One day left until heart transplant.

A hot shower was pouring down on us, so were words raining still. In the bathroom. Fiona laid bare something I was unaware of, thus she said one thing I had in common with her: her parents were a white man and black woman. So it was my turn to say something she was unaware of.

“You aware that I know Dr. Wheelbarrow was your husband, right?” I asked her, rubbing a sponge against her massive rear which never stopped promising me children.

“Yes, I know,” responded Fiona; “Dr. Wheelbarrow had a great, great heart, that’s why I want you to have his heart.”

“Sounds like he was a great man.” I nodded with respect and leaned on to her ear. “But do you love me for who I am?” I whispered.

“Of course,” asserted Fiona, and turned around. Her bust threatened to stab my chest as she looked into my eyes. “You’ve doubts?” she asked.

“Yes.” I admitted with a sigh. “How true is your love for me?”

“It’s so true that I had to give Dr. McCain a cold shoulder in order to focus on you,” said Fiona, maintaining eye contact. For a minute, I appreciated the truth in her eyes.

“Whoa, wow… just wow.” I was hyped. I felt so special to hear that Fiona rejected such great man in Dr. McCain for the sake of me. “You first saw me in the hospital?” I asked.

“I first saw you on Facebook; your mom posted photos of you seeking funds for your heart treatment,” replied Fiona.

“You’re so good, a greatest woman I’ve ever met after my mom,” I said that out of the blue, and resumed sponging her rear. “I think my heart is now 100% fine.”

“Hmm, really?” Fiona giggled.

“Yep.” I affirmed her. “I shouldn’t go for a heart transplant after all. I’m all fine for real. You healed me, babe.”

Fiona turned off the shower right away. We both got reminded that we had left her Billboard song: Women on fire on repeat on the home theatre subwoofer in the lounge. However, Fiona was not on fire, she was glaring at me. Clearly, she was unhappy with my latest statement. She wrapped a pink towel around her body and deserted the cubicle.

I tensed up.

“Babe, are you mad at me?” I asked, following her with nothing on.

“Maybe, because I’ve spent so much precious time raising funds for your heart transplant,” responded Fiona, sobbing: “I love you so much, Elijah, I want you to live long.”

I guessed our first ever heated conversation was about to erupt. I closed in to her to calm things down, but my chest crushed on my heart and I felt headless and boneless at once. My body landed with a thud on the floor, failing to catch a breath, and I could see a blurry Fiona screaming my name in a panic. Her lips crashed into mine; she was attempting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I shook my head to signal to her that she was making my condition worse, therefore she stood up and said:

“Hold on, Elijah! Let me call an ambulance!”

I knew she was loud, but her voice was dead against my ears. Next, I saw darkness.