Just Breathe Chapter 1: A Broken Pair of Lungs, a teen wolf fanfic

"You have one month; that's what the tests are showing. I'm sorry, Natalie. It's just...the tumor is in a place in your lungs we can't get to. The surgery to remove it has a 5% survival rate, and we don't want to risk it. The only option left is chemo, but that won't guarantee that the tumor will go away. You can choose whether or not to do it, we're putting absolutely no pressure on you."

"I...I don't want to do chemo," I said, looking up from where my fingers were laced together in my lap. "It'll just make me feel even more like crap than I already do, and if I'm going to die anyway I don't want to do that."

"Okay. I'll tell your mother of your choice. I wish you luck, Nat."

"Thanks. I'm going to need it."

The nurse got up out of her chair and walked to the door, before turning and looking back to me.

"Nat, I'm always here to talk." She looked took the pen off her clipboard and started scrawling on a piece of prescription paper. "You know what, I'll give you my cellphone number." She handed the piece piece of paper. "You can call or text me if something comes up that you don't want to talk to anyone else about."

"Thanks," I said, a faint smile passing over my face.

. . . . .

My life had been measured down to one month. I had been absolutely shocked when I found out I had cancer; it had just started as a routine check-up. That single check-up escalated into having me come in every week or so to do blood work and medical tests that I'd only seen on television, when my mom watched her soap operas and the occasional episode of Bizarre E.R. One test just happened to come back positive. I felt my heart physically drop when I was given thirty-one days to live. It didn't just seem like enough time, to be honest. I previously had a whole 80+ years going for me, and now it was shrunken down to was less than a fraction of that.

Two weeks ago, my doctor told me that I had a month. From that point forward I had become rather adjusted to the idea of dying. It wasn't so much as a "I have accepted death and I am ready for it right now" thought as it was a "I'm going to die. Everyone dies eventually, some just sooner than others, it all happens eventually" one. I think most people would be crying or doing all that they could to make the remainder of their life the best possible one they could ever imagine; but I was over it by now, and I had insufficient funds to do what I wanted to do. So I was content with just being alone, napping and walking in the forest (even though it took a toll on my lungs, I still did it anyway). Those were pretty much the only things I could do, because I was feeling drained all of the time and I was slowly becoming more and more dependent on an oxygen tank. I really didn't want to go out in public lugging one of those around, people staring at me and asking questions. That would just be absolute torture, and I didn't think I could handle it; so I didn't carry around an oxygen tank and just roughed it instead.

This morning, I asked my mom if I could drop out of school since I had missed so many consecutive days already and considering the fact that I was projected to be no longer living before the end of next week. I couldn't really finish high school if I was dead, so she agreed. I decided upon leaving around lunch time, as to not draw so much suspicion as to why a girl who hadn't shown up to class in practically the past week was making an appearance.

As I walked into the school around noon, no one seemed to question the fact that I had shown up after being absent for the past week. A few people even waved and smiled at me, so I managed a weak smile and a feeble wave of the fingers back. I felt kind of guilty about the whole "going into school and seeming like everything is normal when I'm really here to collect my things because I'm going to be dead in like a few days" thing. They didn't know I was dying, so they didn't baby me, they didn't treat me like I was going to break any second. And I liked that, I liked them not knowing. Even with them in the dark I still looked like shit, so I don't know how any hadn't guessed that I was dying. I mean, c'mon people, I was practically a walking corpse.

I me a b-line for my locker, not stopping to talk to anyone. I was here on a mission, and that mission was to clean out my locker and return my books; my mother had already called the administration, telling them that I was no longer going to be attending Beacon Hills High, so I could just give my textbooks back and be on my way. The only thing way, I'd have to walk to the classrooms and individually give back all of them. And with my shit lungs, it'd probably take double the time it would take someone else.

I took all of my folders out of the bottom of my locker and shoved them into my blue backpack, trying to make them all fit. Next was the sparse decorations hanging around in the metal rectangle, which I just shoved into the front pocket. Now all that was left were the textbooks. I couldn't carry them all in one go, so I picked the two which were closest in vicinity to my locker so I wouldn't have to walk to one end of the school and then all the back just to return the books. I slammed my locker, looking at the nearest clock. There was still fifteen minutes left in this lunch period, enough time to walk down the hall to give the books back. If the teachers were in their rooms, that was, considering it was their lunch break too. I could wait outside the room until they returned and quickly give them the textbook and flee the scene like a wild Pokémon. I wanted to avoid the chance of interrupting a class, because interrupting a class would lead to questions like "why was she not in class?" and "why is she returning a textbook it's not even close to being the second semester" and "oh my god she's been missing for a week and now here she is", so I decided to stick with returning books during passing time, which gave me a six minute window to do the deed.

I slung the now-heavy backpack onto my shoulder, the two books cradled in my arms.

I successfully returned the first one without any questions or stares; I assumed all of the teachers and faculty members got a letter saying that I would no longer be attending Beacon Hills High. The first period after lunch had began so I made my way to the library to wait. I had two classes near there, so I could quickly drop off two more books. I'd only have one more book to drop off after that, and then I could go home. I really just wanted to leave right now, to go home and nap, but I still had those three more textbooks to drop off. I wouldn't be surprised if I fell asleep in the library. As I entered, I saw a few stray people sitting about, and one person sitting behind the furthest bookshelf from the door; he was probably skipping class. I took a seat at an empty table, away from the majority of the sparse population of the room. I set the books down as gently as I could on the table, and flopped my backpack into the chair next to mine. I took a seat and leaned back in it, crossing my legs at the ankles. The room was quiet, the only sound being the click click click of computer keys and the woosh woosh woosh of the ceiling fans.

I pulled my head up from hanging off the back of the chair, the position starting to hurt my neck. First period would be over in a matter of minutes and I spent the whole hour watching the ceiling fans and daydreaming about a walk in the forest. At least no one had interrupted me.

I gathered up my books and threw on my backpack again, already heading for the door. I was a minute or so walk away from the closest classroom, which was one of the two that I'd try to return a textbook to. I got up from the seat, only a minute and a half until the bell was to ring, not wanting to waste any time.

I was nearly to the classroom when the bell rung. Doors all the way down the hallway flew open, and herds of students emerged from each room. I moved quicker, now within seconds of the classroom I needed to get into; sadly, high schoolers are jerks and I was too busy and focused to pay attention. Some asswipe decided to stick out his foot, and my foot caught on his ankle, causing me to trip. My books went flying forward, I was pulled downward and everybody stopped moving. I could feel it, all eyes were on me, and I could hear that asswipe snickering. Everyone resumed what they were doing, moving along to their classes. I laid there on the ground for a second before pushing myself up, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Someone had moved and was in front of me, collecting my books. After the person collected them, he helped me stand up, grabbed me by the elbow. I pushed my hair out of my face, and caught sight of him. He was tan and had dark hair that was sort of spiked up. He looked...familiar. I was pretty sure I'd seen him before, but I couldn't place a finger on where.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, dragging my sweatshirt sleeve across my face. "Just give me a second." I brushed off my clothes and turned swiftly on my sneaker heel, looking directly at the asswipe who tripped me. I strode over to him, grabbed his shirt collar, and pulling him slightly downward with as much force as I could muster. "Listen here, asswipe," I started in a low voice. I could tell he was surprised already, having the girl he tripped yank him down to face here. "You just tripped me. Yeah, great for you, that totally gets you places in life. But in a surprising plot twist to your already cruel joke, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer a week ago. You're fucking lucky that cancer isn't contagious, because I could be coughing up a storm on you right now." I released his shirt collar, staring him straight in the face before turning to face the mysteriously familiar boy.

"Thanks for getting my books and helping me up." I took the three remaining books from him, and he nodded, glancing past me. His jaw set to one side noticeably, before he returned to his previous facial expression. He looked at me too, instead of looking past me.

"I'm Scott. Scott McCall."

"Natalie King." That's when it hit me.

"I'm Scott. Scott McCall."

"Natalie King." That's when it hit me. McCall. Scott was Melissa's son. She'd shown me a picture of him before, when I mentioned that I had went to Beacon Hills High School, right after she was assigned as my nurse. They look alike, and I'm surprised I hadn't noticed it before. Well, I hadn't been to the hospital often enough before, and I didn't particularly hang out with anyone. I threw those thoughts to the back of my head and returned quickly to my "hurry up and drop off these books" quest, darting into the room a few feet ahead.

I somehow managed to return all of my books before lunch started. I left the school, walking out to my beaten up pick-up truck, parked next to a blue jeep. I hopped in and drove home, only one thing on my mind; sleep. Returning to school had been more traumatic than I was hoping for.