Testimony's POV:
A single drop of water splashed onto my face, jolting me awake. Groggily, I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar room. The beeping of machines and the antiseptic smell of the hospital hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Honey, she's awake!" a sweet, family voice exclaimed. My dad's face popped into view, and my heart sank. Not exactly the first thing I wanted to see.
"Oh, my daughter, you're okay. I was worried sick about you," he said, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.
"You know, right?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.
The room fell silent, with all eyes fixed on me. They exchanged nervous glances, and I knew.
"Oh, God, couldn't I have just died in peace?" I thought, bitterness welling up inside me.
"Why didn't you ever tell me? I could've done something to save you, to help you," my dad pleaded, his voice laced with guilt.
You were absent in my life back then, idiot. How was I supposed to tell you I had cancer? How was I supposed to tell you that Mom gave her life for me, so I could live? I never wanted to tell anyone I had cancer. I didn't want them to pity me, to remind me every day about my incurable disease.
I just wanted to die unexpectedly, so no one would feel sorry for me while I was still alive. Anger and hatred toward my dad simmered inside me. Maybe if he'd kept his promises, maybe if he'd been there for me, I wouldn't be sick today. Maybe I wouldn't have had to endure a thousand traumas.
"I don't want to talk about it," I whispered, my voice firm.
"Tess-" my dad began.
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" I yelled, interrupting him. A cough racked my body.
"Know what? Just get out. I don't want to talk about it," I screamed, my eyes welling up with tears.
"Let's go, honey," Mrs. Bronco said, ushering my dad out of the room. Their faces fell as they left.
I burst into tears, overcome with remorse. I didn't want to be rude to my dad, but I couldn't shake off the thought of how life would've been if he'd never left us. Seeing him every day felt like reliving Mom's pain all over again. I'd tried to forgive him, but I just couldn't.
Tears streamed down my face as I wished I could've just died. Why was this cancer eating away at me slowly? Why couldn't I just end my life and be done with it? My existence felt like a curse. I was born by mistake. Maybe God regretted creating me, and this was my punishment.
As I sobbed uncontrollably, the door creaked open, and Slavy stumbled in. He looked disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, his hair messy, and his face smeared with dirt. What happened? Did he get into a fight?
"Slavvy," I whispered, but he cut me off.
"I know you're disgusted by me, and you probably don't want to see me right now. I'm going to stay away from you from now on," he slurred, his voice laced with tears.
What? I looked at him, confused.
"I'm the reason you went into shock, and because of me, you almost died. I shouldn't have been selfish, Testimony. Every woman I love always dies. Just like my mom, my sisters Lily and Rose... they died because of me. Maybe when I leave, your cancer curse will lift. Maybe I'm the reason you have cancer. That's what happens to the people I love - they just get sick, and it's my fault."
He spoke in a drunken haze, his words barely above a whisper.
"Slavvy, would you listen?" My voice cracked.
"You know I came racing in when I found out you woke up? I almost got into an accident," he giggled maniacally.
Has he gone mad?
"But of course, I don't die, because life doesn't want me to," he whispered, a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Testimony, I love you with every single fiber of my being, but your family is right - I brought this curse into your life. I'm sorry," his voice barely rose above a whisper.
Why did he think all of this was his fault?
"Slavvy, listen to me..." I began, but my voice trailed off as Sky walked into the room.
"Slavvy, let's go," she said, barely acknowledging me.
I watched as Sky helped Slavy out of the room, a small smile playing on her lips. Tears...tears welled up in my eyes as I felt a pang of hurt and betrayal. Why was Sky being so supportive of Slavy, and why was she helping him leave me?
"Great," I muttered to myself, feeling a mix of emotions: anger, sadness, and frustration. I regretted not being able to talk to Slavy, to clear up the misunderstandings and reassure him that he wasn't to blame for my illness.
In a burst of anger and desperation, I ripped out the machines attached to my body, ignoring the beeping alarms and the pain that shot through me. I felt my body begin to shut down, my breathing slowing, and my vision blurring.
All I could hear were the screams and footsteps of the hospital staff rushing to my side, trying to revive me. But I was too far gone, lost in a sea of darkness and despair.
As I drifted away, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever find peace, if I would ever be able to escape the pain and suffering that seemed to follow me everywhere.