Save You

AN: EDITED ON 9TH APRIL, 2009! I removed the song lyrics!

Disclaimer: Let's make this very clear – I own NOTHING.

Whenever I looked into her face, I couldn't see her eyes anymore. I couldn't see the inner strength that always seemed to flow from her. I only saw a frightened girl, slowly breaking down.

It killed me to see my vibrant young sister reduced to a motionless lump of human. She was like an exhibit in a museum – always still, barely breathing, her eyes glazed. Mom and Dad had called me home from Los Angeles, informing me tearfully that she didn't have too long to go. The doctors had tried everything, they had operated on nearly every organ, but the cancer just kept spreading, and they couldn't stop it anymore.

I've always loved my sister. While I was the outgoing, loud, brash older sibling, she was the exact opposite; calm, quiet, always friendly. When I argued with our parents, she patched things up.

Sometimes I wondered if she had just grown tired of being the peacemaker all the time. Gabriella wasn't one to stand up and blurt out all her problems – she would stay strong, and only later in the night would she crawl into a corner and cry silently, because she didn't want to be weak in front of us.

Every time I entered her room, she would barely react. Her long brown curls were gone, and she refused to cover up her bald head with a cap or a scarf. At first, I thought it was another sign of her strength. Now, I know it was just the opposite – she was too weary to care anymore, and how did it matter if everyone saw her this way? She'd be dead soon, wouldn't she? She didn't care about them anymore. She didn't care about herself anymore.

I couldn't bear to be in the same room as her for more than three minutes. It felt like she was already dead, because I couldn't see anything of my Gabriella in her. The only person who could spark a reaction from her was a tall, shaggy-haired boy with brilliant blue eyes who visited her every day, without fail. And even then, she would only smile faintly at him and squeeze his hand gently. Every time he left, I could see the tears in his eyes.

I felt a physical ache in my lower abdomen every time I saw her. She had been so perfect – the beautiful, innocent, straight-A high school student that everyone loved. For the first few months, visitors poured in every day, wanting to hold her hand, to reassure her that everything would be just fine, and that they would stay by her throughout her entire ordeal. A dark-skinned girl had sat by her bedside and recited all sorts of current finds in oncology, and how Such-and-Such had discovered a new cure that was sure to work. Another girl, with honey-blonde hair and skin the color of ivory, had nearly buried my poor sister in expensive herbal teas guaranteed to cure any ailment and different cards for overseas oncologists. A boy with hair double the size of his face had stoutly stayed by her bed for three days, before being dragged away (literally) by his mother. Another boy, who accompanied the blonde girl and wore some sort of crazy hat, had only offered his support – but I saw the grief in his eyes.

And yet, after three or four months, they all stopped coming. Maybe they didn't want to see her so weakened, perhaps they wanted to keep the image of their strong, beautiful friend alive. They were afraid of her room, which leaked depression like it was a toxic gas. Maybe they were just scared, because if it could happen to her, the beloved of the entire school, it could happen to any one of them, too.

She never seemed upset that her friends had stopped coming to see her. She never seemed to feel anything, and if someone had told her that she would die in five minutes, I'm sure she would have merely blinked at them. There was always a nurse on duty, fiddling with the bag of chemotherapy, smoothing the sheets over her frail body – it made me want to cry, seeing her reduced to an invalid. Even though she was three years younger than me, she had always been my protector. It sounds strange, I know, but she always seemed so confident. So few people had ever seen her confidence – the world is too full of people who are satisfied to look at her and just see a meek, silent girl.

I never saw her cry out in pain, or complain, or even flinch. She took it all with the patience she had always had. It stunned me how she could accept all of this so easily. Wasn't she upset? Didn't she think that life was being cruel to her?

I asked her, once. Her answer will stay with me forever.

"Oh Brianna," she laughed tiredly. "Life is never cruel, never. Life itself is such a blessing… how could it be cruel? I'm just thankful that I've gotten a chance to live for so long." Her bright eyes bore through me, and I was aware of her pain, locked up somewhere deep inside her. "I'm just… I'm just grateful I got to know you, Bria, and Troy, and Taylor, and… and everyone. I firmly believe that whoever's up there, they know what they're doing."

I stroked her hand gently. "You're so strong," I whispered, closing my eyes to hold back my tears. "You're so strong, Gabs, you've always been…" My voice broke.

Her feather-light touch grazed my cheek. "No, Bria," she murmured. "I'm not strong. I just believe."

He loved her, I could see it from the tenderness in his blue gaze. The way his large hands held her tiny ones so gently, the way he smiled at her through his tears. The way he could cry in front of her. I watched them all the time, and I felt a pang of sorrow. She was so young! Just seventeen… she hadn't had the time to experience so many things! I disagreed with her words – I didn't think whoever was up there knew what they were doing. I thought that they were cruel, cruel beyond belief to want to steal away my sister when so many people loved her. Surely our love could save her? Mom and Dad never came into her room – Mom was always sobbing her eyes out in their room, and Dad had to work, although I heard him crying too from time to time. She was the only one who didn't cry, which I found sickeningly familiar – how everyone would break down, and she was our rock in the ocean of tears.

She couldn't talk anymore. All she could do was smile, and it was a smile that broke our hearts. She had already prepared herself – it's funny how the person who's actually going to die is fine with it, and everyone else is a mess. We couldn't even dream of not waking up to Gabriella's voice, singing in the kitchen as she prepared her early morning cup of hot water. (she wasn't the tea or coffee type) And the first morning that I woke up to a silent house, I buried my face in my pillow and wept. It was just too unreal, and yet too real at the same time.

Gabriella was going to die, and we couldn't do anything about it.

She shrunk to half of her weight, and her cheekbones, which had always seemed perfectly sculpted, now stuck out from her face with her skin stretched taut across the bone. Bags developed under her eyes, and her arms became so thin that I could easily encircle her upper arm with my thumb and pointer finger. She was slowly fading to nothing, the cells inside her body wrecking havoc on my beloved sister. When her hair started falling out, our mom suggested that she take Gabriella to have it cut.

"No," was the quiet answer. "I don't think that's necessary, mom. Thanks."

She continued to go to school for five months after her first diagnosis. No one knew, and if her laugh was a little louder, and her eyes a little brighter, no one seemed to notice. Not even he knew, and when she confided that in me across the phone, I knew how desperately she was clinging onto her old life. She didn't want anyone to treat her differently, and so she hid it from everyone.

Then, one day, she fainted at school. Mom called me immediately, nearly half-dead from hysteria, sobbing that it was too soon, it was too soon, it would always be too soon. What could I do? I comforted her, and assured her that I would be home in a few days. It was then that I was told that Gabriella didn't have long to live.

I packed my bags that night, and was in Albuquerque the next morning.

I begged her not to let go, to fight to live. "I can't fight, Bria," she told me. "Life isn't a battle – it's a gift. And I can't help it if someone's decided to take back the gift, can I?" I cried at the smile she had on her face, a beautifully accepting smile.

"We can't let you go, Gabs," I sobbed. "We can't let you go. You have to stay! You still have so much to do – to see - "

"Sssh, Bria," she soothed me. "You won't be letting me go. I'll still be with you, you know that." Again, that smile came on her face. "It's horribly clichéd, I know, but…"

I still wish that I could understand her serenity in the face of death.

The only time she broke down, it wasn't with me. It was with Troy, her shaggy-haired, blue-eyed love. I felt compelled to watch them silently when he was over, still the older sister and still suspicious of any teenage boy's motives with my younger sister. I watched silently as she clung to him, weeping silently as he held her close, kissing her head and murmuring comforting words into her ear. I felt my heart break, because soon, they would be separated, and I wasn't sure how Troy would be able to bear it.

I saw as she poured out all of her insecurities out to him, trembling slightly with the outburst of emotion. She bared her soul to him, and he took her hand gently, looking deep into her eyes.

"I love you, Gabby," he told her softly. "I'll always love you, and I just hope you don't forget me. Don't be afraid, love – you'll go to a place where everything is perfect, and you'll be everyone's freaky math girl." His smile was compassionate and loving.

"But… but it won't be perfect, Troy." Her tone was childlike – oh so childlike! "It can't be perfect, not if you're not there."

And my heart broke a little more as he embraced her again.

I traced the curve of her cheek as she slept, her breathing uneven and shallow. It pained me to see her like this, because she was usually so peaceful in slumber. Now, even though she slept uneasily, she didn't wake as I ran my fingers over her eyelid, following the arch of her eyebrow. I couldn't see how she could handle all of this – how could she deal with the fact that she would never go to college, never marry, never have children, never grow old with her true love… I remembered her words from so many months ago, and I tried to take strength from them. But I couldn't – all I could see was the suddenly still face of my sister. My eyes swam with tears as I noticed that her chest was no longer rising and falling, and how her skin now felt cold and clammy.

I lowered my head onto her stomach and cried one last time, breathing in her smell and embedding it in my memory for eternity.

Troy stood on the podium, fighting tears as he tugged uncomfortably at his bright blue tie. I heard titters go around, commenting on how the tie wasn't really in mourning color. I ignored them, remembering what he had told me earlier:

"She loved this color," he explained tremulously. "She… she said it brought out my eyes. She said my eyes were beautiful." I had rested a hand on his shoulder and asked him to speak first to the assembled.

"Gabriella… you all knew what Gabriella was like. She was strong, she was beautiful, she was kind and caring and always put others first…" He broke off, clutching the papers in his hands tightly. "What am I saying? Gabriella is strong, she's beautiful and she's the best person I've ever known. Just because she's left us doesn't mean she's stopped."

He drew his hand over his eyes, clumsily wiping away tears with the back of his hand.

"Gabriella…" he started again, trailing off. "Gabriella…" He clenched his teeth, tilting his head back as the first few raindrops started to fall, even though the sky was clear and cloudless.

"I… I wish I could have saved you. I love you."

AN: The song this oneshot is based off is Save You by Simple Plan, and I highly recommend it. It's so beautiful. So basically, this was a first-person piece written in the point of view of Gabriella's older sister, Brianna Montez (made up) about Gabriella and cancer. I'm not sure where this came from, but right now, I'd like to dedicate this to anyone and everyone who knows someone who has or had cancer. I haven't ever had a first-hand experience of knowing someone with cancer, and I can't imagine even a fraction of the pain. I hope I haven't offended anyone in any way with my depiction of cancer in this fanfiction, because I know really nothing about the disease and have based my 'facts' on other stories.