FicWad

"A man begins dying at the moment of his birth. Most people live in denial of Death's patient courtship until, late in life and deep in sickness, they become aware of him sitting at his bedside."

Dead!

The pain is getting worse, gradually.

I don't know how much longer I could keep it from those who saw me daily. People like Mikey, or Lindsey -- they would see me wince once in a while, my hand flying to my stomach like I was trying to slap myself.

"Stomach cramps." I would respond to Mikey's confused stares.

It was perhaps that I had no time to think of better excuses. A new tour was about to begin, and my phone is playing an endless loop of phone calls and text message alerts. Some of them from my oncologist.

But I had more important things to attend to.

After all, other than a few pains here and there, I feel just fine.

It became easy to forget sometimes, that I was sick at all.

Lindsey and I would usually make love like a teenage summer fling before the start of every tour, knowing such opportunities will be hard to come by for the following months. And as we continue the tradition this year, I feel alive more than words could express. With Linds, I feel young -- so far from someone at the end of their life.

With my friends, it is even more so. A new album always heralded the atmosphere of a new era, every note the sound of new beginnings. Mikey is exuberant, talking about all the places he wanted to hit while on the road. Ray is bursting with new ideas for the shows. Frank busies himself by communicating with fans, using the band's website and his own twitter.

My entire world and the people in it feel so vibrant with life, so rich with plans and ideas, that I remember the physician's consult as something like a faded dream from many nights ago.

Only a twisting sensation in my abdomen would remind me, every now and then, that something was amiss.

And deep down, I knew that something is going to catch up to me eventually.

"Fucking finally." Lindsey gasps as she dropped down on the mattress next to me, making the spring bounce noisily. Her head turns to me, her eyes looking tired under the golden glow of our bedside lamp. "She's in bed."

Yet despite her clear fatigue, a smile grows slyly across her face. I smile back, knowing exactly what she's thinking about. A little fun after the exhausting work of having to get a hyper three year old to go to sleep.

It is the last night I am home. The last night for two months that I will sleep on this bed, on this noisy mattress that's surprisingly soft. Or these pillows that smell like her hair, like Lindsey's apple cinnamon body wash.

The horrible thought occurs to me, that perhaps I may never see this room again. The cancer could catch up earlier than expected, and I could die a million miles away from here.

To vanquish the thought before it could drag me down too far, I plunge my tongue into her mouth. She seems surprised by the abrupt movement, but welcomes it soon after. The taste of her lips take me away, and the feeling of her passionate kisses drive the terrible thoughts back into the oblivion.

We make love like the tomorrow is the end of the world.

The following morning I can barely stop to notice Lindsey because I am too busy doing last minute packing of all the things I suddenly want to bring. It happens every time I go on tour, but this time, I can't help but notice that I find myself shoving a bit more into the tight spaces of my luggage. Sentimental items. Books I always wanted to read, but never got a chance to.

Soon enough, it's 7:30 AM, and if we don't begin driving to the airport in seconds, I'll hold the guys up and possibly miss the flight.

"Honey?" I call up the stairway as I stand next to the door, ready, with my roller luggage in one hand and a carryon bag in the other.

"Hold on!" Her voice chimes somewhere from the bedrooms. I can hear her fumbling around, and a minute later, the pounding of steps resounds down the stairway.

At last, she comes into view, but with an extra head next to her own. A half asleep Bandit is in her arms, and looks puzzled by the situation. My heart flutters, but I keep my composure.

I had already said goodbye to Bandit last night, before she had gone to sleep. I had explained, as I always did, that I had to go to work for a very long time.

Yet Lindsey has determined that that was not enough, and she sets the girl down before me, who stands on the cloth of pajama feet.

"Someone else wanted to say bye." Lindsey says.

"Oh..." I put on my best 'Bandit' voice as I bend down to greet her. She pats a small hand on my face, still warm from being buried in blankets all night. "I'll be back soon B, don't you worry. We'll be going out for ice cream again before you know it."

"Bye daddy..." is all she says, faintly. Her hands making little waving noises beside her face, my heart swells at the sight. For a moment, I wish that I could just call off the tour here and now, tell them I need to spend more time with my daughter.

It was true, after all. I could never spare enough time to hang out with B -- and while she hasn't complained, I can't quite help but wonder if she might come to resent me later on.

I scoop her into my arms and squeeze her tightly.

"I love you B."

"Love you too." She replies nonchalantly, and Lindsey picks her up and takes her away. I watch them go back up the stairs, trying to fight off the pessimistic thoughts that threaten to attack me.

I don't have time for this now.

I have to go.

Soon we set off for the airport, and I meet up with the guys about thirty minutes later. We all hug one another, the feeling of pure excitement strong in the air. It was unusual, for it being so early in the morning, but as per usual, the glorious elixir called coffee helps. One hour later, we fly.

The tour starts off splendidly. We have our first show in New York, and plan to move along the east coast. I suppose I'm having too much fun to even notice the pains anymore.

But soon enough, they start to notice.

Mikey notices that I'm eating a lot less.

I try to tell him that our managers have me on a diet.

Frank notices that I'm spending too much time in the bathroom.

I try to tell him that I'm constipated.

Ray notices the scratching I'm doing because of all the itching I've developed.

I try to tell him that my beds all seem to be infested with bed bugs.

But when the fifth show comes around, and Frank and I are just about to leave the hotel room for sound check, the pain returns.

It ravages me with it's fullest strength, angry and tired of being ignored. I collapse onto the ground, holding my gut. Invisible hands are reaching into me, taking my intestines and twisting them into complicated braids. They're pulling and yanking, and I can swear my organs are being rearranged inside me. I scream as I writhe on the ground.

Frank is staring at me, horrified and confused. I try to regain my composure, but the better I try to feel, the more I hurt.

"Gerard... Gerard? What's wrong with you?" My guitarist's scared voice comes to me as though through the other end of a tunnel. "Do you need me to call 911?"

I shake my head no as best as I can. The pain begins to fade, and I take a few deep breaths before saying.

"...There's something...I should probably tell you."

I hate myself for having to do this, as I don't want anyone to know at all. But I know that there's no way that Frank is just going to shrug off what he just saw.

I stay laying on the ground, panting for a long time. I savor every second that I can delay the inevitable, but I'm running out of the little ticks and tocks that time has spared me.

I'm out of excuses.

Next chapter: "Can you keep a secret?"