The workmen came during the next week. I’d been offered a stipend for a hotel, but I had declined. My plan was to stay on the Brookes’ couch for the single night I wouldn’t be able to stay in my own house.

Bella and I were watching men carry ductwork. The UV system would be very overbuilt; it was supposed to cycle all the air in the house with an appreciable frequency, and it had a large chamber for reducing ozone. It was more complicated than shining light on a filter, I’d learned. Some of the ductwork would run along the ceilings. The house hadn’t been built with this in mind, and the visible machinery would reduce its value. I’d be buying high-grade filters every month if I couldn’t convince insurance to pay for it.

They were drilling holes through walls and tearing out drywall. It made me vaguely sad to see the house getting mangled, but I really needed to try everything I could. My home’s value wasn’t important, to me at least.

“I’ve been thinking about who my house will go to,” I said. Bella’s eyes widened.

“I don’t think I’m comfortable taking something like that,” she said.

“I was thinking about your parents, actually. They’d probably rent it out, to keep paying the mortgage.” It would also allow them to have some say in who their new neighbor might be.

“Dad’s not going to like that,” she said. Her shoulders relaxed, which I felt more than saw. I’d put my arm around her.

“That’s why I’m not telling him yet,” I replied. “I also thought about donating it to charity. I talked to a lawyer. There’s some risk that my parents will try to claim it.”

“You haven’t told me much about your parents,” said Bella. They were, presumably, still in a religious commune on the coast.

“I try not to think about them too much,” I said. “They disowned me when I refused to move with them. That was the last time I spoke to them.”

“How old were you when that happened?”

“Seventeen,” I said. “I’m hoping they don’t even know where I live, now. They wouldn’t have expected the son they knew to be able to afford this.” I had been a very different person in my teenage years–much less focused on self improvement. Enormously self-absorbed, among other things.

“Are you going to send them a message?” asked Bella.

“I don’t think so,” I responded. I recalled an incident where my mother screamed that I was dead to her. I didn’t mention that to Bella. Things like that weren’t worth preserving. “I don’t want them to come and try to convert me, last minute. Or to take my house. Fortunately, talking to an attorney now makes that less likely.”

Willing the house to an older couple, rather than my young girlfriend, also helped. The system was unfair to Bella, but the suspicion made some sense. The lawyer had told me that challenges might imply she had a motive to deceive me while knowing I was ill.

Bella turned and held me close. “I’m glad someone invented this UV system.”

“Me too.”

—

Bella informed me that she’d gotten permission to stay at my house overnight, in case I needed her to take me to the hospital in a hurry. She said it causally.

“I hope it doesn’t become necessary,” she said. “How are you feeling?” In fact, my heart had started to beat a bit faster.

“My lungs aren’t any more irritated than before,” I said. “But I am paying close attention. When the hanahaki returns we can’t hesitate.” Unspoken was the reality that the next time I went to the hospital, I would probably never come back out. I had an incentive to delay as long as possible.

“Well, for the sake of fast response times, I should probably sleep near you.”

“How near?” I asked.

“As near as you want,” she said. I walked over and kissed her on the lips.

“You are very close to me already,” I said. “Let’s take it slow, okay? We could move the couch to my room.”

“Okay,” she replied, her face red.

That evening we moved the couch. I was trying not to strain myself, and I was weak, but between Bella and I we managed to get it done.

“No more movies in the living room,” she said.

“We could move the TV,” I said, but there really wasn’t a good place to put it. My bedroom wasn’t that large. A small bedroom suited me fine; for bedrooms to be good resting places, they needed to be used for as little as possible that wasn’t sleeping. Sleeping, and…

Bella swallowed, then looked at me from where she sat on the couch.

“Diana… mentioned the other way…”

“It doesn’t cure sarcoidosis,” I said. I sat next to her and kissed her again, my heart pounding hard. “So that’s not necessary.”

“I’m not talking about doing it because it’s necessary, necessarily. We should cover all our bases.”

I laughed at that turn of phrase. It took her a second to realize what she had said, then she laughed too.

“But if you aren’t healthy enough for it, that’s another matter.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

I struggled to sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning. Normally I was so exhausted that I’d fall asleep in moments, but I had said I would think about it, and I was thinking about it too much.

I could hear Bella softly breathing in the same room. I had no idea if she was sleeping. I was regretting saying she could use the couch; I wanted her there, with me. Not to have sex with her, even–just to be close to her.

“We could cuddle,” I said, softly, in case she was awake. A few moments later I heard her get up, and I felt the covers shift as she got into bed with me.

She started to kiss me, more than before. I kissed her back. After that, I didn’t have to think very long about it at all.

—

Having sex with Bella wasn’t a cure: that much became apparent. That wasn’t why we did it, though, and we didn’t stop after I noticed my lungs start to tickle in a familiar way.

Instead, I went to see Dr. Dominic. I had been seeing him regularly for blood work and tests. They were gathering data about the progression of my illness. I was glad that I could help science just by fighting my sickness.

I brought up some of the things that Dr. Elba had mentioned as preventive measures to avoid getting reinfected with hanahki.

“I can prescribe regular preemptive antifloral treatments for you, Milo,” said Dr. Dominic. “Having long intervals between them isn’t a typical regime for sarcoidosis… but I don’t see any reason it can’t be done.”

“Thank you.”

“However, I cannot prescribe them for Bella.”

“If she gets hanahaki and brings it into the house, I could die,” I said. The UV sterilization system was running, and we’d swept the house with intense UV light to try to make it safe. That meant the only respite left for hanahaki was in my lungs, and in hers.

And in the clothes that we wore, which we’d have to change out of every time we got home. We hadn’t started that regime, but we were gearing up for it.

And in dirt that might get on our skin, which we'd have to wash every time we went outside.

The point was that all that effort wouldn’t amount to anything if the house got recontaminated at some point in the future.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“My hands are tied,” said Dr. Dominic. “Antifloral resistance is real, and getting worse.”

I was well aware. One of the failure states for my disease was my hanahaki becoming resistant to all my medicines–otherwise, I’d just take antiflorals constantly.

“Bella has already had the illness,” he added. “She won’t be vulnerable.”

“Yes,” I said. “Once. And asymptomatic cases of hanahaki aren’t unheard of. She wouldn’t be taking antiflorals often–once or twice a year, like myself.”

“I am not allowed to prescribe it,” he said, flatly. Her regular doctor had said something similar.

“We need to get a special exception.”

“That process is long and difficult.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” I said. It was a lie in the broad scope of things, but true enough in the day to day.

I spent a lot of time on the phone, in those last frantic weeks. I had to call people to make sure I was insured; I had to schedule appointments for infusions of medicines; I coordinated with the microbiology labs and talked to experts about possible responses. I ordered special masks to wear whenever I left the house.

I also got a call from work.

—

“I don’t expect you to take the position,” said Chloe. We were talking on the phone, about an opening for a junior associate. I hadn’t been one of those for a few years. “Frankly, you should be insulted that they suggested I call you. But… I didn’t want to deny you the opportunity for something a bit easier.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” I said. “I’m still focusing on my health.”

“How is that going, by the way?” Somehow, the fact that I was dying hadn’t gotten back to her. Maybe the folks in HR took their jobs and privacy laws seriously. I considered ruining Chloe’s day with the news, and I decided against it.

“I’m doing my best,” I said. “This time off has been a great help, I must say.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “Well, I’ve got a list of people to call, so I’ll–”

“Is Emma on the list?” I asked.

“That girl from before?” I heard papers being shuffled. “Yeah. Kind of near the bottom, since she has so little experience.” Relevant experience, I knew. Emma had been working since she was a teenager.

“Can you call her next? She’d be an excellent candidate, she’s motivated and sharp. I think you’ll see a lot of yourself in her, actually.” That was a seed I wanted to plant in Chloe’s mind. I also thought that Emma was familiar enough with corporate bullshit that she’d do better than I had.

“Yeah, I’ll reach out to her. Do you owe her a favor or something?”

“No, I just think she’d be a good fit. Everybody has something to gain here.”

I could hear a smile when she responded. “Excellent. Thanks for the tip. I’m afraid you won’t get the referral bonus, assuming we do hire her…”

I laughed. “Not at all necessary. Thank you, Chloe.”

“Of course. Be well, Milo.” She hung up. The last conversation I’d have with Chloe, I thought.

I smiled, looking down at my laptop and the text there. I remembered when I had met Chloe. She came to a recruitment event on campus. She had been the junior accompanying a senior, and had handed my resume back to me, saying it probably wouldn’t pass muster. I’d asked her some questions about the positions they offered. It was ostensibly so I could try again in the future, and she hadn’t even guessed my intent. I’d rewritten my resume one table over, on my laptop, in about ten minutes.

Somehow that had convinced Chloe I was insightful, or had initiative, or something. Maybe it was because I’d taken her words and made them into writing so quickly. Whatever the case, she had convinced the others to consider me, and I’d gotten hired. I'd dropped out for the opportunity.

Hopefully she could now do something similar for Emma. I shot Emma a text, to let her know what was coming. I didn’t wait for a response.

In some ways, I was well. Better than I had been in years. I began to type on my laptop again, about something I cared about a great deal more than anything I’d ever written for the company.

—

I made meteoric progress on my novel. About halfway through, I started re-reading the first part, and decided to rewrite it entirely. That slowed me down somewhat.

“Still working?” asked Bella. She’d been reading on the couch, upside down, with her back on the floor. She claimed to do that just to mix things up. I thought it was cute, either way. You could sit on a couch upside down. Bella was studying. Her spring finals were coming up.

“Yeah,” I said. I took a deep breath. “I was coughing, today.”

She spun around and got up. “You’ll have to go back soon.”

“That’s right,” I said. “As soon as next week.”

“Shouldn’t we go now?” she asked. “The sooner they treat you, the more lung capacity you’ll preserve....”

“We should,” I said. It felt like my heart was breaking. “But let me finish this novel, at least! And, let me have at least a few more nights with you.”

Bella couldn’t refuse the request. She wanted more time with me, as well.

—

The next night, Bella and I were talking about my novel. We didn’t do that in the evenings, often, but I’d decided to drop all other activities to focus on it. Almost all other activities.

“I’m not surprised you want to rewrite it, you’ve been experiencing a lot of ‘novel’ things recently.” She swung her hip toward me, making me laugh.

The laughing turned to a cough, causing Bella to frown. I kept coughing until I felt weak.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said when I finally got it under control. “Sorry.” She frowned at me. Then she patted my back once and went to put the kettle on.

“We can’t delay much longer,” she said. I followed her into the kitchen.

“I agree. In fact, we should go tomorrow." I’d just have to finish my novel in the hospital. It couldn’t be helped.

As the water boiled I felt my lungs itch again. I tried to resist coughing. I was getting so tired of illness. I grumbled, trying to clear my throat. I tasted metal, but my consciousness refused to integrate that fact. I just didn’t believe it–or maybe, a weird taste in my mouth didn’t quite rise to the level of conscious awareness.

I coughed again, right into my hand, my diaphragm convulsing as though it were barking an order against someone. When I looked at my palm I saw a foaming red ball of leaves, one that was slowly unfurling as it dried out. It was like an electric shock. The heart of my enemy that I’d coughed up, within me all along.

My consciousness integrated it that time.

“To the hospital,” I said, my breath already coming shorter. “Now.” Bella dropped the tea kettle back down to the stove and practically ran out the door. I turned off the heater then hastened to follow her. I could feel it, now. My lungs were filling with fluid.

I had the thought that the hard cough gave me a definitive answer by making things worse. A few minutes worse, and certainty was costly. A bad trade, but only knowable after my body had made it. I was starting to wheeze. I sat in Bella’s car and she drove me down the road.

As we went my breath got shallower and shallower. Now I was breathing slowly, deliberately, trying not to splash around the blood in my lungs. I felt myself getting weaker, too. My starving heart pounded in my chest. Yes, it was starving. I was bleeding internally.

I was dying, and in that moment I fucking hated it. I had been so close to finishing my novel!

Had I really just… failed at everything?

Bella drove, her knuckles white on the wheel, and I was only a burden. We were going toward the hospital, and for what? If I ultimately died there, I’d just be wasting resources: time and money, the attention of experts. I’d already wasted more on my illness than I’d ever donated. If I wasn’t dying I could have donated hundreds of thousands of dollars more.

We passed a man holding a sign. It was Joshua, I noticed, but I didn’t have the breath to point it out to Bella. His sign said something about trusting the Lord.

If I wasn’t dying, I could have volunteered more. Maybe not at the soup kitchen. I could have met more people. Heard more stories, wrote more stories about those I had heard. I could have helped people! They could have seen me, and been happy that I was there!

I could have been happy. There was so much happiness that I’d just never get. Bella was there with me, and she was crying openly. Not sobbing; focused on getting me to safety. But I could not be brought to safety. The problem was part of me.

I hiccuped and the wetness in my throat made me think I lost a few more minutes. From the perspective of health, I could have lived to be eighty, if only this stupid fucking illness hadn’t gotten me first. I’d eaten right, I’d exercised. I’d done everything I was supposed to do.

We flew down the road. I was crying too. People were honking at Bella as she drove. Her car bounced off something, but she didn’t stop. Just great; my sickness was endangering her life, or getting her into trouble.

I’d had a little bit of romance, and a little bit of love. That was something. Bella was whimpering in fear, tearing open my door. We’d pulled up to the hospital at some point. I tried to stand and failed, so in an instant she turned and ran for help. I watched her go–it might be the last time I saw her.

I was alone with my weakness, a hundred feet from the hospital doors. The Brookes had lost both their son and myself. It was a cruel thing for me to do to them. Bella would spend the rest of her life missing me. I didn’t want to die, because it would be another burden on them.

The parasites in my lungs didn’t give a shit about any of it. If I could kill them, forever, I would. Snap my fingers and make this go away. Even if Bella went on to be happy, or found someone else, all I’d have accomplished by entering her life was hurting her.

I coughed, and so much red came up I couldn’t believe it. My palm was crimson, running with it.

I tried to breathe and it made no difference.

My lungs didn’t work when coated with blood, and that was that. I tried to breathe again and it sounded like someone was overturning a half-empty bottle.

Fuck this, I thought. I made myself stand on my last half-breath, and stars appeared all round. I took a faltering step closer to the hospital, to save the running nurses a few feet. It was stupid, I knew, but I had to do something. My plan had been to get to the hospital!

Fuck this! I’d die on my feet, but no sooner had I thought about it than I was on my knees. I continued to crawl. I coughed, splattering the pavement. I coughed, and coughed, and coughed.

I stopped having thoughts as petals blew out onto the cement, carried by the wind of my life. I had wondered what I’d think at this moment. Nothing, it turns out. I thought nothing. There wasn’t enough left in me for thoughts. Just enough for one little feeling, that was all.

All I felt was that I had wanted to live.