Summary:
Nesta's had cancer as long as she can remember, stuck in a hospital bed for years. Cassian, her childhood best friend, has always been right next to her side, giving her the strength to live rather fade away. But when college commences and time ticks by, he no longer visits her, choosing time for studies and flings—choosing others over her. So, Nesta moves on with her own life, learning to live again—without Cassian. One day, when he visits, she's not there. What will he do now that his Nesta has moved on, and is no longer the girl he knew? They both changed, for better and for worse.
"Are you sure about this?" Elain asked hesitantly, biting her bottom lip. "I mean, at least tell Cassian. Or Feyre. What about father, at the very least?"
Nesta blinked at the abrupt mention of a figure she long considered dead to her. The figure that once served as a fracture of a figment of hope and reliance as a fatherly mention, but had betrayed her and her sisters in every sense of the word family. The figure that had given her custody of her younger sisters as soon as the clock had chimed twelve and she had turned eighteen, a legal adult in her own way.
The day she lost Cassian, her anchor in this sickly world. The day she was forced to carry her mental capacities to new heights, beyond her hardened exterior. The day she snapped up her walls only Elain could understand in the slightest, so that she lived as an empty shell with a pillar of ice guarding every thought and action.
Nesta adamantly shook her head, fingering one of the wires protruding her pale skin. Never once had sunlight fully touched her skin and breathed down those rays, her body usually locked up in this room with monitors whirring and sedations pumping.
"I need to do this. It's been too long. I was never going to keep living like this."
It had been a dream of what she had with Cassian, of the shared laughter and smiles. She had been a fool to think he would always be there, having his life revolve around a sickly girl who had a bare nothing to offer him that her own tragic story.
But that was nothing now, nothing more than a saved memory for a girl tied to a machine. Today no longer would she be dependent. Today she would seize independence in its very first form.
Breathing.
Inhaling and exhaling air without a machine to continuously pump extra oxygen into her lest one of her lungs fail. Nesta was tired of that risk. Her body hadn't failed her in the ten years that she'd lived in fear and seclusion.
She needed to learn how to live again with those who would wholeheartedly lift her up. She needed to learn how to breathe without the tangy smell of the hospital , and the hospital was no longer the place. She needed to exist in a state where she could find herself fulfilled rather than lying in a white bed, typing away in her computer, filling her brain with knowledge she most likely would never put in action.
"Did you inform the doctor of my decision?" she stopped twisting the nearest wire and stared out the window, where an eternity had been hid from her face. There was so much out there in life she hadn't discovered, and needed to conquer. As a young girl, she'd danced through the rain, and ran through the sunflower fields as the sun beat down over her back, daring her to keep running wild. When she was cancer-free. When she was invincible. When she had been happy and more than a shell over the little girl she once was.
But the disease was an invisible hand and had brought down itself like a stinging slap, holding her in its grip for almost eleven years.
Her tenth birthday should have been fully of merry joy, but instead she had bleed and bleed everywhere, her brain hurting and legs collapsing under her. For ten years, she stayed in this hospital, never fully healing, and wasting away in atrophy. She had let her disease win, and conquer her.
Tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday. And she would no longer be trapped in this room, unconditionally submitting herself to this disease. Today she would conquer this disease in memory of her young self turning double digits. Today she would breathe fresh air, without the forced particles monitoring her body.
Her younger sister gripped her hand, placing a petal of a tiger lily—Nesta's favorite flower—in her palm. Elain had been sneaking in flowers to her hospital room since the very beginning; Nesta had been bewitched by the beauty of the petals and how they quickly withered. The brief, blooming life that were flowers—Nesta knew that often told of humanity in itself.
A touch of a smile graced Elain's rosy face, although Nesta could detect the uncertainty flooding her younger sister's mind . "Then I will support you. But I do not know how long I can last against Cassian's or Feyre's pestering, so you must act fast."
A smile formed on the eldest Archeron's face. "I've lived in that hospital bed for nearly eleven years. I think moving on is considered fast from that."
Maybe a bit too fast, but she wasn't going to go back on her decision.
Elain had wheeled her sister into the small apartment room her eldest sister had rented out. Those ten years—those long, long drawn out years—her sister had focused on her studies, taking every online course possible. Nesta had applied to Illyrian College as an online student the day after her 18th birthday. Academics had been Nesta's tether into this world; Nesta's mind was the only strength she maintained, juxtaposing her debilitating body.
Knowledge was power, and if she couldn't attain the physical power of completing a marathon like Feyre, then she would seek other methods. So she set out to fulfill this planned destiny of hers, always learning and pushing herself. She'd doubled major in philosophy and history for her bachelors, majoring in US history with a minor in business for her master's.
She had opened a forum under the Illyrian website of answering questions in her professions, under a charge of ten cents per question. At first, many had complained at the rip-off, it seemed, but—if anything, it seemed as if Nesta was under-charging with her colorful but credible answers where Professors even seemed inclined to flock too. Her now own personal website stood as an online congregation of scholars and the learners desiring to discuss and dream further beyond their bounds and limitations, her own body a vessel as an online respectable tutor.
Elain had suggested this apartment complex, which bordered the city and woods, giving her a chance to live both lives. The complex itself flourished with flowers and plants, criss-crossing trees with thick trunks.
Nesta situated herself onto the bed, and winced, rubbing the part where the tubes had protruded through her skin. Elain had given her a kiss before leaving, needing to do crowd control once the others would have realized her absence. Or maybe they wouldn't care. A part of Nesta hoped that Cassian would be outraged that she would take the next important step in her life without him, but that would be utterly selfish of her. Her life did not revolve around him and she would be attaching herself to a ruthless playboy who had no longer ceased to care about their childhood memories.
Maybe it was better that way. It hurt and stung like a bitch, but it was definitely easier.
Nesta finally turned on her phone, wincing at the lines of missed calls and unanswered text messages. Her own voicemail had never been this full, and neither had her social media private messages. It was pathetic, and pessimistically horrible. To exist for others out of pity and compassion? She had once wanted a life where she meant something to someone constantly, as more than a check-up. She had once wanted someone to understand that living in pain constantly was part of her story, and that meant living in darkness and bitterness, as if a curtain was always cast over her—as if a cloud of gloom always followed her without hesitation. She had once wanted a Sun to light her darkness and a wind to blow away her clouds, and there was no way she'd find that locked in a hospital room.
Now she just wanted to be alone and left to her own, however miserable, thoughts. The idea of love was a mere notion for the hopeful that had slipped from her long ago. The idea of death had not been new and now seemed to pervade over pore in her tired body.
She tossed her phone onto her nightstand and wobbled to her closet, the motion of walking still foreign to her. Her doctor had recommended to hire a physical therapist if she were to continue living this life and not return to the hospital, and Nesta now knew why. Never before had she walked so much and felt the fresh air slap against her skin, breathing new sights and smell that made sleeping difficult.
She searched her drawers for a blouse and jeans, pulling them on. Slowly, she made her way downstairs, and made herself a cup of green tea, soaking in the silence. The echo of beeps from the machines flooded her ears and the soft footsteps in the hospital corridor incessantly tapped away in her mind.
Nesta made a split-second decision and decided to go out, slipping on her converse Elide had bought for her. Never before had she really used shoes save for the slippers she wore when she felt especially ecstatic in the hospital. The leather against the soles of her feet and socks felt odd as she walked down the hallway.
Just as hit the stairs, and voice called out a hey behind her, and she saw a tall and lanky male, jogging to catch up towards her.
"Are you new around here?" he asked, beady eyes swallowing her frail form. "I've just never seen you around here."
She gave him a curt nod, gripping the handle rail for support. "Just moved into apartment 305."
He gave her a smile. "I'm Tomas." He held out his hand. "We're going to be good friends, you and I."
Tomas took her to a nearby cafe that was a ten minute walk from the complex. By the time he opened the door for her, she beelined straight for a chair and collapsed into the cushions, already out of breath. Her new friend took it as cue to order for her as she massaged her feet, gulping in air greedily. A light-headed sensation of cotton balls clogging her head swabbed down on her, but she bit down on her lip determinedly.
She would get back in shape. She would. She had too, because she would not let this disease weaken her any more than the little time she had left. She may never go to a club and get drunk reeking of bitter puke and transient contentedness, but she would visit the spiraling libraries full of aged papyrus and gardens that reminded her of Elain.
Tomas slid across the booth from the opposite side of hers. "I hope you like caramel lattes because I ordered you one." He looked strangely pleased as if he had offered her the world, but Nesta would not budge, not when decisions had been made of hers by others for most of her life. She wouldn't let this man start doing the same.
They—all her visitors to her hospital bed, Feyre painting in that dull room, producing works of bare prison lines and geometric shapes that filed under her abstract art, Elain softly singing and sneaking in petal shapes and colors of all sizes—all lied. Said they would always be there for her. Would always understand.
But they didn't. Instead they stuffed her with jokes and smiles, thinking away the pain they never felt as if their own bodies were rejecting them. They didn't know of the poison that was her thoughts that sifted through her, encouraging for her to let go of this meaningless. They didn't know of the inner battle waged since year ten.
They only provided momentarily respite, thinking that was enough. Sure, that made her a selfish bitch, but this bitterness was all she now knew, consuming her in everyway. This first decision would counter it all, the turmoil riding inside of her.
It had too.
"So, what's wrong with caramel?"
Nesta stiffened. "I don't like caramel." That was the only flavor the hospital provided on a daily basis, and that exact taste, after ten years, only served to bring back the flood of images of white walls and hidden coughing, masks and illness. Her father had once mentioned that green tea was her mother favorite's drink, and since then, Nesta had found herself dedicated to it. She hung onto that memory of the faded image of her mother singing in the kitchen until she had passed away, her own life brief in Nesta's mind.
Maybe it would be one facet of a memory she would have to let go later on. Her parents now remained dead in her head, her mother physically, and her father a string in the wind. No contact from him when she turned 18, other than the stack of papers to sign from the courtyard. Nothing but empty grief.
"How can you not like caramel?" Tomas demanded, and she winced at the sharpness, her ears ringing from the sounds of the whirring barista. "Caramel is the taste of heavens that every girl like you should enjoy."
"Every girl like me?" she echoed, seeing red.
Tomas gave an easy shrug. "Sure."
Nesta bristled in her seat. "You know nothing about me. Do not assume anything more."
He knew nothing about her life, her choices, and her thoughts. He had absolutely no right—
After a moment's thought, he added almost more forcibly, "Then what do you like?"
"Green tea."
Tomas blinked in surprise. "I—"
"Look what we have here," a male voice rumbled, and her heart rate sped up. Suddenly, her legs didn't seem so tired and she stopped gripping the edge of the table. Those broad shoulders and stubbled chin filled her vision, and Nesta swore that he had gotten larger. A familiar set of dimples winked down on her and those deep, brown eyes stared unfathomably at her.
She schooled her features into a neutral expression. Where the hell was Elain?
Tomas protested as Cassian shoved him down the booth, squashing him in the far corner.
Cassian's smile was edged with ice and something more. "So you think you're good enough to go on a date and not answer your damned phone, Nesta?"
"I owe you nothing."
Those dimples disappeared in a flash, and his palms flattened against the table. "Nothing?" he almost snarled.
Tomas huffed. "Excuse you, you uncultured swine, but I'm on a date with this lovely lady here—"
"She's not a lady," Cassian exclaimed, just as Nesta bit out, "This isn't a date."
"Like hell it isn't!" Tomas demanded, crossing his arms, ignoring the male that was visibly shouldering him against the wall. "I bought you a caramel latte!"
The hulking brute that was Cassian turned towards Tomas, an eyebrow cocked. "And did you know that dear Nesta doesn't like caramel?" A part of Nesta delighted in the fact that Cassian still remembered piece of her, and she watched as her childhood friend a squished Tomas further down until his sides were pressing against the window pane, Tomas's arm bent at an awkward angle.
Cassian turned towards her, a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes. "And what do you want, Nesta?"
Nesta stared at the two males in front of each other, feeling the exertion of male dominance exuding from them. The aura of challenge hung in the air as they stared her down.
"I want a physical therapist," she blurted, and Tomas gave her a blank stare. She didn't blame him. She considered ordering a green tea as a means to temporarily escape from the pigs sitting across from her.
Cassian didn't give her the chance as he leaned across the table, twiddling his thumbs. "Well, sweetheart, if you had bothered to answer my calls, you would have learned that I'm a certified physical therapist."
Nesta shrugged. They didn't have to tell each other anything; they weren't friends anymore—hadn't been for three years. Though it hurt to know that he'd obtained certification without her knowing until word of mouth. Well—if he could without knowledge from her, then she certainly knew where they stood in terms of friendship.
She dismissed him with a glance and looked around the table, watching in satisfaction as Cassian's face turned feral at the corner of her eye. Tomas's lips twitched in sly amusement.
"I'll search for trainers online," said Nesta, turning the cold shoulder. "Any places to start?"
"I just said I was a trained!" Cassian gave her an exasperated glance, his arms bending.
Sighing, she turned her head towards him and crossed her arms. "I'm looking for a professional physical therapist."
A small part of her soaked in Cassian's taken aback expression. However, Nesta decided she didn't like Tomas's smile that sent chills down her smile. It reminded her too much of the men in the hospital that seemed to like the sight of the younger females broken on the emergency beds filled with ailments and in need of immediate surgery. The ones who thrived on the pain of others that was irrevocably undeserved.
"Thank you for your time." Nesta curtly dipped her head in Tomas's direction and stood up as confidently as she could. "I'll take my leave now."
She walked out the door, rubbing her arms against the slight chill a breeze had whipped out. Her legs burned in protest from use, and she quickly picked up her pace until she knew she was out of sight. Spotting a tree as her savior, she leaned against the trunk, closing her eyes.
"Nesta," a voice said, and she didn't bother to turn around.
Arms scooped her up bridal style and she stared at that rugged face she had grown so accustomed to. "Why didn't you tell me you were going off life support?" he breathed, almost sounding betrayed.
"Only Elain knew."
Cassian's eyes narrowed as he followed the trail Nesta had stopped in the middle of. A hand ran down her back soothingly, and she fought back the urge to rest her chin on his shoulder. Once upon a time she would have relaxed in his embrace and granted herself the leisure of letting go.
"You shouldn't be walking so much," he accused. "Your muscles need to acclimate to being used after lying around for so long."
"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped. "You aren't my doctor."
"No, but this is what I do for a living—and I'm not a dumbass, Nesta." He retorted, hefting her higher in his arms and closer to his chest.
They came into view of the apartment complex, and she felt Cassian's hand slide along the curve of her ass. Right when she was about to scream and buck, he triumphantly fished her key out of her pockets.
"Apartment 305," he gave her a cheeky grin. "Now I know where you live."
She rolled her eyes as he easily carried her up the set of stairs and to her room. Nesta wouldn't directly say it, but she missed his warmth as her private heating furnace. As soon as he found the correct number, she slid out of his arms and deftly took the key out of his fingers.
"Nesta," he started, his voice low. "How could you not tell me?"
She ignored that heartbroken look on his face, and stubbornly crossed her arms. "You made your decision and I made mine."
"What decision?" he leaned forward so that the noses were nearly touching, and she could see the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes.
"It's none of your business."
"Tomas Manadray does not have a good name," Cassian insisted. "He's not part of a good crowd."
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and definitely stared at him. "Like you? Don't think Rhys tells me of your suspensions and partying with girls all night, and what you do with them." The last part came out bitterly, and Nesta wished she could take it back.
The edges of Cassian's eyes crinkled. "Are you jealous, Nesta Archeron?"
"Why would I be jealous when I can finally move on with people who actually care about me?" She inserted the key and twisted it.
"Why do you keep insinuating that I don't care? That I'm pretending? Because I am not." Cassian reached for her, but Nesta batted his hand away.
"Your actions said otherwise," she bluntly said, and slammed the door in his face.
Ah, nessian.
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