My name is Kaelith Sinclair, and I never asked to be born with heart cancer. But I was. Against my will. Then again, do we even get to choose in this life?
If I had a choice, I'd have picked freedom. The freedom to step out of my room whenever I wanted. The freedom to crush on anyone. The freedom to kiss any guy I wanted.
Guy? Yeah, you heard me right. I'm gay. It's kind of funny how I found out because it was the same time I found out I was dying.
It happened on a day I'll never forget. Sixth grade. I was ten. Not too young, not too old, but old enough to have my entire life change in an instant. I call it a dangerous day. Because, really, how else do you describe the day you learn you're cursed? The day you stop going to school? The day you get locked away in a hospital for a year, hooked up to machines while your mother cries every time she thinks you're asleep? The day doctors tell you that excitement, any excitement, could kill you?
At some point, I started believing my illness was a punishment. That being gay was the reason my heart was cursed. I spent years trapped inside that thought, homeschooled, sneaking glances at my mother as she cried in the next room.
Then, at sixteen, I got my first phone. A small, old thing that barely had internet access. My parents weren't exactly thrilled about it, but things were getting rough for my dad. My mom had to step in and help, which meant I had to stay with our neighbor, who agreed to teach me at home. The phone was their way of keeping in touch.
But wait... I'm rambling. I forgot to mention the dangerous boy. The one who turned my life into a curse.
It was him. A boy I liked in sixth grade. I got caught up in the moment, rushed to kiss him, and then boom. My heart exploded in my chest. Or at least, it felt like it did. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed, my dad trying to calm my sobbing mother.
I spent a year in that hospital before being sent home, and after that, life was never the same.
But enough about the past. Let's talk about now.
Now, I have no future.
I was diagnosed to die at eighteen. I'm twenty.
My eighteenth birthday felt like the end of the world. The house was lively, but underneath, it felt like a funeral. I was fine that day, no pain, no discomfort. But as soon as I went to bed, it was like my body decided to remind everyone that the doctors might've been right. A crushing weight pressed down on my chest, dragging me toward death's gate.
Since then, I've been here. Trapped in these white walls, under 24-hour watch.
But even here, I found a way to smuggle in a romance book. My step-sister gave it to me. I don't know if she wants me dead or just happy, but either way, it's a risk because romance is the one thing that could kill me.
And God, I swear, this book is doing things to my heart.
With my swollen hand, I clutch the hard book. I'm almost done, and honestly? It's so good I feel like I've died five times already.
It's about a college girl from a poor family who catches the attention of some powerful alpha male with endless wealth. She plays hard to get, and when he finally kisses her forcefully, because of course my heart leaps. I imagine him claiming my lips, stealing my breath, owning me.
Then she slaps him.
I squeal, I laugh...
And death flashes before me.
Wait, did I tell you that laughing too much could kill me? It turns out this illness doesn't want me to be happy. But well, I am.
The story is a slow-burn romance, and I'm loving every beat of it. To be honest, I wouldn't mind dying right here and now after I'm done reading this book.
Time flies by as I flip through the pages, eager to reach the end. My heart monitor beeps every seconds, but I push through, ignoring the occasional warnings that flash across the screen.
As I turn the last page, the words "The End" staring back at me, I feel a strange sense of finality, like death itself is creeping up on me. But it isn't. Instead, the door swings open, and Jade, my stepsister, walks in.
"Hey… I'm done reading this," I say in an exasperated tone, more to cover up the fact that I've been completely absorbed in it.
Did I forget to tell you that I actually stole the book from her? Figures. I might have made it sound like she gave it to me. No, she left it on my table, and I assumed that meant I could have it. So, I read it. And when she asked, I never handed it back.
She narrows her eyes at me, arms crossed. "I told you not to read that. If you die, don't blame me for it. I hate ghosts!" She snatches the book from my hands, her tone more serious than usual.
"Don't worry. Before I haunt you for killing me, I'll make sure to haunt my sixth-grade crush first. After all, he started all this."
She stops mid-step, intrigued. Funny. I don't usually tell people about this story. When my mom asked me what happened at school before I collapsed, I told her I was being bullied. That lie became my truth. It was easier than admitting the real reason I got homeschooled. After all, school was a death trap for someone with a weak heart. I couldn't afford to be bullied.
And why would I tell my mother about my sexuality when I believed it was the reason I was cursed?
Jade turns back to me, curiosity shining in her eyes. "Tell me about it. What did you just say? Your sixth-grade crush?"
She laughs, stepping closer. I hesitate, but then, for some reason, I find myself speaking. "Yeah… well, I lied to Mom, and I guess that means you got lied to as well."
Why was I telling Jade this? She was my stepsister, someone I wasn't really supposed to like since my mother got her after remarrying. Yep, my illness was too much for my dad to handle, so he left. He said I wasn't his son because heart cancer didn't run in his family. He accused my mother of cheating but refused to take a DNA test. My mom got it done anyway, and now he's stuck paying child support.
Before I bore you with that story, let's get back to Jade, who's staring at me, waiting for an answer.
"Wait… how did you know Mom told me how you got sick?" she asks.
"Because you're nosy, and you probably asked her to get more plot ideas for your stories."
She grins. "Speaking of stories, how was it?"
"It was good. Didn't know you wrote so well. I've been missing out." I sigh, my head resting against the pillow. "I wish I were the girl in the book. To be kissed like that… to be loved like that."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize I've made a mistake. Jade is staring at me, her face contorted in panic, like I've just confessed to committing a crime.
"Dude, shut up!" she shouts. "I am NOT about to have you die in front of me just because you read my damn book!"
"Relax," I chuckle. "If your book doesn't kill me, this story I'm about to tell you just might."
But before I can say another word, her eyes widen in horror. She's pointing at something.
I follow her gaze to my heart monitor.
There's something ironic about this illness. Either your heart rate spikes dangerously high, or it plummets to near nothing.
Right now, mine is going down.
"Am I about to die?" The thought barely has time to settle before everything suddenly fades to black.