Author's Note: Hi, I'm new here and this is my first story :) I hope to find the time to update frequently so stay tuned, and please review if you can – it would really mean a lot to me :) Hope you enjoy Chapter One.

Love,

~plethora of colours

Chapter One

They say time heals all wounds, but really, that's a load of crap. It's just what people tell themselves to try to ignore the fact that loss is permanent, that it follows you everywhere. Everything in your life reminds you of it. Sure, time can dull the pain somewhat. But even that only happens sometimes. Too often, like in my case, it will keep feeling immediate no matter how long it's been there – three days, a month, a year. There are really only two things you can do. You can spend your days in denial until the loss inevitably hits you again with tripled force, trying to control or bury grief, but only delaying the inevitable. Or, you can try every day to confront it, stomach it. Episodes of unbearable pain or an existence as an empty being with the daily, draining grief made bearable only because it is spread out. I'd been living a combination of both, and, needless to say, they both freaking suck.

I can't tell them apart anymore. Either way it's an endless pit, impossibly deep, with no escape, no matter what you do. In fact, part of you even subscribes willingly to its torture. Because of a terrible paradox: The memories of the good times, your only relief, lie where it hurts the most - at the bottom of the pit. And in a desperate attempt to hold onto their sweetness, you pay the price.

A knock on the door interrupted my aimless eternity of Staring Into Space. My mother walked in, carefully, tentatively. She stood silently as I propped myself up on the bed by the elbows, then blurted out hastily, as though she was afraid of my reaction:

'Hazel, I've been asked to take over a Social Psychology class for families at college on Tuesday evenings, and really I wouldn't even consider it, I really wouldn't, it's just that it's mandatory for...' – she nearly whispered the next two words, looking down at her shoes in what I identified as shame – '…social work, and they wouldn't make an excuse when I told them it really wouldn't do, and-'

'Mom. Mom! Stop right now. Are you kidding? This is wonderful! It's amazing news – don't even think about saying no. Don't you dare. You're going to love it! I am so happy for you, you have no idea.'

And I was. As I embraced her, I felt a wide smile spread across my lips for the first time in an age. So different from the fake one I had to force almost every day now as a display of 'being okay' for my expectant surroundings while of course I never was. Real, for once.

Ever since I'd found out my mother had been living her life, not just spending it on me and my cancer, I had been so relieved. And now she had this opportunity and could finally follow her dream even further. It was one of the few things in my hideous life that was exactly the way I wanted it to be, the way it should be when I finally and inevitably leave.

Yet here she was, acting like a child admitting to a petty crime - maybe stealing a chocolate from the box or staying up secretly at bedtime - dreading rage or punishment or scorn. And walking on eggshells, thinking I wouldn't ever forgive her. I hoped so hard that she'd finally realise, for good, that she didn't have to explain herself, let alone feel the guilt I knew had crept back after I'd given her my blessing so much earlier. On the day of…No. I pushed the vivid, insistent images out of my mind. Not now. Not in this one happy moment, goddamn it. Just give me this one happy moment.

My mother tried to protest, but could no longer conceal her excitement. I'd given her the permission she depended on and treated like a sacred law, no matter how much I tried to persuade her not to, and the gratitude was written on her face. I ushered her out to share the news with Dad before she could start doubting and double-checking again, but not before asking her to hook me up to the BiPAP. It was hardly past dinner, but as usual I was already starting to feel exhausted. As the machine took control of my breathing I focused on its steady beat and braced myself for another restless night devoid of sleep. Except, it wasn't.

I stood in a sunny clearing beneath an impeccably blue, cloudless sky. The meadow's tall grass, glistening with raindrops, covered my knees, and small flowers bursting with colour tickled my bare toes. Birds were perched in nearby trees, chirping to each other in their hidden, unknown tongue.

I caught sight of a figure a few metres ahead. A boy, lean and muscular, with his weight leaned to one side, the sunlight exposing bronze streaks in his rich, blonde hair. The figure turned to face me.

Augustus Waters stood before me wearing a delicious crooked smile, his eyes – those eyes – sparkling with delight.

For a moment all I could do was stare in disbelief, dazed and frozen to the spot, wondering if this was real as the tears began to blur the world. I tried to blink them away but the flow would not be quelled, and a sound halfway between a sob and a sigh of pure bliss escaped my lips. I broke into a run, lurching myself towards him as fast as my crap lungs would allow, dragging Philip behind me. I ignored the instant, relentless stinging in my chest.

Augustus was alive. My love was alive. And he was here, with me. My half-dead heart welled up with affection and a joy so strong it felt too potent for this plane, bringing me to life.

We'd be together again.

And then, just as I had almost closed the gap between us, Augustus suddenly collapsed, falling to his knees. A groan rippled through him and filled the clearing as he convulsed in agony. One hand on his chest, the other digging into the earth, he began to scream. His skin had turned ghastly pale, bones protruding, his eyes robbed of their smile as the pain consumed him.

'Hazel Grace…' he croaked, his eyes searching in the distance.

'Gus! Gus!' I nearly choked on the word. My legs were so weak from both running and seeing him fall that I could barely stand. My vision was going dark at the edges. I staggered forward, sobbing and gasping for air, calling to him desperately. His eyes found mine but didn't, continuing to dart around the clearing frantically, searching for me without focus. He was no longer aware I was there.

Gus began to crawl forward, away from me, still carrying the terrible pain. I screamed for him but to no avail. He was still croaking my name, his eyes now fixated on something in the distance. 'No, no, I'm here, here, Gus, please…,' I got out.

But he was gone.

I fought and fought against my own restraints, willing my legs to keep up and conquer the endless ache, forcing them forward, just one more step, one more step. But still I couldn't reach him. The long grass began to wrap around my legs, trapping me. My lungs heaved as I thrashed wildly; it was as if sadistic snakes were constricting my airways. The birds' song turned into a horrid screech that joined Gus's cries to become a sickening orchestra.

Just then, Gus turned back and found me, his eyes piercing mine, seeing them again. Relief surged through me and allowed me to forget, for a second, the terror of the scene: I hadn't lost him.

But then he cried, in a voice full of dismay and hurt: 'Why, Hazel Grace?'

He turned away again, shaking his head, a single tear rolling down his contorted face before a black abyss descended and engulfed him, taking him forever.

I woke up drenched in sweat, the BiPAP nearly giving out under me, to blood-curling wails I then realized were my own piteous sobs.