Chapter 1

I got home from work and threw myself on the bed. I took a deep sigh and watched the ceiling fan spin. Another hellish day working for a mediocre paying job; come home to this tiny apartment with walls as thin as paper, and reeked of mold and mildew. It was the dead of summer and this fan did nothing more than give me a false sense of cooling. No AC and only one window that was perfectly placed to where the summer heat hit directly on the bed. Hardly any point in taking a shower, the water pressure was horrible and its only setting was hot. Great in the winter, but terrible in the summer. The only reason why I continue to even live in the shitbox is that it was the cheapest place I could get on my salary. I could barely afford groceries prices were so high and god awful. There was ONE thing that made living here bearable, there was a hole in the right wall about the size of a doorknob that I would use to talk to the person in the other room.

It was by my headrest, so I sat up and leaned toward it. "Psst," I called, "Are you awake?" I waited for a response, then there was a slight groaning noise coming from the other side. "I am now." A female voice said weakly. "Oh, I'm sorry," I responded, "If you want, we can save the talk for later." "No, *cough* I don't mind *cough* *cough.* How was your day at work?" She asked through labored breaths. "The same as usual. Heh, the guys that usually beat me up only took half my money today. I was smart enough to put the other half in my sock." "That's nice," She let out a loud and painful cough, "But why not hide all your money?" "I didn't want them to be suspicious and tear through my clothes to find it." "I see. *cough* *cough* I'm glad you're okay and got to keep some of your money." "Yeah…." I didn't respond because I wanted to hear her. The deep labored breaths, the small groans after each exhale, and throat-tearing coughs that expelled from her. "You sound worse than usual," I said, "Your condition's gotten worse, hasn't it?" "No, I'm fine….the doctor came by today and told me I was looking better than before." She let off a loud agonizing cough that made her gasp for air. Her wheezed breathing continued, "See? I'm as healthy as an ox. There's not even that much blood anymore." "It doesn't sound like you're okay. I don't trust that doctor, it feels like he's only telling you this so he can keep getting money out of you." "Maybe, *wheeze* but it's not like I have much money left anyways. So either they approve me for the treatment or they leave me here to die. Either way, the landlord's going to get an empty room." She forced a small chuckle out. "Don't talk like that, you're going to be fine. I promise you." "Thank you. It's *cough* nice to know someone still cares. *cough* *cough* Well, I better get some rest." "Yeah, you need it."

She didn't say her usual goodbye, and in combination with her coughing and wheezing, she's definitely not getting any better. Who is she? I don't really know, the only thing I know is that she's been living in her apartment for two years before I started living next door. I wanted to tell her my name, but she insisted I didn't, that eventually, we'd get there. When I first moved in, I had no friends, no one to talk to, hell even the other people living in the apartment building were just a bunch of assholes. But not this woman. She was the first person to actually start a conversation with me; this was before her disease got worse. Once we started talking and there was an instant connection, we would talk for hours and she actually brought some ray of joy to living here. She's never told me what her disease is, but she did tell me she'll only last another five years before it fully sets in and kills her from the inside. That was four years ago. I'd wanted to see her, bring her food, and take care of her…but she insisted I didn't. That our chats through the wall were comforting enough, she didn't want me to see her slowly deteriorate and become a walking corpse. Course, once her legs stopped working she renamed herself the bedridden zombie. She'd always make dark humor jokes…that was her way of coping, I guess. Every time I would bring up the idea of me seeing her, she'd change the subject. I couldn't even see her through the hole in the wall, so we only knew each other by voice. It pained me to hear her sounding more and more in terrible condition every day, not being able to do something to help her. She always refused, practically accepting her death.