CHAPTER UNO
"Hazel Grace, you pissed the bed."
I jolt awake, sitting up fiercely. That small action makes me short of breath. Gus told me I pissed the bed. Mortified. I remember how I walked in on him, laying in a puddle of his urine, and using that word. Mortified. I feel the same way he did, now.
"Now I know what you mean," I grumbled to him. I put my head in my hands and waited for his warm arms to slide across my back and envelop me in a comforting hug. When I've been waiting just a bit too long, my eyes well up with tears- I've been overly emotional, lately- and I look up. He doesn't want to touch the gross, pee-covered, cancerous girl. Of course. "Can you go get my-"
That's when it hits me that I'm talking to myself. The chair beside my bed is empty, and no one is in my room. Oh yeah, I think, Gus is dead. The thought comes so frankly to me now. It's been six months since his funeral, as of one week ago. I used to cry whenever that thought crossed my mind, but I'm pretty sure I've used up all the tears my tumor-struck body could produce. Plus, nowadays, breaths are harder to come by, especially gasping, grieving ones.
But, I did piss the bed. I let out a shortened version of a sigh and begin to heave myself out of bed. I don't need my parent's help- they still need to adjust to doing things for themselves. My mom has started hovering less, and my dad hasn't cried in two weeks, but I want them to be almost detached from me by the time I go.
I begin to strip the bed and throw the sheets onto the floor. After fifteen minutes of fighting with breath and blankets, it's just a mattress. Nothing leaked onto there, luckily. I stumble over to my covers and begin with the comforter, my heaviest blanket. My scrawny hands ball it up and lift it towards my chest. Slowly but steadily, I make my way towards the door- holding a massive comforter in one arm and pulling Philip with the other is the struggle.
My parents are on their computers as I'm trying to pass. As quietly as I can, I push the comforter into the washing machine and wheel Philip back to my room. The whole sneaking mission takes my breath away- literally. However, I allow myself only a minute of rest. It's almost dinnertime, where my mom will ask if I want food and I'll say no. That requires her coming to my room, meaning she'd see my bed and soiled blankets.
Once the clock changes from the last minute, I rise from my bed. Black spots cloud the edges of my vision as I bend down to pick up the next blanket. I cough a bit. This time I'm going for the lighter sheets. I try to focus on balling them up, not my breathing, but that's pretty hard when I start having a coughing fit and gasping for breath.
Before I can even think to call for my parents, a blackness envelops me like I wanted Augustus' arms to.