My Dying Wish Was To Forget Your Love

To get revenge on my ex-boyfriend, I agreed to get back together with him. After we reconciled, Ethan took me out for Carolina Reaper hot chicken—the very thing I used to despise the most. Staring at the plate drenched in crimson, blisteringly hot sauce, I didn't beg him to swap it for mild like I used to. Instead, I quietly picked up my fork and took a bite. Ethan picked up a drumstick and dropped it onto my plate, his voice tinged with a mix of satisfaction and condescension. "Being apart really changed you for the better. No more picky eating, no more temper tantrums. I like this version of you." I kept my head down, mechanically chewing. A fiery agony churned in my stomach, but my tongue registered nothing. He had no idea that chemotherapy had completely stripped away my sense of taste. Everything I ate tasted like dry ash. I just needed someone to keep me company through the final chapter of my life. ... I swallowed the bite of fried chicken, forcing down the violent nausea rising in my chest. A searing pain scorched all the way down my esophagus, like coarse salt rubbed into an open, bleeding ulcer. I grabbed the glass of ice water and downed it in one gulp. Ethan didn't notice a thing. He was too busy savoring the thrill of finally taming his stubborn ex. With an amused smirk, he tossed another fiery wing onto my plate. "Eat more. Look how skinny you've gotten. It hurts to hold you." I stared at the blood-red sauce coating the wing, my fingers trembling around the fork. In the past, I would have flipped the table and walked out. Six months ago, we broke up because he humiliated me just to please Victoria, a wealthy older socialite. At my own birthday dinner, he forced me to act like a waitress and pour wine for her. And after the party, I caught him in the parking lot inside her luxury sports car, kneeling pathetically on the leather seat, cradling Victoria's face and kissing her like a desperate beggar. It disgusted me to my core. Back then, my pride was fierce. I couldn't tolerate a single speck of dirt in my relationship, so I dumped him on the spot. Now, that proud spine had been shattered by a single piece of paper: Stage IV Gastric Cancer. My savings were completely depleted. I had lost my job. Both of my parents were long dead. Next week's chemo session cost another thirty thousand dollars out-of-pocket. No one was going to give me that kind of money except Ethan. I took a deep breath, forcing a docile smile. "Okay. Whatever you say." Just as I reached for the wing, Ethan’s phone buzzed on the table. The caller ID flashed: "Victoria". Ethan, who had been lounging lazily against the booth, shot upright instantly. The arrogant smirk on his face vanished, replaced by an oily, subservient eagerness. Without so much as an apology to me, he snatched up the phone. "Ms. Montgomery... Yes, I'm eating. No, nobody important, just an old roommate... Right, I reviewed the contract. Should I bring it over to your penthouse right now?" "An old roommate." I looked down at my water, concealing the bitter sneer at the corner of my lips. For a woman thirteen years his senior, he was ready to discard me at a moment's notice. He was like this in the past, and nothing had changed. Hanging up, Ethan didn't even touch the fresh plate of wings. He grabbed his coat from the booth and stood up. "Something urgent came up at work. Ms. Montgomery has a major deal to close. Take your time and finish eating, I already covered the bill." He adjusted his tie, his eyes darting toward the door, completely distracted. "Don't wait up for me tonight. If the meeting runs late, I'll just sleep at the office." I knew better. "Sleeping at the office" meant sleeping in Victoria's bed. I nodded obediently, stepped up, and smoothed his collar, whispering softly, "Drive safe. Work comes first. Don't push yourself too hard." Ethan froze mid-stride. He turned back, his brow slightly furrowed, staring at me with a complicated gaze. "Summer, you..." His lips moved, searching for words, before dissolving into a soft chuckle. "Looks like you’ve finally grown up. You finally understand the pressure I'm under." He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. A second later, a notification pinged on my phone: "[PayPal transfer received: $5,000]". "Go buy some new clothes. Stop dressing like a plain ghost." Ethan pocketed his phone, his smug aura of absolute control returning. He reached out and pinched my hollow cheek. "Stay this obedient. As long as you don't cause trouble, I'll take good care of you." I stared at the balance on the screen. It wasn't much, but it was money. "Thank you." Satisfied at last, Ethan planted a rushed, dismissive peck on my forehead before turning on his heel and striding out.Five thousand dollars. Just enough to buy pain medication and prolong my miserable existence for another two weeks. The excruciating spasm I had suppressed in my stomach finally erupted. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I stumbled blindly out of the restaurant and collapsed into the curbside bushes. "Ugh—" The food I had forced down surged up with a rush of stomach acid. My throat burned like acid fire, and hot tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. Even after my stomach was entirely empty, violent dry heaves wracked my ribs. Under the dim yellow streetlight, I collapsed on the dirt, staring at the terrifying pool of crimson beneath me. With trembling fingers, I wiped my chin, staining my knuckles red. I couldn't tell if it was the ghost pepper sauce I had just swallowed, or fresh blood heaved up from my rotting stomach lining. Because I hadn't made a scene at dinner, Ethan was visibly in a great mood. The next morning, my phone chimed again: "[PayPal transfer received: $2,000]". Right after, a barely-used designer handbag was tossed onto my sofa. "You behaved well last night. Consider this a reward." Ethan adjusted his tie in the mirror, his tone dripping with condescending charity. "Ms. Montgomery got bored of this bag. It looks practically new, so I brought it home for you. There's a networking dinner tonight. Carry it with you and don't embarrass me." I slung the luxury strap over my shoulder, silently calculating how much it would fetch on Poshmark and whether I could swap it with a cheap knockoff to fool him. "Sure. Thanks." As long as it kept me alive, I would gladly sift through garbage. Seeing that I accepted the hand-me-down without protest, Ethan's tense shoulders relaxed. He walked over, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and rested his chin in the crook of my neck. "Summer, I know you feel slighted taking used things. But bowing my head to Victoria right now is all for our future. You're my only harbor, the only person around whom I feel human. Bear with it a little longer. Once I make it to the top, I'll pay you back double for everything." I stood motionless in his embrace. He had no idea that I had no future left. The evening party was hosted in a private luxury club. The moment we walked into the VIP suite, a wave of opulence hit us. Victoria sat at the head of the leather lounge, holding a slim Virginia Slim cigarette between manicured fingers, her gaze lazy and sharp. Ethan instantly morphed into a spineless sycophant. He hurried forward, hunching over to light her cigarette with a silver lighter, then pointed at me. "Ms. Montgomery, this is my flatmate, Summer. She begged to come see high society, so I brought her along to fill the room." "A flatmate." To prove his undivided devotion to his sugar-patron, his former love had been demoted to a roommate he couldn't even claim. Victoria exhaled a plume of thin gray smoke, her eyes sweeping over the bag on my shoulder. "Oh? Isn't that the bag I threw out last month? Really, Ethan, why do you keep hauling trash into your apartment?" Laughter erupted around the lounge. Ethan's face stiffened, but he quickly plastered on a sycophantic grin. "You're right as always, Ms. Montgomery. Just recycling junk." I stood in the corner, clutching the strap tightly, maintaining a blank, numb expression. A few rounds of drinks in, a greasy businessman named Barnes, desperate to curry favor with Victoria, poured a full tumbler of 150-proof straight bourbon and shoved it in Ethan's face. "Ethan, Ms. Montgomery has paved your whole path. Show us your loyalty. Down this whole glass in one shot!" It was a massive tumbler. Ethan was notoriously lightweight; that much high-proof liquor would send him straight into alcohol poisoning. Panic flashed across his face as he instinctively looked to Victoria for a lifeline. Victoria didn't even blink. She merely pointed a languid finger toward me, her smile dripping with malice. "Ethan has client pitches tomorrow morning. Getting blackout drunk will ruin business. Look at his little flatmate over there, just standing like a wooden mannequin with her knockoff bag." Her voice turned icy, laced with amusement. "Since she eats his food and carries his hand-me-downs, taking a bullet for him with one drink isn't too much to ask, is it?"The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes locked onto Ethan. Between his career advancement and his dying ex-girlfriend, he didn't hesitate for a single second. He bowed low, topped off Victoria's glass with ice water, and let her finger brush insolently across his cheek, grinning like a trained dog. Then, he picked up the tumbler of bourbon, turned around, and shoved it directly into my face. "Summer." His voice was hushed, yet laden with entitlement. "Ms. Montgomery is right. When you live off someone else, you have to bow your head. You took the bag, you took the cash. Drink this for me. Don't ruin everyone's night." In a dizzying blur, my mind flashed back to our college graduation night. Back when a guy tried to pressure me, Ethan had intercepted every drink until he was hospitalized for gastric bleeding, swearing with bloodshot eyes that no one would ever force liquor down my throat again. In just three short years, the boy who shielded me from drinks had become the man forcing the poison into my hand. I stared at the amber liquid. It was a fatal dose. The oncologist's words rang in my ears: "Your stomach lining is severely eroded. A single shot of high-proof alcohol could trigger a fatal hemorrhage." I looked into Ethan's eyes, searching for even a flicker of hesitation or regret. There was none. Only impatience, desperation, and an unspoken demand. In that quiet second, whatever remained of my heart died completely. "Okay." I took the glass and downed it in one swift, ruthless motion. The scorching liquid tore down my throat, and an explosive, blinding agony ripped through my gut, as if a wire brush were frantically scraping open my ulcerated stomach wall. Cold sweat drenched my blouse instantly. I clamped my teeth down so hard they cracked, using every ounce of willpower not to collapse to the floor. Setting the empty glass down, I choked back the iron-metallic taste flooding my mouth and forced a ghost of a smile toward Ethan. "It's gone." Victoria arched an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Ethan stared at the empty tumbler and let out a long sigh of relief. He patted my shoulder, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Good girl. I knew keeping you around was worth it." He immediately spun on his heel to pour more wine for Victoria. No one saw me turn away, pressing my hands into my abdomen so hard my nails dug through fabric into skin, yet it barely numbed a fraction of the agony burning within. That night, after the bourbon tore my insides apart, I collapsed into a high fever and lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, harsh morning sunlight flooded through the blinds. Instinctively, I tried to push myself up, but my head spun wildly. More terrifyingly, my sensory world had fractured. On my left side, total, deafening silence. On my right side, a shrill, piercing buzz of white noise, hissing like broken electrical wires. With trembling hands, I slapped the side of my left ear. Nothing. I pinched my earlobe viciously until it bruised. Still, nothing. The toxic alcohol combined with chemo neurotoxicity had completely destroyed the auditory nerve. My left ear was completely deaf. Right then, the bedroom door flew open. Ethan walked in, looking triumphant and refreshed, carrying a bag of artisanal breakfast pastries. He was humming a tune, radiant with success, completely oblivious to my flushed face and cold sweat. He dropped onto the edge of the mattress, seized my burning hand, his face manic with adrenaline. "Summer! We did it! That glass of bourbon paid off!" I watched his mouth opening and closing. I couldn't hear his words at all, catching only disjointed, muffled fragments in my right ear. "...Ms. Montgomery... investment... huge check..." His eyes burned with unbridled greed. He leaned down, cupping my burning face in his hands, nearly shouting with joy. "Once this project closes, my commission will be in the hundreds of thousands! I'll take you to get that Tiffany diamond ring you always wanted. We'll have a lavish wedding, and we'll never have to bow to anyone again!" A ring? A wedding? Did he really think I had that much time left? When I didn't react, only staring blankly through him, the ecstatic grin on Ethan's face slowly froze. His eyebrows knitted together. He dropped his hands from my face, his tone darkening into irritation. Though I couldn't hear the words, the disgusted sneer on his face was unmistakable. Desperate to decipher what he was saying, I tilted my head, straining with my half-functioning right ear to catch a vibration. To Ethan, that head tilt looked like a deliberate, dismissive cold shoulder.Ethan sprang up from the bed, thrusting an accusatory finger in my face. His jaw worked violently—based on his lips, he was roaring: "I told you everything I do is for our future! What's with that funeral face?" "I made you drink one glass of booze! I gave you cash, I gave you a luxury bag, what more do you want?" "Summer, when did you become so damn entitled? If Ms. Montgomery pulls her funding, can you afford to pay for it?" The electrical screech in my head clashed with his silent roars, threatening to split my skull open. I parted my lips, wanting to say: "I can't hear you." Wanting to say: "I'm burning up with fever." Yet, looking into his resentful eyes, the words dissolved on my tongue. What was the point? He would just assume I was playing the victim, deliberately trying to ruin his celebration. Exhausted, I closed my eyes, turned my back on him, and pulled the duvet completely over my head. "I'm tired. I want to sleep." Behind me, rapid stomps shook the floorboards, followed by a violent vibration through the frame. It must have been the bedroom door slamming shut with murderous force. The walls rattled. With his departure, the buzzing in my right ear mockingly subsided into a dull hum. The room sank into a suffocating, dead silence. That weekend, Ethan actually brought Victoria back to our apartment. The second she crossed the threshold, she pinched her nose in sheer disgust. "Ethan, you actually live in a dump like this? It smells like poverty. No wonder you carry that low-class stench." Ethan trailed behind her, smiling submissively. "You're absolutely right, Ms. Montgomery. As soon as the bonus clears, I'm leasing a penthouse right by your corporate headquarters." Lying in the bedroom, my stomach seized in violent knots. To save money for treatments, I had swapped costly prescription anti-nausea meds for cheap herbal remedies from an alternative clinic. On the stove, a pot was simmering hot, dark fluid—the only thing easing my cramps. Victoria walked toward the kitchen, her features twisted in revulsion. "What is that vile smell? It smells like rotting roots and sewer water. I'm going to throw up." She glared at me as I shuffled out of the bedroom, sneering, "Ms. Vance, have you no decency? Who are you trying to poison with this garbage?" I parted my dry lips, ready to explain that it was medicine. Ethan shoved past me and rushed into the kitchen. "If Ms. Montgomery doesn't like it, it's gone." Without a second thought, he grabbed a dishtowel, lifted the boiling pot off the burner, and dumped every drop of the thick, dark brew—herbs and all—straight down the sink drain. I froze on the spot, staring at the empty pot. My heart felt as though an invisible hand had gripped it and crushed it to pieces. That was my lifeline. Two hundred dollars an ounce, simmered for three grueling hours. After dumping it, Ethan turned on the exhaust fan and snapped at me: "What are you standing there for? Go slice some fresh fruit for Ms. Montgomery! Use your brain for once." His tone was completely natural, as if I weren't his partner, but an embarrassing, incompetent maid. I didn't argue. I didn't have the breath left to fight. With the herbs gone, the gastric spasms returned with vengeance, cold sweat soaking through the back of my cotton shirt. Mechanically, I walked into the kitchen and shut the door, shutting out Victoria's mocking chuckles and Ethan's fawning replies. I picked up the knife and started peeling an apple. One slice. Two slices. Suddenly, an agonizing convulsion ripped through my core, like something detonating in my internal organs. A warm, sweet metallic liquid surged up my throat, too fast and violent to suppress. I opened my mouth, and a heavy spray of crimson blood erupted over the counter. Scalding red coated the porcelain white sink and spattered across the pale yellow apple slices on the cutting board. My vision went pitch black for three seconds. I clamped my hands onto the counter, my knees buckling under my weight. From the living room, Ethan's impatient shout cut through the thin wooden door: "Summer! How hard is it to cut an apple? Ms. Montgomery is waiting!"