Ever wonder bout what he's doing
how it's all turned to lies

  Five months ago was when they broke the news. That my baby probably wasn’t going to make it to the end of the year alive. Apparently he’d been lucky to survive this long.
  But Andy doesn’t see it that way.  

Sometimes I think that its better,
to never ask why

  When we first got the news he tried to kill himself. He locked himself in our bathroom and slit both his wrists. Luckily he forgot I have enough muscles to break the door down and the ability to dial for an ambulance. He survived. They stitched up his wounds and now there are only two scars where his life threatened to pour away not so long ago. He doesn’t thank me for it though.
  He’s been in hospital seven times since that night, and I’m not counting his actual appointments. He’s stopped eating, he’s smoking twice as many packs of cigarettes a day, and I’ve caught him in the bathroom several times, both cutting and vomiting.  
  The thing is though, we don’t talk about it. It’s a taboo subject. If I broach it he just says “shut up Ashley” and he never mentions it himself. We’ve stopped seeing our friends on Andy’s request; I think if I didn’t live with him he’d never see me either.

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned
Just because it burns, doesn't mean you’re gonna die

  I wanted to tell him, as I sat by his bedside once again that day, in the hospital where I’m now on first name terms with all the emergency room staff, that he needs to stop. I’ve wanted to make him so many times. He may have given up hope, but I haven’t. I refuse to believe that my boyfriend, the apple of my eye, the person I live for, is going to be snatched away so cruelly. And if he just believed that too, and worked for it, he’d survive. I know he would.
  But of course I say nothing and when the time comes I drive him home in silence again. Because I’m passive, I’m numb, and if I’m not going to try, he’s not going to either.  

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try

  It wasn’t always like this, we weren’t always so cold. For three years we were everyone’s favourite couple, both the sweetest and the most sickening. There was nothing passive about us, because we were the least passive people. And we didn’t even need to try because once our minds were set nothing could stop us. Andy was just on the brink of breaking out into real stardom with his acting career and my clothing line was already picked up and selling like hotcakes.
  Then Andy got sick. At first we thought it was nothing, just a normal illness; a lot of coughing and chest pains. Then he started losing weight like crazy and began coughing blood. For some reason or another there was no visible lump, but the doctors found one pretty easily. By then though, it was already spreading.
  They’ve been treating it with all they can, even after telling us it was probably too late. At the start I was insisting they invent a new cure or something, I was livid.
  Then Andy gave up and I did the same. I still take him to all his appointments, but…I refuse to acknowledge the fact I’m going to lose him. But I think I know I am.  

Funny how the heart can be deceiving
more than just a couple times

  At home I sit him on the sofa and then go to make us dinner I know he won’t eat. Still, I make him something with all his favourite food groups: dairy and cured meat. It’s not recommended by his special diet for upping his chances of living, but since he’s already decided he’s going to die, what’s the point? At least this way he might, might, take a bite.
  He stirs the food around his plate when I set it on his lap. He smiles wanly at me and complements my cooking without even a taste. Eventually, when he sees I won’t stop staring until he does, he takes has a taste of the bacon. I hear his stomach growl in appreciation and he even has a few more mouthfuls before he catches what he’s doing and excuses himself.
  I don’t bother to stop him, just put our still half full plates in the kitchen and make my way up to bed, ignoring the sounds from the bathroom which used to rip through me.  

Why do we fall in love so easy
even when it's not right?

  Sometimes I don’t know why I’m still here. Yeah, he’s sick, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t care. He’s wrecking my life. I had to stop work to take care of him constantly, between actual sickness and whatever mental one he’s carrying around. We’re surviving fine financially, benefits, percentage cuts from the clothing line my name’s still given too, royalties from adds of Andy’s which still play, but this isn’t a life. Calling for an ambulance every other week for my boyfriend who’s topped himself or slashed his wrists and won’t thank me for it when he wakes up alive the next morning, what is that? He’ll die eventually, but not before he’s the death of me.
  I don’t know why I even still try. I guess I love him.

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned
Just because it burns, doesn't mean you’re gonna die

  I must have drifted off thinking of how I love my boyfriend, because the digital clock by the sweaty bed tells me it’s very early morning when I next open my eyes. I can’t feel Andy beside me, but that doesn’t mean anything, we never touch anymore.
  I roll over, expecting to see his skeletal figure hunched as far away from me as possible in the double bed, but his side is empty. He’s not here.
  This hasn’t happened before; he’s never tried anything when I’ve been asleep yet. He usually does it when I’m up and watchful, as though he knows I’ll save him. Maybe he finally decided he was brave enough to end it.
  For a sickening moment I plan on just going back to sleep and letting him get on with it. No one would ever know, he could just die like he wants to and I could get on with my life.
  But I couldn’t do that. I love Andy. And even if he’s given up, I can’t. I owe him that much. I’ve got to try. I get up from bed.  

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try

  I pad to the bathroom, which had the lock removed from it months ago, but Andy has gotten skilled at jamming it. This time however I don’t need to apply any strength, it just swings open at my touch. I enter, fearing the worst, and rejoicing that I’m actually feeling something. If I’d just been curious, like I’d thought I might have been, I don’t think I could have lived with myself.

Ever worry that it might be ruined
and does it make you wanna cry

  Andy’s sitting on the floor, jammed between the sink and the bathtub. His wrists are bleeding, but not deeply enough to threaten death. He’s awake, a shard of glass from a newly broken mirror lying bloody beside him. He’s crying as he studies the bottle of medication clasped in his shaking hands. It’s an unopened one, from a treatment he never went to, and has enough in it to kill him.
  I stand staring at him, frozen to the spot. He really meant to do it this time, I can tell. There’s none of his usual air of uncaring about him. I’ve seen him attempt death before, but I’ve never seen him cry.
  He finally notices me and quickly wipes his eyes, removing any hint of emotion in the process.
  “Go away Ashley,” he croaks. “Go call the fucking ambulance or just go back to bed, but leave me alone.”
  That’s when I hit him.

When you’re out there doing what you’re doing
are you just getting by
tell me are you just getting by, by, by

  “Stop being such a fucking twat, Andy!” I all but scream, my own tears bursting forth without warning. Months of frozen emotion pour out all at once. “If you wanted to die you would have by now, you can do anything you put your mind to! So stop it!”
  He stares at me, eyes wide and confused. Maybe he thought I didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t blame him if he did, I thought the same. Or maybe he’s just stunned that I hit him.
  “You’re not going to die!” I yell. “Why can’t you see that, why can’t you at least try for me, if not yourself? If you stuck to the right medicine, if you stopped smoking and drinking, if you ate right, slept right, stopped trying to do yourself in, then you’d survive. Why don’t you then, why do you make sure you’ll leave?”
  “Ashley,” he tries, standing up, but I hit him again. He stumbles back down, but he doesn’t seem angry or hurt.
  He tries again and this time he manages before I lash out. I’m too distraught by now to have any effect and he catches my wrist easily. I try again and he pulls me to him. He’s a skeleton, but I’m a head shorter and he can cradle me to his chest easily. Though if it’s so easy he probably should have done it months ago.

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned
Just because it burns, doesn't mean you’re gonna die

  “I’m sorry Ashley,” he whimpers above me and I stop trying to hurt him. “I can’t though. I can’t work towards something I know won’t happen. I just want the easy way out. Can’t you understand that? If we work so hard and fail, how terrible will that be?”
  “At least we’ll have made the attempt,” I say into his chest. “At least we’ll know we didn’t just give up.”
  “But I’m scared Ashley,” he sobs, properly sobs. “I’m scared of failing, of working in vain.” His voice breaks completely and I feel him collapse in my arms. He whispers, “I don’t want to die.”
  I hold him back from me and look him steadily in the eye. His greying blues are as misty with tears as own my brown ones must be.
  “You’ve got to try,” I say sternly.  

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try

  A week later Andy will be in hospital again. For an actual appointment. The doctors will tell us there might still be a slight chance if we are willing to stick to every rule they give us.
  Andy will say he is. I’ll say we’ll try, because I’m not certain he could.
  In three months, we will see who’s right.

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try

  Because three months later we will get the news that the cancer is in remission, all the treatments have been a success and Andy is going to live. Apparently he is still in a danger zone, so we shouldn’t get our hopes up, but his life expectancy is drastically increased.
  At the end of the year, my baby will still be alive.

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try

  Which is why on January first I will propose to him.
  Which is why we will both live long, happy lives together.
  Which is why you have to try.

ya gotta get up and try, try, try
ya gotta get up and try, try, try