-Headaches-

There were migraines, and then there were the mind-numbing, crippling, make you want to split your head open pain that hit Keith from time to time as he got sicker.

It could be a completely normal day when the headache came on; well, what had become normal anyway. His dad had been trained by a nurse on how to give him medicine and flush his port, and they had to do it three times a day. Natalie came over after school and sat with him either in his room or, if he was up to it, in the living room. On the weekends, Natalie practically lived with him and his father.

One Saturday, he was sitting in the cab of the truck while Natalie was on her back underneath it. Keith had his eyes closed, envisioning the underside of the truck he knew so well, giving Natalie instructions on what she needed to be doing down there. He would have liked to be down there with her, but most days recently any time he laid down he immediately fell asleep.

So he had the radio up to keep him from drifting.

"Okay, so what you're going to do now, partner…"

His voice just fell off, and Natalie slid herself out from under the truck and was on her feet so quickly she made herself dizzy. The door of the cab was open, so the first thing she saw was Keith folded in on himself, his fingers twisted in his hair as his hands gripped his head.

Natalie reached over him and turned the radio down before killing the lights. She crawled into the cab with Keith, pulling him into her lap.

Keith didn't yell. He didn't whine or whimper. He didn't make a sound at all. But as Natalie held him there in the hopes that he would know he wasn't alone, she felt hot tears soak into her jeans.

If asked, Natalie wouldn't have a clue how long she held him during that silent battle with himself. It could have been a few minutes or it could have been several hours. All she could tell you is this: It destroyed her heart.

"Natalie," he said, pushing against her and fumbling with shaking hands. Keith's eyes darted around, but they didn't land on any one thing.

"Natalie, I can't see." His hands searched over her: the tear stained shorts, her bare legs, the hem of her shirt, until he found purchase and gripped tight to her hands.

Now this, Natalie could tell you: It took exactly twenty three minutes for Keith's vision to come back. Twenty three minutes of Keith crying and begging and Natalie repeating over and over, it's okay. I love you. It's okay.

And in those twenty three minutes, Keith could tell you this: He found out, for the first time in his life, how much he feared the dark.