Chapter 113: Mark's Devotion

It was a waiting room in which everything was done in muted tones and with forced calm. Olivia sat tensely in a hard chair, her fingers drumming some anxious rhythm against her knee. The smell of antiseptic in the air relentlessly kept reminding her of where she was and why. "Hey," Mark's soft voice slipped through the convolutions of her mind. He placed a warm hand over hers, stilling the restless fingers moving across hers. "You're okay?" Olivia turned again to look at him, taking him in with the concern etched into his familiar face. She managed a smile. "As okay as I can be, I guess." Mark had taken a week away from work to be here with her for this round of treatments. It was a gesture that touched her deeply, at the same time filling her with a complicated mix of emotions she couldn't quite untangle. "Ms. Thompson?" said a nurse, peeking her head through the doorway. "We're ready for you now." Olivia got up on unsteady legs, grateful when Mark's hand settled to brace against the small of her back. As they walked down that antiseptic hallway, Olivia marveled at that breezy conversation back in the beginning, when she had first been diagnosed. "I can do this alone," she'd insisted, in a voice that had gone brittle with false bravado. "You don't need to take time off work." But Mark had been so insistent. "Olivia, you don't have to do this alone. I want to be here. Let me be here for you." As the nurse seated her in the recliner and prepped her arm for the IV, Olivia could not help but be reluctantly glad that he was there. Mark seated himself in a chair directly by her side, reached for her free hand, and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Remember," he said softly, "we've got that new series queued up on the tablet. And I packed your favorite snacks for later." Olivia nodded, her throat tightening with some emotion that she could not quite put a name to. When the IV was inserted by the nurse and the first medication began to drop, Olivia closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of Mark's hand in hers. It was a slow few hours, measured by the drop of the IV and sometimes the murmur of nurses as they made their checks. Mark remained a constant: quiet conversation; now and then, he had begun reading something from a book she had always meant to start; he would just go silent and sit there, companionably, with her. It wasn't until late in the afternoon, with the change of the last bag of medication, that the composure Olivia had so carefully cultivated started to crack. "I just hate this," she whispered, barely making out her voice. "I hate being this weak, so. broken." Mark leaned in with his forehead almost touching hers. "You're not broken, Olivia. You're fighting. And you're the strongest person I know." A tear slid down Olivia's cheek. "How can you say that? How could you look at me like this and still?" "Still what?" Mark prodded when she fell silent. "Still love me?" Olivia finished, her voice small and vulnerable. Mark's eyes relaxed wide in horror. "Olivia, look at me." He waited until she met his gaze. "I love you. All of you. The good days, the bad days, and everything in between. This doesn't change that. Nothing could change that." His pronouncement should have been a balm to her anxious heart. In part, it was. But it also filled her with the warring emotions she'd wrestled with for weeks. They hobbled out of the hospital that evening, Olivia leaning heavily on Mark's arm. The shadow belonged to a nice man, she decided—a nice man with good features, rather like her own. Kind, dependable, and loving—everything she should want. But then, why did she feel this continued sense of lack? Back at her apartment, Mark busied himself with heating up the soup he'd prepared earlier. Olivia watched the man move around her kitchen in easy familiarity, noticing the way he moved with hope of taking care of her and placing importance on her words, expressed and unexpressed. He put a steaming bowl in front of her. "Just eat what you can, okay? And then we'll get you tucked into bed." Olivia just nodded and managed several spoonfuls before her nausea won. Mark did not resist the answer; he just did the dishes and helped her to the bedroom. Now lying alone in the bed, Mark lying solid to her side, Olivia's mind wandered to Nathan. She couldn't help but wonder how he would take something this serious. Would he—could he—be this patient, this understanding? Or would reality hold his free spirit down in regard to her illness? There was almost unbearable guilt that came with these thoughts. There was Mark, providing her with everything she could expect and even more. And still, a part of her yearned for something else, something she couldn't even define. "What are you thinking about?" Mark's soft voice broke through her reverie. Olivia turned toward him, examining the lines of care etched around his eyes. "Just. everything, I guess. How much have things changed? How much you've done for me." Reaching out, Mark tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I love you, Olivia. It's not a burden to be here for you. It's where I want to be." She managed to smile a little, though the effort sent her heart into writhing fits of pain. "I love you too," she murmured, and she meant it. She really did love Mark. But was love really enough? Was this comfortable, steady affection everything she really wanted for the rest of her life? With the breathing leveling from Mark next to her, Olivia stared into the ceiling, thoughts battling fiercely in her mind. She was grateful—so grateful—for Mark's love. But there was something that was not clicking. Was this what love felt like? Gratitude, affection, and a touch of unease? Maybe there was something else out there, in the middle of all that vastness, that would really bring her to life? Only when the exhaustion crept back did Olivia squeeze her eyes closed, allowing herself to get some sleep. Yet even with fatigue pulling at her, another repeated thought bounced inside her head: Was familiarity enough? Was stability? Or was she clinging all wrong to something... anything? As she finally drifted off, Olivia knew that sooner or later she would have to confront these questions head-on. But for now, as the cocoon of Mark's steadiness wrapped itself around her, she allowed herself to push those thoughts aside and concentrate on just being grateful for the love she had in that moment.