Deadly Love

*cw- blood, vomit*

The first few moments after waking were always the best. Coming out of a deep slumber where the harsh realities of the outside world couldn’t reach her usually brought with it a few minutes of blissful peace, where life felt almost normal.

On good days, when the ache in her chest subsided just enough to make her feel like she wasn’t suffocating, these blissful moments could stretch out into minutes. If she closed her eyes, tried to breathe through her mouth and used a little imagination, it almost felt like she was lying in bed awaiting her alarm to ring and will her out of bed to get ready for a day of classes.

The cold from the bathroom tiles penetrated through her thin cotton t-shirt, and the bathmat felt rough under her cheek. A familiar putrid smell reached her nostrils and she clamped her hand over her nose and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, desperately willing herself to ignore it for just a few minutes more.

But alas, it was not meant to be. The tightness in her chest intensified and the unpleasant sensation scratched her throat, which already felt raw. She lurched forward to the toilet, and retched and retched until the object was finally out.

Floating in a pool of red water was a white lily. The ends of a few petals were slightly mangled, but aside from that, the lily was whole.

It had started almost six months ago now. She’d been feeling lethargic and unmotivated, but put it down to the general misery of lockdown. It wasn’t until she found herself unable to get out of bed with a burning fever and a headache that felt like a thousand tiny men were drilling on the inside of her skull, that she began to worry.

At first she thought it was the dreaded Coronavirus, especially when her chest began to tickle and the cough appeared. But when the fever subsided and small green leaves, the ends tinged with blood, started to come up, it was clear she had another problem on her hands.

Predictably, when you type ‘coughing up flowers’ into Google, not much comes up. There’s a link to a music video and a few drawings, but they were no use. The closest thing she could find was a Wikipedia entry referring to the Hanahaki disease.

According to the page, the Hanahaki disease is a disease where flowers grow in the lungs of a victim of unrequited love. In its early stages, the plant can be removed, but when they start coughing up leaves, it’s too late. The only cure at this stage is for the love to be returned.

But in her case, the chance of this was slim to none.

The memory of meeting him for the first time a little over nine months ago still shone in her head, as clear as a bell.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and she’d awoken with the hangover from hell. She sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes, feeling the start of a headache beginning behind her eyes. She needed food and paracetamol, stat.

On further inspection, there was no food in her flat apart from a few protein bars and a bag of dried fruit left over from her last health kick. She would have to go out to the shop, which she really didn’t want to do.

Berating herself under her breath for her lack of preparation, she stomped back through to her bedroom and pulled out a grey hoodie and sweatpants from her chest of drawers. She dressed quickly, throwing her hair up into a messy bun, then grabbed her bag and left the flat.

Thankfully, there was a corner shop across the road from her flat, so she didn’t have to go far. She pulled her hood over her head to shield herself against the rain and hurried over to the shop.

 A bell chimed as she pushed open the door. She kept her head down and quickly moved around the store, picking up the items she needed. Once she’d collected the items she went to pay, placing them gently on the counter and pulling the money out of her purse.

“Late night last night?” an unfamiliar voice asked. She jerked her head up.

She looked up to find the man behind the counter smiling at her. His skin was tanned, and freckles were scattered over his cheeks and nose.

“Do I really look that rough?” she replied, smiling wryly. The man chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Not at all. It was just from what you bought,” he picked up the carton of orange juice and put it in a blue plastic carrier bag. “You know. Orange juice. Paracetamol. Bacon. Classic hangover foods.”

“Oh. Well then, yes, I guess I was out pretty late last night,” she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you new? I’ve never seen you here before.”

The man grinned at her, then continued to scan her groceries.

“Yup! Just moved here from Australia,” he grinned at her again. “The accent kind of gives it away though.”

Huh. Now that he mentioned it, there was an Australian lilt to his voice.

“There we go,” he said, jabbing some buttons on the cash register. “That’s 7.64 please.”

She handed him a ten pound note and he passed her the change.

“There you go. Have a nice day!”

“Thanks. You too.”     

After that, she’d kept finding excuses to visit the store to see him. First she needed a bottle of water before she went to the gym, then she ran out of oil in the middle of cooking. Whenever she opened the door and saw he was working, her heart flipped, and the dumbest smile appeared on her face.

Yes, she was an idiot to fall for him so quickly. They’d been talking a little bit, but he’d never once expressed any inclination that he liked her. And why would he? To him, she was probably just another customer.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. God, she looked rough. Her skin was pale, and dark rings circled her eyes. Her hair hung in limp strands around her face, weighed down by weeks of grease and sweat. A patch of dried blood clung to her chin, and she swiped at it furiously with the heel of her hand.

She had no idea what the time was, or even what day it was. Her days were just an endless blur of coughing and passing out, and slotting in taking care of her basic needs around this.

Speaking of which, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She should fix that while she still had some energy.

Like the rest of her tiny flat, the kitchen was a mess. Dishes were stacked on the draining board and a pile of black bin bags were stacked up in the corner of the room. A grey blackout blind was pulled over the window, stained with an unknown substance. The white floor tiles were littered with flower petals and leaves, and splattered with dark brown blood stains, and in the middle sat a crate of groceries that she needed to put away in the cupboards. The smell of decaying plants hung in the air.

Under normal circumstances she would be ashamed of the mess. Prior to getting sick, her flat was as neat as a pin, and she took pleasure in scrubbing every possible surface until it positively gleamed. But now cleaning took precious energy that she’d rather dedicate to finding a cure.

She reached down to the cupboard and pulled out a small carton of fresh orange juice and a packet of crackers. Stabbing through the foil seal with the straw, she took a sip of the juice and winced as the acidic liquid hit the back of her throat. Nothing tasted right and food was hardly appealing, but she forced it down anyway, desperately hoping the nutrients would help.

She shuffled over to the sofa, moving as slowly as she could to minimise the pain in her chest. Even the short walk left her gasping for breath and she sank onto the sofa, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and coughing violently. It took ten minutes until the coughing fit subsided, and even then there was a painful ticking at the back of her throat. She stuck her fingers inside her mouth and tugged at the object, gagging as she pulled it out.

It was a whole lily, with the stalk still attached. She dropped it to the floor and stared down at the mess in front of her. A mass of lily petals and leaves sat in a pile, speckled with drops of bright red blood.

It was getting worse. She was positive she was dying. But she had one desperate idea left and opening her laptop, she began to put her plan into action.

An hour later, she was slowly making her way to the corner shop. She hadn’t left the flat since the disease had kicked in, and she mentally crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t hack up a flower when out in public.

A cold wind whipped her cheeks and she clung onto the folded piece of paper in her hands that contained the secret that no one else knew. She’d always found it easier to express herself in writing, and anyway, she was sure her lungs would give up in the middle of her monologue.

The bell tinkled as she pushed open to the shop. Thankfully, the man was working today, and her heart flipped as she saw him behind the counter, scrolling idly on his phone. He looked up guiltily as he heard her enter, but his face relaxed into a smile when he recognised her and he slipped the phone into his pocket.

“Oh hey,” he said, as she approached the counter. “I’ve not seen you in ages. How are you?”

When she didn’t respond, he frowned at her.

“Is everything okay? You look a bit…peaky.”

She walked towards him, stopping as she reached the counter. She gazed up at him, drinking in his chocolate eyes that shone with warmth and his flawless skin, the colour of milky coffee. She put the paper on the counter and turned to leave the shop.

He called after her, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she quickened her pace to a jog, ignoring the burning pain coursing through her lungs and chest. She needed to put distance between herself and the corner shop as fast as she could.

The coughing started as she was climbing the stairs to her first floor flat, and as soon as she had her front door closed, she slid to the floor, curling up her knees.  She coughed and coughed, watching as a mass of petals and leaves cascaded to the floor.

Despite the tightness in her chest, she couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. She couldn’t wait to watch him open it, for fear she wouldn’t be able to handle the look on his face as he rejected her.

Deep down there was a tiny flicker of hope that he liked her back, and as a last minute decision, she had scrawled her phone number at the end of the letter using a blue biro. All she could do now was sit and wait.