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“I have a plan,” Remy says, in lieu of a greeting, her tone serious.
Allison raises an eyebrow. “Nice to see you too. What are we talking about?”
She sits down across the dining table from Remy, in their small apartment. Remy wants to cry a little. Their apartment. They have this whole life they’ve built together, and kept hidden from the world. They have something that’s only theirs, that no one can take from them.
But Huntington’s can, and Huntington’s will.
They’ve never talked about it, not properly. Sure, they have conversations about it, and Allison lets Remy rest her head on her shoulder and listens to her as she gets all existential. But they always dance around the real root of Remy’s concerns.
One day, she’s going to die. And it’ll be slow, and it’ll be painful. That’s unless she changes her fate, and stops that miserable descent into nothingness from happening.
If she takes control, and she dies before it can kill her.
“For when the Huntington’s gets bad. I want you to kill me.”
Allison’s eyes bug out of her head. “What?”
“I have access to the drugs that are used for medically assisted death. All I have to do is take them from the hospital, and, I mean, you’re trained. You could put the needle into my vein, because I can’t do it myself, Allison, I just can’t. It would be quick. Painless. It’s the best solution.”
Remy says it in a quiet, measured way. She’s careful to keep her voice businesslike, not allowing for emotion to seep through. This doesn’t have to be sad. Really, all she’s doing is planning for the future, for the best possible outcome.
But she knows what Allison’s going to say the second she opens her mouth.
“Remy, no. You can’t die—”
“I’m going to die anyways. This is the way I want it to go. I want to have control, Allison. Please let me have it.”
“You’ll get in trouble,” Allison tries. “Stealing drugs from the hospital—”
“It won’t matter,” Remy says. “I’ll be dead. What the hell are they going to do?”
“It’s a crime—”
“A crime you’ll never get found out for. All the signs will point to suicide, or to complications from Huntington’s. And honestly? It may be illegal, but you can’t get on an ethical high ground about this, Allison. You know this is the more moral option. It causes less suffering.”
“For you, Remy!” Allison almost yells, slamming her hand down onto the table. “What about me?”
“I’m going to fucking die either way, Allison! You’re going to watch me fade away, you’re going to watch me forget you, and then you’re going to watch me die. Or you could end it all earlier. All the pain,” Remy spits, voice catching on a sob, a collection of anger and sadness.
“Killing you is going to affect me. You’d be an idiot not to realize that.”
“It won’t. Not any more than the alternative.”
“I won’t do it,” Allison huffs. “I’m not killing you. You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Allison, now is not the time to do the whole by-the-book-good-person thing.”
“Oh my god, Remy,” says Allison. “I’m not saying no because I think it’s wrong. I’m not doing that. I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t care.” Remy watches as tears well up in Allison’s eyes. She’s sure her own are the same—she can feel the streams of salt as they trickle down her cheeks.
“I want to be with you for as long as possible, no matter what state you’re in,” Allison says. “And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s greedy, but it’s the truth. I can’t let you go until I absolutely have to. And I definitely can’t be the one to pull the trigger, so to speak.”
Remy’s eyes burn with rage, with heartbreak, with betrayal. The one time her perpetually empathetic girlfriend decides to do something selfish, and it’s this.
Being with Allison was always going to be complicated, what with the fact that Remy worked with the man who had indirectly ended Allison’s last relationship, at least in Allison’s eyes, and the fact that her best friend was the last relationship in question. Remy never expected this, of all things, to be what broke them.
But she can’t stay with Allison, knowing that she won’t do this one thing for her.
“I’m leaving,” Remy says bitterly, trying not to let the utter devastation bleed through her voice or show on her face.
And she gets up, leaves their apartment, and slams the door.