The doctor clicked her tongue to the beat of the music, her pen was tucked behind her ear and she was walking around with a clipboard. Though she looked completely relaxed and normal there was something she wasn't telling me. I knew that because no matter how causal her facade was her eyes gave it away they were darting back and forth nervously. I was suddenly curious to why she was so nervous, I only had a small blackening bruise down my spine, it was just a bruise but why was she so nervous?

Lying down on the bed Abe pulled me up. Abe is pretty cool. He had wicked black yet brown slick hair, he was Turkish which gave him nice tanned skin. He had a signature gold hoop in his ear, gold bangles up his arm. He may look like an ordinary man with his turban but he gave a 'don't mess with me' posture and anyone with half a brain wouldn't. Abe was my father.

My mother ran off after she had me, we don't know where but Abe had said that she was overjoyed when she first had me and when she was with Abe. He said that she spent every minute she had with me and then about one week after she left. Abe had said that because she was so happy with me he would've thought that she would've been kidnapped because she would never leave me. But the fact that every single one of her possessions was gone proved that she left by choice. The only possession she left was a golden bangle which matched Abe's, I wore it now.

I guessed I wouldn't have looked that much like my mother; I looked too much like Abe. I too had wicked hair that was dark brown but could be guessed as black, my eyes were the exact same colour. I had tanned Turkish skin which suited me well; it looked like the inside on an almond. And I had beautiful boosted curves. I would like to consider my looks an exotic desert princess.

I was healthy and well, why would there be something wrong with me? Abe read my thoughts and looked at the doctor in the eyes
"well dear" he said causally "we don't have all day, what are the results?" I knew Abe well enough to tell that he too noticed the nervousness in the nurse's eyes. She sucked in a breath and sympathetically looked at me.
"Well Rosemarie it seems that your tests came out... A little strange." The doctor said as she struggled for words, my heart beat faster in fear. "Either your tests came out wrong or you have" she sucked in another breath "Acute Promyelocytic Leukaemia."
I let out a strangled cry, I had leukaemia. I was sixteen; I had barely any experience in my life. I picture show flashed in front of my eyes of what I could miss out on with this disease. A job, university, a partner, then a husband, then a family, travelling, everything life could offer and I could be stuck in a hospital for something that could eventually kill me.

The doctor seemed to notice my panic and quickly jumped in.
"The survival rate is 70%"
"And what if I'm the 30%!" I cried out.
Abe stared at the women with a neutral expression.
"What is it that you're not telling us?" He asked, it took me a moment to think but then I noticed that she still wore the worried expression, as if she were concealing something. "What is it?" Abe urged, she looked at me once more before spitting it out.
"You're too late"
"What do you mean?" I demanded
"The leukaemia you have, it's progressed all through your body, not just bone-marrow. Most of the time with this disease it's just immature and not grown blood cells, we can generally treat it easily to stop it from progressing throughout the rest of the system. And with you well to put it in an easy way it's done the rare thing and has already spread."
Abe seemed to notice what this meant and paled exceptionally. I stayed silent and cocked my head to the side realising I had no understanding on this.
"Rose" he said grabbing my arm "you have a one in 200,000 chance of surviving the next ten years."

2 Years Later…..

The plane was aborting, and my heart was hammering in my chest. This was the first time in two years I had ever done anything on my own, since we found out about my A.P leukaemia. I had a one in 200,000 chance in surviving the next 10 years; it was a miracle that I had survived two of them. Abe wouldn't let me out of his sight ever now, but I had convinced him that if I had a relapse I would call him and I needed to have a bit of time as an individual before I well, died.

The plan was that I was to meet up with my roommate. They could speak English quite fluently which was good considering I was in Russia. The excitement was overwhelming and once the plane hit the ground the excitement turned to nervousness, what if she couldn't speak English? What if she didn't like me and tried to make my one year here as miserable? And more importantly what if I had a relapse? But then all feelings went away as I walked out the plane. I was told that there was going to be a sign written in English saying 'Rose Hathaway'.

The airport was massive, you could hear the Russians talking their native languages and saying hello and crying goodbye to their loved ones, there were younger children wondering about and running down the hallways; just like America. Then I saw my name and they decided to make it formal as it said 'Rosemarie Hathaway.' A man in his mid-twenties was holding it; I was assuming he was my cab driver or something. I was all the sudden very grateful that my hair grew back, it was still as dark brown as it had ever be which suited my almost black deep eyes and tanned complexion. I was glad because this guy was hot as in like nuclear surface of the sun hot, the hot which got you hit by traffic because you stared at him for too long. He had a small part of chocolate hair which was tied up at the nape of his neck. He too had a very nice skin complexion, the same as the other Russians' around him. He had light brown eyes which could've been passed as blonde and seemed warm.

I strutted up to him and gave him my best award winning Hathaway smile. A smile like the days before I was diagnosed. I knew a little bit of Russian so I decided to try it

"Previet" I said warmly

"Hello" he said stiffly in English, okay so maybe his just shy.

"I'm Rose Hathaway" I said with a bit more flirting then needed. Great now he probably thinks I'm some idiot of a teenage girl.

"Dimitri Belikov" He said stiffly "let's gets your bags." Nope his definitely shy… or rude.

I walked by his side and had to try meet his strides as his legs were so long.

"So, who's my roommate?" I asked, he looked at me for a second and glanced away. I just caught what he said as he said with a thick Russian accent, quick, crisp and brisk

"Me"

Oh

My

God.