Time’s Up

Terminal, they said. Two months tops.

That was six months ago.

They’re saying it’s a miracle. At least that’s what I overhear through these paper thin walls. Whether they mean me or their experimental drugs is up for debate. All due respect to them nurses, but I’m not living proof of things like miracles, God, Santa Claus, or other flights of fancy.

I know damn well why I’m still alive.

So does the creep who asked me to fix his watch.

Fix it for me and I’ll give you more time.

My gut screamed to take the gig. Like it knew I’d be finished otherwise. I don’t know the first thing about watches. Hell, I can tell time, but don’t ask me how the gears fit together, or what makes it tick. Still, if I could get the damn thing to work long enough for him to heal me and walk away? Call it my own version of experimental treatment.

Cutting a corner, you say? Sue me, I’m no saint.

Who doesn’t need more time than they get?

I need one cancer-free day so I can end it with Chloe...for good. I need time to come clean to my wife. Time to get sober. Heaps upon heaps of time to show my girls that I’m not perfect, but that daddy loves them and won’t ever hit them again. What’s one white lie to earn back all that time I wasted?

The creep walks in.

His eyes make my stomach turn. I ensure the watch is ticking before handing it over.

It won’t last five minutes.

“All fixed,” I say without hesitation.

“Wonderful,” he replies, handing it back.

“Do I get the time you promised?” I ask with growing panic.

“Of course…you get as long as that watch is ticking.”