Your Turn to Suffer by Tim Waggoner (free romance novels .TXT) 📗

his order, he realized something. By eating, he was providing nourishment for his body. All of it, his tumors included. He lost his appetite after this realization, and all he ordered was a double scotch. He’d meant it to be the only drink he had, but it had gone down fast and easy, and it felt so good, he’d ordered another. Why not? He needed to live it up while he could, right?

He let out a bitter bark of a laugh, then took another sip of his drink.

One nice thing about being diagnosed with cancer – it made his relationship problems seem like not so big a deal. For weeks, he’d been frustrated by Lori’s inability to commit fully to their relationship, as well as her blindness when it came to the issue of Larry. He’d tried to explain to her that keeping her ex-boyfriend as a roommate was just a way for her to maintain a buffer between them. He felt she was keeping Larry in her life on purpose, as an excuse for not completely committing to him. To them.

He’d almost decided not to call her today and tell her about his diagnosis out of spite over last night’s disastrous phone conversation. But he was scared – fucking terrified – and he’d needed to talk to someone. And did part of him hope that his diagnosis would make Lori feel sorry for him, prompt her to direct more of her emotional energy toward him? Probably. He supposed even cancer had a silver lining, tarnished and thin though it might be. The truth was, he was still in shock after receiving the news that his own body was in the process of trying to kill him. He kept finding himself breathing shallowly, as if he was afraid that taking full breaths would agitate the cancer cells that had invaded his lungs, causing them to reproduce even faster.

He wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, navy-blue slacks, and black shoes. Normally he wore a tie to work, but today’s tie was lying on the passenger seat of his silver Corolla. He hadn’t bothered to put it on before his doctor’s appointment, and he hadn’t felt like doing it afterward. He might just let the fucking thing sit in his car all day. He hadn’t decided yet.

His doctor had done his best to reassure him, to tell him not to give up hope. He would be referred to an oncologist, of course, and the doctor spoke of treatment options such as chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation therapy, pulmonary lobectomy, pneumonectomy…. All of it sounded horrible to Justin, and after a bit he’d stopped listening.

He’d never been to the Curious Keg before. The bar was located halfway between his doctor’s office and BioChem Diagnostics. He’d taken a half-day off for his doctor’s appointment, and he was trying to decide if he should call off for the rest of the day or if he should go in and hope work kept his mind off his cancer. They both seemed like shitty choices to him right now. Maybe more scotch would clarify matters. He drained the rest of his drink and held up the empty glass to signal his server. When she came over, he said, “One more of the same, please.”

She looked doubtful, like maybe she thought he’d had enough for now. He was ready to argue with her, but she smiled, nodded once, took his empty glass and headed for the bar. Justin wondered if she’d seen something in his expression that had told her to keep her damn mouth shut and go get his drink. If so, good. Cancer Man didn’t need any lip from the waitstaff.

The Curious Keg was only a step or two above a dive bar, the kind of place with grimy windows, sticky floors, graffiti carved into tabletops, and an omnipresent odor of cleaning chemicals that didn’t quite mask the faint smell of urine. He imagined his lungs were like this. Not a complete wreck yet, but well on their way. The place was only half full, and Justin didn’t know if that was due to it being too early for a full crowd, or if the place was always like this. Most of the customers looked like blue-collar workers drinking their lunch the same as he was, while some looked as if they might be unemployed or homeless. Shabby clothes, unkempt appearances. He knew he was stereotyping, but he didn’t care. As an Asian man, he’d been stereotyped plenty in his life. People who thought English was his second language even though he’d been born and raised in the United States, people who thought he possessed a genius-level intellect simply because of his race, women who expected him to be emotionally reserved and have a small penis. After a lifetime of that shit, he figured he’d earned the right to stereotype others a little.

The server brought his third drink, and he thanked her without taking his gaze from the window. The rain was coming down heavier now, and he could hear the sound of it striking the pavement outside, a muted ssssssshhhhhhh. Cars drove by on the street outside, and Justin wondered how many of their occupants were dealing with their own small tragedies today. Maybe all of them, he thought.

He sometimes wondered why he kept trying with Lori. She was smart and extremely empathetic – which made her perfect for her career – but she lacked a capacity for introspection. She remained focused on the present while still looking toward the future, but when it came to examining the past, forget it. It was like she had some kind of mental block, almost as if the past didn’t exist for her. If he hadn’t gotten his CT scan results back today, if he’d called her solely to discuss last night’s conversation, she would’ve acted like it was no big deal, almost as if it had never happened at all. It was one of the