A/N- Hi there! I deleted my last story because I just wasn't feeling it. But here I am with a new one. I've had this story in my head for a while. I was inspired a little bit by A Walk to remember and Sweet November. :) Let me go ahead and say I am no doctor and I have no interest in being one! I've stretched a little bit of the truth with all the medical stuff for the flow of the story ok? Try not to hate on me if I'm not 100% correct!
Disclaimer-Skins is not mine, don't sue me. That would be unpleasant.
Chapter 1
i don't even try
i know I have seen the best i'll have.
-Guster (Rainy day)
She can't remember exactly when it happened, when she stopped being afraid of death. I mean, really stopped being afraid of it. She must think it's at least a good thing to accept, she must, she keeps telling herself. She wonders if life really is like the movies sometimes, where the good die young and bad things happen to good people. But she dismisses the thought, she doesn't see herself as good, only young. Too young for this to be happening. "25 years old and it's the beginning of the end" she says to herself, shaking her head sadly.
She's sitting on the cold tile floor of her kitchen. Her back pressed up against the cabinets. A broken bottle of vodka, shattered on the ground next to her. She looks down at her left hand and loses herself in the sight before her. Red. So much red. In the midst of attempting to clean up the bottle of vodka she so carelessly dropped, she cut her hand. She stares, wondering silently to herself how something so vital to her existence, something so incredibly important could be betraying her. She feels nauseous and turns her head away. Turns away from the blood that she now views as toxic, the blood that is now killing her.
So caught up in her own head she doesn't even hear the front door knock. Finally brought out of her reverie by Cook's booming voice.
"Naomikins! I forgot my fookin' key again! Open the fuck up!" she hears as the incessant pounding on the door continues.
She gets up quickly, grabbing a dish towel in the process and putting it to her wounded hand. " For fucks sake" she whispers to herself.
She makes her way over to the door and unlocks it letting the sandy blonde haired boy (well…man, but she will always view him as a boy) into the loft.
"What in the fuck happened to your hand?" He says, concerned etched in his voice as he grabs for Naomi's hand.
She pulls her hand from his grasp quickly, almost violently. "Dropped a bottle of vodka, tried to clean it up but you know how clumsy I can be" She says indifferently.
Cook chuckles slightly " Yeah, mate, I know" and Naomi is relieved that he leaves it at that.
She walks back into the kitchen and heads for the sink to clean off her hand, silently dreading the conversation she's about to have with her best mate, her room mate, her anchor.
Her and Cook met in College several years ago. Cook hitting on her and asking if she wanted to "Willy waggle" and her quick witted reply of " You couldn't make me feel alright if you stapled your tongue to my clit and stood on a cement mixer" The rest, as cliché as it is, was history. He was her damage control and she was his, their dynamic was surprisingly balanced for two incredibly un-balanced people.
Walking into the living room after treating her wound she finds Cook sitting silently on the couch looking solemn, but the second he notices her presence the look is gone, replaced by a smug smile.
'Oh, so this is how it's going to go' she says to herself. Cook is going to put on his brave act, if only merely being brave for her. She clears her throat, suddenly feeling like the deserts of Afghanistan have made their way into her mouth.
"What? Why are you giving me that cheeky grin?' she croaks out. He just looks at her, still smiling, as if formulating the right words.
"What was the vodka for Naoms'? Tell me it was for celebrating, yeah?" He has a forced smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes, his eyes very clearly looking apprehensive and wishful.
In just that little time Naomi feels so many emotions coursing through her veins. Oh god, her veins, she thinks of the blood and all of that betrayal. Her heart is pounding so fast and she silently wishes that it would burst right out of her chest and kill her, right now, in this living room so she doesn't have to have this conversation, so she doesn't have to break Cook's heart.
She notices that Cook is still staring at her intently, she doesn't know what to say, her mouth seeming to formulate words before her brain can catch up.
"I…I needed a drink James" she stumbles out.
Cook looks at her intensely, his brows shooting up at the mention of his first name. 'Shit' she thinks, this is not how she meant to tell him, she wanted to be brave and forthright, seem confident about this.
"Naomi? Wha…What did the doctor say?" he fumbles on his words, he looks petrified and Naomi has to avert her gaze to the floor.
She loses herself for a moment, staring at the patterns on the carpet until Cook's shoes come into view. She slowly raises her head to his eyes. His eyes that are now pleading with her to tell him.
She takes a deep breath, it hurts. She feels like she's drowning in all of these feelings. Pain, so much pain and the regret is becoming so unbearable.
She shakes her head and exhales, composing herself and begins to tell her best friend of her own slow demise.
2 hours earlier
She's sat in a ridiculously uncomfortable leather chair that keeps making inappropriate sounds every time she moves, she can't stop fidgeting at all, picking at her nails, her knee is bouncing erratically.
She looks across the large wooden desk sitting between her and the man that is about to determine her fate. She likes him, has always thought he had a kind face. He's quite older, wrinkles are covering his face along with a well kept gray beard.
He's looking through a file, has been looking through it for what seems like an eternity. She feels as if the world could end with how much time has seemed to pass and then she silently thinks to herself that her world could very well end in a matter of moments.
A cough brings her out of her thoughts and the man is now staring at her. Is that pity in his eyes she wonders? And she feels her heart contract painfully, she feels like there isn't enough air in the room, or enough air in general.
"Miss Campbell, How long have we known each other?" he asks, catching Naomi completely off guard.
"Um...Well for almost five years I suppose." she answers back quietly, wondering where this is going.
"Do you remember…" he seems to falter slightly. " When I first diagnosed you with the Acute Leukemia ?"
"Ye…Yes, Of course" Naomi answers back warily. She doesn't like this, she doesn't like this at all.
" And everything that I told you?' he asks. " That you could…" he falters yet again and now Naomi has stopped picking at her hands, her knee has stilled it's movements.
He clears his throat. " That you could relapse? After being in remission?" he finally asks.
"Are you saying?" she stops, feeling breathless she has to compose herself. " Are you saying I've relapsed doc?"
He bows his head down. Naomi is having a hard time telling if he's reading her file or if he is trying to carefully calculate what he's about to say.
"Naomi, the Acute myeloid leukemia it grows quickly. Now the consolidation therapy that we've been doing to keep you in remission, well it didn't seem to work." he was speaking so slowly, as if he was afraid Naomi wouldn't understand.
"It's a cancer of the blood, it's tricky…The chemotherapy you went under worked just good enough to put you in remission. Now we tried to keep it that way, but I'm afraid…I'm afraid Miss Campbell that it grew too rapidly" he's looking at her expectantly and pushes a box of Kleenex towards her on the desk.
She can't speak, she doesn't feel any tears bubbling up behind her eyes, in fact, she doesn't feel much of anything.
"I…I don't…"she trails off, losing her train of thought but quickly enough regaining a new one. " What does this mean?"
"Well, AML is quite rare, only accounting for 1.2% of cancer deaths" he pauses and Naomi has a glimmer of hope. " But, when it's developed at such a stage yours seems to have…" she looks down at her hands now, he doesn't need to say the rest. She gets it.
"What are my choices?" she interrupts his chain of thought.
"Stem cell transplantation or in simpler terms a bone marrow transplant …it would involve more chemo I'm afraid"
"And if I don't go through anymore chemo?" she asks, she needs to know. She can't take the chemo anymore, so much pain, she feels a tight knot in her stomach just thinking about it.
He's not surprised she asked, he expected her to ask such an ominous question. " I'd estimate you'd have about 8 months, maybe less, maybe a little more.
He stands up from his chair now, walking to stand in front of Naomi and sit on the corner of his desk.
He takes her hand in his and looks at her with so much sympathy that Naomi has to quickly look away.
"What are the chances of the stem cell whatever stuff working?" she asks, still not looking at him, she notices that she is gripping onto his hand tightly.
"Naomi, dear, I'm afraid that you have an overproduction of myeloid cells, quite a high count to be honest, it's preventing your bone marrow from producing red blood cells, platelets and white blood cells. " he states in a very professional manner.
Naomi scoffs at this. "Doc, I know all of this already." she says finally looking at him. "What do you recommend I do?"
He pats her hand comfortingly and sighs. " I think any form of treatment would be a waste of your time at this point , Naomi. You'll be far too sick to do anything." he says this as more of a friend than a doctor.
"You'll be far too sick to live, to really live. Do you understand what I'm saying?" he clarifies and Naomi is pretty sure she understands but just needs to be sure.
"I shouldn't do anymore treatment, should I? " she asks, even though he already answered, but she needs to hear him say it again, she needs to get this perfectly clear in her head. " I should just do the best with what time I've got left?
He lets go of Naomi's hand and goes to sit back behind his desk. He looks at her with a sad smile on his face. " I gave you some options Naomi, it is up to you what to do with them. But as a friend, as someone who has grown to know you, I think yes, you should do the best with what you have left."
She walks out of the hospital and looks up into the the clear sky. She briefly wonders how something could be so vast and never ending, how something could be so infinite and immortal. Then she has to compare herself, and her mortality. And in the end it just makes her look back up into the sky, asking to it, or maybe someone she's not sure Why? Why me?
Alright guys, there you have it. I have a lot of this story already written out, so I'd love to hear your feedback on whether you'd like to read more or not. And yes, there will be lots of Naomily, and soon. ;)