Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(18)

It’s true.

I’m the reason Lailah Buchanan is still fighting for her life.

Had I been a better person, had I been able to let go of my own selfishness, and had I instead thought of others beyond myself, Lailah would have had…my fiancée’s beating heart inside her chest.

Fuck, I can’t handle this.

Walking turned into running, which turned into panicked sprinting. As guilty as I felt for that day, as much as it pained me to know that I could have saved Lailah’s life, the thought of someone else holding on to Megan’s heart killed me—no, it slayed me. I couldn’t stand the thought of a piece of Megan living on and me not being allowed to be a part of that. I knew that her heart hadn’t made her who she was, but it still would have been hers. It had given her life and had moved blood into her veins.

If there were still something left of Megan, how could I not want to be around it?

Before I knew where I was running to, I found myself at the entrance of the hospital. I took a seat on the empty bench and lowered my head into my hands.

Since the night of Megan’s accident, I’d not only destroyed Megan’s life, but I’d also apparently ruined Lailah’s as well. My Megan was gone, but for me, her memories were still floating around the halls of this hospital like forgotten bits of paper sailing through the wind. But Lailah was still alive, her bright soul shining through everything she did. I thought of her nervous blabbering conversations, chocolate pudding obsessions and the way she never seemed to be let down by the hand she’d been dealt.

Somehow, I had to make it up to Lailah, and I had to make sure she would get another transplant.

I wasn’t sure how I’d do it, but for once in my life, I wanted to do something for someone else—no matter the consequences.

Seven: The Someday List—Lailah

HEART TRANSPLANT.

Heart transplant.

Maybe if I write it out enough, it will actually sink in.

Heart transplant.

Nope, not working.

I’ve always known this would be the end game, the grand finale. Why am I having such a hard time wrapping my brain around those two stupid words?

It wasn’t this hard the last time around.

Heart transplant.

Nope, still not sticking.

Mom’s really hopeful, but me? My usual never-ending ray of sunshine attitude is currently filled with nothing but dread. This time, I feel like I’m going to get caught up in a mighty storm, and there will be nothing left of the young woman I was before.

A knock at my door brought me out of the words I’d been pouring onto the pages of my journal, and I quickly closed it and set it on my lap. Ever since a counselor had told me a while ago that words could help soothe, I’d been flooding black-and-white composition journals faster than my mom could stock them.

“Come in,” I answered.

My heart accelerated in anticipation of who it could be. Jude hadn’t been by since his odd exit four days ago.

Maybe he’s coming by to check on me?

My pulse began to slow the instant I saw Abigail. Her eyes met mine for a brief moment and then went to the floor. She was quieter than usual, and she had a few books tucked under her arm.

Is she okay? Have I done something to upset her?

Rather than her exuberant, mad dash into my room, she slowly walked to my bed and hesitantly sat herself on the edge.

“Hey, Abigail. You’re here a bit late tonight. What’s up?” I asked cheerfully.

She pulled the books onto her lap. I saw my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl and what looked to be a diary. It was brown leather and embossed with a swirly script that had Abigail’s initials written on the front. Perhaps a tad too formal and a little too grown-up for a nine-year-old, but considering it had been a gift from her papa, it didn’t surprise me.

“Did you want me to read this because you’re dying?” she asked.

Her question took me by surprise, and it required a moment or two for me to respond.

“What? Why would you ask that?”

Tears formed in her eyes, and she looked down at the old photo gracing the cover of the paperback.

“Because she dies at the end. I just thought that maybe since you are here….” She looked around at my hospital room and the many different types of equipment surrounding me. “Maybe it was your way of telling me that you are going to die, too.”

God, I’m dumb.

“Oh, sweetie, come here,” I said, putting my journal on the tray table next to my bed.

I opened my arms, so she could crawl up into them. Her small body fit perfectly next to mine on the bed. I smoothed down her dark brown hair and wrapped the ends around my fingers.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the book without warning you of the sad ending. That was irresponsible of me.”

“Did she really die?” she asked.

I just nodded against her cheek.

“Sometimes, the world doesn’t go the way we want it to,” I offered, continuing to play with her hair.

She nuzzled against me. “What about you?” she asked hesitantly, lifting her head so that her large chestnut brown eyes met mine.

“What about me?” I asked.

“Are you going to die, Lailah?”

I took a deep breath and considered lying. Lots of people lie to children. Is it really terrible to save them the heartache of knowing the truth if it causes them pain?