The Ring He Was Putting on My Finger, the Money He Was Sending to Her Chapter 09
Dylan finally ended up in the ICU.
Months of heavy drinking and no sleep gave him a perforated ulcer.
On Wednesday afternoon, my assistant nervously knocked on my door and handed me a file.
Inside was a critical condition notification.
“Dylan’s assistant is downstairs. Guy won’t leave. He says Dylan’s dying and he’s begging you to come see
him. Just one last time.”
I looked at the form, put down my sketch pen, and stood up calmly.
The ICU reeked of disinfectant.
Dylan lay there with an oxygen mask on, tubes everywhere. His once-handsome face was gaunt, hollow,
drained of life.
When he heard footsteps, his shut eyes flew open.
The moment he saw it was me, a terrifying, brilliant light sparked in his cloudy eyes.
He fought against the beeping monitors and reached out a hand covered in needle marks and bruises.
His throat made a desperate, rasping sound.
I walked to his bedside and looked at his face.
I didn’t want to take his hand the way he wanted me to.
But my body betrayed me. I reached out automatically and tugged the slipping blanket up to his chin.
The same way I’d done every night for five years.
Dylan’s eyes went red. Big tears rolled down into his graying hair.
He thought I’d finally forgiven him. His shaking fingers tried to catch my sleeve.
Then I pulled my hand back.
“It’s really raining out there,” I said, looking out the window at the steady gray downpour My voice was soft without a trace of anger.
“Dylan, when you used to get sick from work, I’d sit by your bed all night because I was so scared you
wouldn’t make it. Scared you’d leave me.”
I looked back at him, watching his expression freeze.
“But not anymore. Watching you lie here… I can’t even cry. Honestly, if you died in this bed today, I’d just feel
relieved.”
The heart monitor started shrieking. The line began to spike and crash.
“This is the last time I’m seeing you,” I said gently. “Don’t have your assistant bother me again. I’m leaving for my study abroad program next week.”
Dylan’s pupils went out of focus.
He stared at me, his lips trembling violently, trying to speak but only making hollow, throaty noises.
His hand, still reaching for me, went rigid, then fell limp against the bedrail.
Beeeeeep!
The long, flat line screamed through the room.
“Stand back! Going to 200!” Doctors and nurses rushed in.
I stepped back very calmly to make room.
The moment the paddles jolted his body off the bed, I turned and walked out of the room without a backward
glance.
At the end of the hallway, the rain had stopped. Sunlight broke through the clouds and hit my face.
It felt warm.
