Sorry this has taken so long to update, I was ill, then I was working, then I was in China for two weeks, and then I just had no motivation. Thanks for the reviews so far, they're always hugely appreciated!

While she's asleep she can forget. She dreams in fitful bursts, nothing she can remember but something separate, away from this, away from the soul rushing reality that she's not even sure she's fully processed yet. While she's asleep she's someone else, she's no one, she's just… there. And she's been sleeping a lot lately. Suddenly days blend into nights into days, eased by the cocktail of medication and the silence of her private room. Sometimes she's aware of people around her: nurses, visitors, but deliberately remains as tightly wrapped in her slumber as she can because nothing in reality is as calm as the fantasy world of her dreams.

But then, occasionally, periodically, she has to wake up, and then she has to remember, and it all hits her once again, seemingly harder every time. She's dying. Stripped down, without all the false positivity from the family that try, in vain, to hide their pain, that's the top and bottom of it. She's dying, and there's not a thing she can do about it.

They'd been all set to discharge her, send her home, but then her blood pressure had gone through the floor for reasons they couldn't pinpoint and the decision had been made that she was safer where she was. She hadn't hidden her relief very well, but it was so palpable that there barely seemed any point in disguising it anyway. Where would she have gone 'home' to? To Roy's, to sit in his spare bedroom all day feeling useless while he tore himself apart, wanting to help her but being powerless? She wouldn't put him through watching someone else die, not after Hayley. Perhaps Johnny would have taken her in, slept on the sofa so she could lie in her old bed, in her old flat filled with so many memories, while he tried to somehow make up for lost time while his wife complained in a voice that wouldn't be as low as she'd think that she should be somewhere else. She could have gone back to Devon, although she doubted either the doctors or her family would have encouraged her travelling so far away, and anyway the thought of the home she'd previously loved suddenly filled her with a hollowness she couldn't quite explain.

So instead, she was taking up a vital bed on the NHS, whiling away her final days until, what, they moved her to a hospice? When they finally stopped pretending the endless seasons of dialysis were doing any good, when waiting for a donor was no longer an option, when they finally faced facts and let her go. Or perhaps she'd just slip away one night, some sly infection would finally take her, or her exhausted body would simply give out completely. Maybe some poor nurse would find her on their morning medication round, skin pale and cold, eyes fixed, and that would be the end of it. There was a part of her that anticipated this, willed it to come sooner, but then she'd catch herself and feel a new wave of guilt, torturing herself for not considering the pain it would cause those who inexplicably loved her. No matter how dull, no matter how futile, she owed it to them to keep up the pretence of determination for as long as possible. Only when they came to the conclusion on their own, only when they accepted her fate, could she let herself allow them to see her pain. Only then could she tell them how she fantasised about death, how she wished one day they'd give her the wrong drugs, or too much, and then that would the end of it and everyone could move on.

No, that was stupid. She could never tell them that. They'd never understand, and even if they did, they'd hate her for it. People who are perfectly healthy will never fully understand that desire to just get it over with, to go out on their own terms, to stop the tedium and the agonising wait. They'll never understand that it's not death we fear, but pain. That sometimes death is the most attractive option and that's not even some great depression, sometimes its just the truth.

She can hear Johnny's voice a way down the corridor, asking for updates on her condition like he does every day, as if anything is every going to change. She rolls over, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Maybe if he thinks she's asleep he won't stay so long. She doesn't have the energy or the motivation for fake smiles today.

"I still can't get my head around it," Michelle tips the handle of an empty mug towards the table, aimlessly. "She only found out a few months ago, she was fine…"

"These things can progress quickly" Robert tries to be supportive. "You couldn't have known".

"I should have though," she wipes a tear from her eye. I mean, these past few weeks… she looked shattered. Looking back, I should have noticed."

"She didn't want you to. You know Carla, she's an expert in putting on a brave face, you've said so yourself".

"But I'm her best mate. She's practically my sister, I should have seen beyond that. I used to be able to."

Robert takes the mug from his girlfriend's hand. "So what if you had? She'd still be sick. There was nothing you could have done".

There's a pause, and Robert thinks he's got through to her, but moments later she turns to face him, her eyes wide. "There is. I could get tested."

"Now wait a second-"

"Well, why not? I know we're only distantly related but I've got as much chance as anyone else of being a match"

Robert shifts his weight from one foot to another, trying to work out the best way to phrase his next response. "Are you sure you want to be doing this now?"

Michelle's face falls - she's disgusted. "What?"

"I just mean, with everything that's going on. We're still up to our eyeballs in debt, you've just got divorced…" He was already starting to regret his question, feeling the full wrath of her anger just waiting to explode. "You've had a hard few years, with Rauri and everything…"

"So?!" She practically spits the word at him.

"So… do you really want to go piling more stress on yourself? You need time to relax…"

Michelle stands to her feet now, her breathing heavy. "Relax?! You think I can RELAX while my best friend dies? 'Oh, sorry I didn't get tested, I know I could saved your life but I've been a bit stressed myself lately, I'd rather not put myself through it'"

Robert sighs. He's gone too far. "I didn't mean it like that…"

"Well how did you mean it then? Because from where I'm standing it sounds like you think I should just let her die!"

He tried to reach to her to comfort her, but she pushes him away, hard.

"I just mean, donating an organ is a huge undertaking. Days of tests, the surgery itself. If you were a match this could impact on your entire life-"

"Yeah, and if I don't get tested it'll impact on Carla's life, too. Because she won't have one!" She throws her arms in the air, spinning on one foot and storming out of the room. "I can't believe you!"

She left her diary at his place. Must have fallen out of her bag when she'd thrown it to the floor when… Daniel cringed at the thought. How had he not noticed?

There wasn't much in the diary, a few meetings in places he'd never heard of crossed out - most likely in Devon. It had been so underused, the spine had barely been broken. He guessed there hadn't been much to plan once her illness had set in, and she'd not have any use for it now. But even still, he felt he should return it - it felt wrong keeping hold of something so personal.

"What's that?" Adam's voice behind him made him jump; he hadn't realised anyone else was home.

"It's Carla's."

"Oh. Terrible business, that. What are you gonna do with it?

"I'm gonna return it. She's not dead yet, Adam" he snapped.

His brother rose his hands in mock defeat and stepped backwards. "Sorry".

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry. This whole thing has just messed my head a bit, you know?"

"Yeah, of course".

Pulling the small black notebook under his arm, he grabbed his coat from the hallway. "In fact, I'm just gonna go return it now. Get it over with, you know? Wouldn't want her to think I was building a shrine with it or something!"

"Sure…. Daniel?!" Adam called back as Daniel jumped, two steps at a time, down to the street.

"Yeah?"

"Just…. Be careful, okay?"