He Knew The Whole Time

_We're too young to die_ he would always say before we were about to do something stupid, a sort of reassurance that nothing bad would happen, a motto I came to live by.

We went to a lot of parties. We drank. We smoked. We snorted. We shot up. And those words played over and over in my head. _Too young to die._ So I smiled and danced the nights away.

I could see the pain in his eyes. I knew that, deep down, he was wounded, just searching for some comfort. Maybe that's why I never said anything all the times I saw him leading strange girls through bedroom doors or to dark corners, no matter how much I felt like my heart was being ripped out. Maybe I did the same as he because I was hurt too. Or I was just too blindly in love to see fault in his ways. His voice was always clear in my mind. _Too young to die._

Until, one night, we were sitting in his car and he broke down crying. He started talking about being sick. My eyes grew wide with horror the more he spoke. _That's the thing,_ he said, _I am dying._