Chapter 4

I understood what he meant.

James could just find someone new after leaving me.

Once he started seeing someone else, he'd probably forget about me before long.

By the time I was really gone, he probably wouldn't even care what became of me.

Just like earlier, when he brought up Lucy, his voice turned soft and gentle.

But Ryan was different.

He was my brother, the only real family I had left in this world.

On the day I died, the hospital would probably have to call him in to identify my body.

Henry spoke in a low, serious voice. "Emily, keeping your closest family in the dark is a bad decision.

"When that day finally comes, and he gets hit with the news out of nowhere that's the most heartless thing you could do."

The cold wind hit me right in the face.

It was like someone had a hand clamped over my mouth and nose, making it hard to breathe.

I said hoarsely, "Yeah, I'll find a chance to tell him."

It was almost the end of the year, and the hospital was hectic.

A nurse came over to call Henry, so I told him I was fine and that he should go ahead.

He let out another sigh, reached out, and gave my shoulder a gentle pat.

Then he wrapped his arm around me, almost like he was giving me a hug.

After he left, I looked back through the floor-to-ceiling window.

James was gone, his wheelchair was nowhere in sight.

I left the hospital and wandered the streets for hours, not really knowing where I was going.

My stomach was empty and burning with hunger.

I couldn't keep anything down, so I just ordered a random bowl of soup at a small place by the street.

Even though I only ate a small bowl, I still ended up throwing up most of it.

After leaving the restaurant, I passed by a photo studio and decided to step inside and pick up a photo album for myself.

Inside, a frail old lady was posing for her final portrait.

Her husband sat next to her, quietly dabbing at his eyes, unable to stop the tears.

Her own eyes were teary too, but she smiled through it and teased him, "Don't make such a fuss.

"At our age, it's only a matter of time. If I'd known, I wouldn't have told you I was sick."

The old man suddenly looked up, his eyes still wet with tears, his face full of grief and anger.

"If you ever dared to hide something like this from me, I swear, the day you're gone, I'll come find you and give you a piece of my mind!"

The old lady smiled, then tilted her head, quietly letting a few tears slip out.

My heart twisted with a bittersweet ache.

I bought the album, then pulled out my phone and picked out some photos, asking the owner to print them out for me.

I told the owner I'd be back in three days to pick them up.

When I went to Switzerland to die, I wanted something to look at during those last hard hours, so I wouldn't be staring at nothing.

By the time I left the photo studio, it was already getting dark.

I finally decided to head home, planning to wait for Ryan to come back so I could lay everything out for him.

If I kept it from him, it would only end up hurting him more, and I couldn't bring myself to be that heartless.

When I got home and opened the door, I was surprised, the living room was brightly lit.

As soon as I stepped inside, a strong, pungent smell of alcohol hit me.

Ryan was already back, sitting on the couch.

On the coffee table in front of him sat a whiskey bottle that he had emptied.

It was insane.

His stomach was already a mess, and drinking like this could actually kill him.

It took everything I had not to lose it and start screaming at him through tears.

I walked over and sat down across from him, saying nothing.

He leaned back on the couch, his eyes half-closed, barely open as he looked at me.

He was totally out of it, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

Since a month ago, I stopped trying to stop him from drinking or making him hangover soup.

Whether it was for work or just because he was upset, I stopped caring about how he wrecked his body.

After that, he started drinking more and more, until his stomach ended up with holes and bleeding.

Just like how James started pushing things even further with his racing, going completely off the rails.

I stared at him for a long time, saying nothing.

Finally, he mumbled, "Emily, can't you see?"

I didn't know if he was still even a little sober.

But I'd finally made up my mind, and I was afraid if I waited any longer, I'd lose my nerve.

So I just came right out and said it. "Ryan, I'm sick. I don't have much time left.

"So stop expecting me to always look after you."

Once I was gone, he could drink himself unconscious at home, and nobody would even notice if he died.

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe, and my palms were slick with sweat.

But he didn't seem to catch what I said.

He just kept staring at me, drunk, his face full of confusion.

As I looked away, I heard the sound of him retching violently.

When I looked back, he was hunched over the trash can.

The white tissues inside were smeared with blood.

He had probably been drinking until his stomach bled again.

My eyes burned with tears, and I instinctively moved to reach for his medication and get him to the hospital.

But halfway up, I forced myself to sit back down.

I wondered whether he would drink even harder once I was gone.

Who was going to get him his meds? Who was going to take him to the hospital?

He was so stubborn and picky, he wouldn't even let a nurse or a helper near him.

All these years, I was the only one who took care of him, every little thing, every detail.

But I wouldn't be able to take care of him anymore.

Besides me, there were plenty of people who wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

I sat back on the couch, watching as his face went from flushed with booze to ghostly pale from the pain.

My hand at my side trembled uncontrollably.

But I just calmly reminded him, "You know where the sobering pills are, and you know the number for 911."

Maybe after throwing up, he was a little more sober.

This time, Ryan seemed to actually get what I was saying.

He glanced sideways at me, stunned, his eyes filled with pain and disbelief.

He probably couldn't believe I could be this cold and indifferent now.

I met his gaze quietly.

The whole time, I never moved or reached out.

We stared at each other in a drawn-out silence, neither of us moved, neither of us spoke.

It felt like we were both waiting to see who would break first.