The sun is beginning to set. I thought about that night in Rda.

"Which flavors do you want?" Dad was locking his car.

I put Apple on the leash. "Uh, you choose. I've never tried any."

"Alrightie then, you can wonder around. No talking to any strangers, and don't go where I can't see you." God, Appa. I was a king and general, and even still, you treat me like a baby. "Be safe."

"Oui."

I walked around with Apple, feeling dad look out the window. I thought about death again.

My doctor said I'll never get better. Soon, I'll be bedbound and will sleep all day. I'll really be a burden then. Everyone will need to take care of me like a baby. I'm not a baby. I'm a man.

Well, I'm not, really. Men don't get ovarian cancer. Why didn't I get checked sooner? I was too busy being an idiot. I should've known. I don't take care of myself. I smoke still, which I know is really not helping. Nothing can help me, though, so what's the point of caring?

I think the faster I'm dead, the better.

I heard him coming. I wiped my tears quickly. "I got you strawberry and birthday cake."

"Thank you."

We sat together. Dad was talking more. I knew he was trying to make me happy, but I just couldn't feel like it.

I looked at his face, and then I realized something. Dad's a Catholic, and I'm Jewish. When we're dead, how will I find him? Will God let us be together? Will I never see him again?

I tried not to cry as I thought about it. I stayed quiet, the ice cream getting my hand sticky. I'm a different religion from everyone. What if I never see my parents and friends again? Why would I do this? Why didn't I think about this before?

I gave dad my ice cream. He looked at me all sad again. I felt so ashamed.

"Not hungry anymore?"

"No, my stomach hurts again." I wasn't entirely lying.

He was quiet now, mainly because he was eating. I stole glances of him. This tall, tan, balding, glasses-wearing, chubby Korean man is my father. I'm going to lose him. I'm going to miss him getting really old and needing my help. I'm going to miss his strong voice. His stories of war or family. His smile. His scent. In a few months, I'm never going to be held by him. We'll never talk again. The last time he'll see me is when I'm yellow and look like wax.

I hugged him suddenly, really tight and hard. He jumped, then hugged me back without hesitation. It was quiet.

"...the pollen is terrible, Lloydie." I heard him sniffle and felt my hair getting a little wet. I nodded. Apparently, mine were acting up as well.

------

I was in a lot of pain that night. Dairy and cancer just don't get along. My dad stayed with me until François came back from work. My parents don't like that he works. They already don't like him because of what happened, but I can't keep him home all day.

He let me basically be under his skin. I could smell his scent and hear him breathing. He put on a new show for us to watch, Moonin. He played the Swedish version because he's trying to learn it. I already know Swedish. I know a lot of language. I know that, Korean, English, Hebrew, French, Chinese, German, and I know sign language in all of them.

"Heyy."

"Yess?"

"What language should I learn next?"

François was stroking my hair. I'm surprised he still likes it. "Spanish would be cool."

"True."

----

He didn't even realize he fell asleep until he saw Aunt Annie sitting in her yellow kitchen. He felt incredibly embarrassed to be around her looking as sick as he did, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

----

François was shaking me awake. I woke up in a daze, still wearing his hoodie and having drool on my cheek.

"Your dad is here."

I got up, now worried. He had no reason to be here at night. He was standing in the doorway, trying his best to hide his teary eyes with his hat.

"I had to take your mother to the mental hospital." My mind went blank. I felt the same way I did when James got hurt. "She was seeing things, and she wasn't well. It's only for a while."

We spoke more. I couldn't understand what he was saying. My ears were ringing.

When appa left, François saw the look in my eyes and held me very close. I think I scared him. I don't care.

I don't care anymore. I just don't care. I'm done, I'm fucking done.

--

Ron DiCianni
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