Even the light that somehow sliced out from beneath the blackout blinds was painful to her bleary eyes. The once-warm and comfortable bedroom had been turned dark, made empty so as to give the wounded woman a chance to recover in privacy. No prying eye would find her here, not a thought of the outside world could hope to creep in.
It wasn’t as though Cadance could hope to give them any of her attention even if they had somehow found their way into her world; the exhaustion and pain that so deeply bound her body demanded so much of her attentions that focusing on anything else would have been a miracle.
The mouth sores had been the first plague to arrive, discovered when a tentative bowl of soup had suddenly become a scalding agony behind her lips. One had been enough— the four that now dotted her cheeks were indescribable. She had found them miserable enough, but even they had only been the first plague that befell her. A day’s rest had brought along fatigue that made even rising to the nearby bathroom arduous, made all the worse when she could barely stomach food; and when you needed to rush to the toilet to vomit what little you had eaten…
Cadance didn’t want to open her eyes again and see her pitiful world. If she could just pretend that this was all a bad dream, a nightmare that plagued her weary senses, then perhaps she could at last awaken and see her old life back within her grasp. Anything that was the world she dwelled in now was horrifying, and all too difficult to endure. She did not feel like death; death had become her, and the very weight of its presence was grueling on her bones. If she had to die, Cadance only wished it would come sooner rather than later. Anything, anything to bring this misery to an end.
A rumble of thunder outside snapped against the glass and set the world to rumbling, the nausea that had befallen her stomach given added strength by the vibrations of nature. Unwilling but unbidden, a single eye cracked open with what effort she could give and took in her surroundings, finding them the exact same as they had been before, and the day before that: a darkened bedroom, blackout blinds nailed to the wall by pushpins and keeping the rainstorm that now crackled outside from her sight, the bleak grays and blacks of her bedroom making the tossed bedsheets look even more forlorn than they had before.
Cadance knew this world to be her own and she grieved because of it. The cancer was gone, along with her right breast and a surprising amount of her dignity. She’d been forewarned that the surgery would be difficult to deal with, a struggle of phantoms and a grieving process that would take time. But actually enduring it was something else entirely, even her best mental focuses not quite enough to block things out entirely. But just when she had come to believe that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to see herself through the gauntlet… then came the chemotherapy.
And all Cadance longed for was oblivion, because even this misery somehow was forced to not be solely hers alone.
A pair of weak raps against the bedroom door and in came the lovely figure of one Cadance called her bride, Twilight’s hands filled by a plate and bowl that carried a newly crafted meal. It would have smelled lovely, if she could stomach its scent. And she would have welcomed it also, if Cadance could even find the strength to raise herself up and eat it.
“Hey, Princess,” Twilight whispered gently, placing an oh-so-gentle kiss on Cadance’s exposed cheek, fearful that anything but the most tender of pressures would cause a wound. “I’ve got some lunch for you.”
Cadance knew she had to rise from her inert position and eat. She had to try, at least a little; but God help her, how was she going to find the ability? Just getting up was horrifically difficult, looking upwards to gaze at the loving and fretful face of her beloved. She needed to try and appease this wonderful woman and Cadance knew it. But even trying to eat…
“I know you probably don’t feel like it, but it’s been almost a whole day since you ate last,” Twilight added, setting the plate on the nearby nightstand so as to reach for a tray table. “You might feel a little better if you get something in you.”
“Maybe,” Cadance said, her voice little more than a rasp. The soup was chicken and noodle, something light and hopefully easy to consume. The movement of her body ached but she tried to keep the spoon in her hand. Oh God was this difficult! Even more than the movement was the forced swallow, trying to keep the basic broth down and not spat out onto the bedsheets. It was a consummate effort, and far too hard. This was just so, so wrong…
“I know; it’s hard,” Twilight said, resting beside her brutalized bride and clearly distraught at the sight of such a struggle. “But please keep trying. If you can keep it down, you’ll feel so much better.”
“No I won’t,” Cadance said after a third mouthful, falling back against her pillow and feeling exhausted. She wanted to cry just from this little amount of exertion, how pitiful could she be? “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t even try to say that,” Twilight replied swiftly, her voice low but fierce with the emotion behind it. “You did nothing to deserve this and you know it. Cancer doesn’t care about what you’ve done, and it happens to people both good and bad. I won’t let you say another word on the matter, do you understand me?”
They’d had this argument many times over the past month, a continued struggle of guilt and the one who would assuage it, neither quite yet able to put down their swords in the conflict. Twilight absolutely believed that the illness had come simply because it had, no reason or blame to be given that would see it made sensible; Cadance definitively knew that her past misdeeds were the cause for her current struggles. Even when she wanted little more than to at last love someone more than herself, she instead found herself bringing further pain into the world— upon her own form, and upon the eyes of the one she cherished most.
“Please stop this,” Twilight said, her eyes afire and demanding Cadance try and force down another bite. “You’re making yourself feel worse with talk like this. I’m glad to be with you-”
“My hair’s falling out,” Cadance said at last, and tears sprang in her eyes at the shame of it. “I pulled out a clump this morning.”
It was meant as a bombshell, and for a moment Twilight was left rattled; a swift shake of her shoulders and she set to smoothing out the bedsheets as though the declaration had been of little more issue than yesterday’s weather. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Twilight whispered. “Don’t worry, it’ll- it’ll grow back soon.” The calm face of the young woman faltered and at last turned a tinge of sorrow, coming to match the mourning mood of the room. “I know I can’t imagine what it’s feeling like right now, Cadance. But I promise it won’t last forever. I wish I could help more.”
Cadance took another spoonful of soup and again found herself struggling, so weak and tired that even this effort of eating was a great task. “I’m just… so tired,” she said. “Of being tired. And hurting. And just feeling like… this. Just miserable… and sad. And then you- feel it, too.”
“It’s my choice to feel it,” Twilight said. “I’m glad to be right here, with you. Please tell me you believe that.”
Cadance wanted to say she could, but whether it was energy or belief that faltered was not something she could tell. “I wish it wasn’t like this.”
“Yeah, I… I do, too. But it won’t be forever,” Twilight said. “We had an easy three years together, until now. It’ll be good again soon.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It will.”
Cadance couldn’t yet believe it, nor find the strength to try. But Twilight continued to insist that she eat, so eat did she try. And when she could eat no more, her beloved encouraged her to rest, to prepare for the next day that was surely coming and bringing better tidings than the now currently possessed. Too tired, too sick, and too heavy with grief to even begin start believing that this was not the end- but she forced herself through the miserable, painful motions that had to be done. A little more food today than yesterday, and maybe a little more rest that would be a salve to her spirit.
It wasn’t much, but neither was she. Maybe it would be enough to see her to tomorrow.
Author's Note
A small, unimportant story that hopefully helps my own self feel better than the empty meaninglessness that plagues me now.
Maybe not today, but someday.
