Need Someone | [Complete]

Chapter 20: Living Without Him

It had been over five months. I still heard from Ziggy multiple times per week, but it was nothing like before. At first, he called me every other day and texted me constantly between calls, but as he got busier, we ended up texting more than talking. As he started getting more jobs, the texts became less frequent too.

He came back for his three-month scans on a day I wasn't scheduled. He could have easily asked if I would be there, but it didn't seem like he did. I figured he didn't want to see me in case he got bad news, but luckily he didn't. His scans were still clear—I looked at them myself. I was happy beyond belief for that, but it was bittersweet knowing he would be able to avoid me for another three months.

After that, things got even better for him. He started traveling for both business and pleasure. It made it harder to catch him for random calls but didn't keep us from staying in touch. He was like any old friend, though he was more than that. If he was awake and not working, he would talk to me, and at night . . . a handful of times, we did more than just talk. It took me a while to catch onto the fact that, while we still talked, I hadn't seen him in months. He wouldn't accept video calls, we would never send pictures back and forth. It was just his voice and his.

I resorted to following his social media to keep up with him and hoped I would catch a glimpse of how he looked. He would tweet about work, or post something about an upcoming editorial, but he had always been very private online. I knew he would only post about his illness when he was ready, and after nearly five months, he did.

His first post was a shocking picture of his reflection in his hospital room mirror. It was a side-by-side of his first day of treatment and the day he left. His hair hanging long into his face above the scruff of an unshaved jaw seemed foreign to me. The toned muscles beneath his tattoos seemed out of place. Only the intense stare of his hazel eyes convinced me that version of him had once been real. But next to the aftermath of his treatment and surgery, it was hard to believe.

I had been there through the whole transformation, but seeing it like this showed me how much of a journey it had been. In his caption, he wrote about his experience, talked about why he did not want to share, and linked to his photo journal. I stalked him on that as well.

He had been taking occasional photos throughout treatment, showing the gradual progression. He photographed his hair loss, his scars from both surgeries. It was raw and stark, but the feedback was so overwhelmingly positive. He mentioned his dance party before his final surgery, and how much it meant to him. That post got him a face-to-face with Misterwives, to which he posted a selfie of he and the band to his Instagram.

I was so excited to see him accepting what happened and coming to terms with it, but it made me sad as well. Following his story, I knew how much he was keeping to himself, and I knew why. He was still being a loner, keeping everyone at arm's length. 

So, it was a surprise when he posted a picture of me.

He didn't mention it to me at all, though I had been sure not to tell him I followed him. It was a couple of weeks after his first series of posts were up. During Throw Back Thursday, he must have been feeling nostalgic. I was asleep on his chest in the hospital bed following his final surgery. He was kissing the top of my head, looking so thin and gaunt with his oxygen tube in his nose. The caption said only, "My angel without wings." I cried for two days after I saw it.

Against my better judgment, I stalked his comments. His thousands of new followers speculated and assumed what it meant, as if they knew him from the small bits of information he chose to disclose. It was odd being on the other side of everything. I knew who I was, what Ziggy and I had, but these people treated me like the subject of gossip. It must have bothered him too because he posted another series of images of me; three black-and-white photos, my hair a mess, not a lick of makeup on my face, but taken with dramatic—and flattering—bright lighting. This time, the caption was only one word.