I think that, somehow, I always knew I'm going to die young. I never made any plans, or had dreams, or develop an idea about how my life will, or should, look like when I grow up. It's like I knew, even from a very young age, that it's pointless, because I'm not going to have any of that. I'm not going to live long enough to see my idea of life unravel in front of my eyes. I'm not going to live long enough to make this life worthwhile. I'm not going to have enough time.
I was the only child who didn't aspire to be a princess, or a teacher, or a doctor. I would always say that I just don't know.
Maybe because I was never good at anything. I liked to dance, I learned how to, but I was never a natural. I never had that something which makes dancers dancers. When you love something, when you're good at something, you live it. You live it through everyday things. You move and think and talk in a certain way - like a dancer, a gymnast, a writer. A simple hobby you took as a child becomes who you are. It starts defining you. You become that person who dances their way through a school hallways, or that student who's always excused from classes because they're always practicing or competing, that person with an unfinished book in their bag. To others, you become more than your name and the house you live in and clothes you wear - to others, you become what you love, what you do, what you love doing, and that's who you are.
Who am I?
To most people, I'm that girl who has cancer. That's something that also happens, sometimes. You become the thing you hate. Sometimes it's out of your control, sometimes you control the situation fully.
Does my cancer define me, or did I let it define me? How would my life look like if I did some things differently? What would people say about me then? Would those oh, she has cancer, whispers disappear, whenever someone makes an acquisition about me? Why doesn't she date? Why doesn't she have more friends? Why doesn't she get out more? Where does she disappear to when the last bell rings? Oh, she has cancer. And everyone nod, understanding, like it's an excuse, or a viable explanation.
What if I ran a marathon, or continued dancing, or win a beauty contest? Would I be considered a runner, a dancer, beautiful? Or would people still say, she keeps dancing, despite her cancer?
Sometimes you become the thing you hate, and it's out of your control. Sometimes things, and people, define you, without you choosing them to.
I stare at the blank page on my laptop screen. Mr. Anderson is young, and innovative, and understands us kids because few years ago he was one of us, and sometimes he acts like he fell out straight from Glee. He says he doesn't want to be one of those teachers who get stuck in a rut, just teaching his students about facts or words or years. He doesn't want to ask what did the writer wanted to say with that for the rest of his life. He wants us to ask that question by ourselves.
So he often gives us these neat little tasks to write about. We should write down what we want from life. He doesn't limit us by the number of words, or form of writing. He gives us full freedom. The only thing we need to do is hand it in when he says so. Which is two days from now, and I don't have a single word written down, or a thought in my head, because I don't want anything from life.
At one point, I wrote down that I want to be healthy again, but I deleted it. It's such a vague answer. You're never really healthy. Before I had cancer, I had a flu, and before that, I was overweight. There are so few days in my life that I spent healthy.
Also, there are so many people who are ill, seriously ill. And this task is not about majority, it's about us.
Half an hour later, and my page is still completely blank, as well as my mind. I growl at my laptop, annoyed an exhausted, pulling it shut.
"Bad, bad technology," I hear a voice coming from behind me.
I jump out of surprise, before spinning in my chair only to catch aunt Jenna leaning against the door frame.
She's grinning at me, or rather at my reaction to hearing her voice.
"Is your mom home?" she asks.
"No," I shake my head, "She took Jeremy to the mall to buy new sneakers."
Jenna sighs, clearly unhappy about this turn of event, but she doesn't complain. She never complains. She's codependent on my mother, which is not surprising since it's my mother who raised her. Grandma died few years after aunt Jenna was born and few years before I was, so I never got to meet her. Aunt Jenna lived with her dad until she went to college, but I remember her spending a lot of the time at our house.
I don't think she's incapable, I just think she's used to having my mother by her side all the time. She never complains when my mother is busy with other stuff, though.
She eyes me carefully, her eyes watching my face intently. I've been feeling pretty tired these last few days, and even though I haven't said anything to anyone, it must show on my face. I get paler, and my eyes fall into my sockets which only expresses my cheekbones more.
I've been feeling sick and tired a lot lately, weak and moody, and I don't want to think about it. I keep hoping it will pass. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it's just my body reacting to other things in my life. Sometimes it's cancer, playing with me, little by little. Teasing me, scaring me, letting me know I've won few battles, but not the war.
It's hiding, like a coward, preserving energy for its next attack. That's how I know that, when it comes, it's going to be its final.
"So," she steps into my room, her eyes never leaving my face, "What you're up to?"
I love my aunt. I really do. But sometimes she's too noisy. Sometimes she can't see that I'm not in the mood for company. Like now.
"I have this English assignment to write," I try to give her a hint that I have no free time, that I'm swamped with schoolwork.
Unfortunately, Jenna is not big on getting hints. She turns her back to me and walks over to my shelf, going through my things. Books, stuffed animals, pictures, few dancing trophies, snow globes. Lots of them.
"Mhm," she takes a snow globe in her hand, shaking it, "On what?" she sounds like she really wants to know, more than anything. But with her, just like with Caroline, you never know. They sound excited about almost everything.
I weigh in on should I tell her the truth or not, but when I can't think of a quick, decent lie, I go with the truth, "On what we want from life."
She nods. I can see her head go up and down, even though she doesn't turn around. "And that's something you have a problem writing about?" her inner psychologist comes out.
I don't say anything. No matter what I say, she's going to turn it around the way she wants it, because she already knows there's something going on with me.
Sometimes she knows, even before I know myself. Or before I let myself realize it.
When I stay quiet, she turns around. "You're pale," she says. She doesn't sound worried, or panicky. She's simply stating a fact, coldly, briskly. She got that from my mother. Maybe it's genes, maybe it's something they both acquired through life. Whatever it is, I didn't seem to catch it, because what I'm feeling is always visible on my face. I can't stop it. I can't pretend. "You look thinner, which means you haven't eaten a lot these past few days, which can only mean the food is making you nauseous."
I lower my head down to avoid her look.
My mother doesn't even notice anymore. Sometimes she's so intent on keeping me healthy that she doesn't even notice that I'm not healthy at all.
She has gotten used to my state. She wants to keep it this way, so things don't get worse. She doesn't want to push her luck.
But this is not enough for me. This half life is only making my sicker on other accounts.
"You also seem tired, which means you haven't been getting enough sleep," she continues, "Now, I don't want to jump to conclusions, it could be school or boy troubles or whatever. So before I say anything, I have to know, what is it?"
I don't say anything. I'm frozen in place. Words are stuck in my throat, making me sick, refusing to go either up or down.
"Are you unwell, Elena?" she asks, and her voice is not even anymore. Those four words shake as they roll off of her tongue. Especially my name. She sounds.. afraid.
And I don't want to do that to the people I love. Make them worry about me, hide my symptoms until things get out of control.
"I don't know," I shrug, slowly looking back at her, "A little bit of both. I do feel stressed about.." my mind reels back to Matt, Bonnie, Stefan. All the mistakes I made. Bad choices I've made. Things I didn't notice. Offers I've turned down. "Things," I decide to say, "So those may be affecting my physical health."
She doesn't question my honesty. Somehow she always knows when I'm lying to her. Maybe I'm just a bad liar.
"When was your last check up?" her voice goes back to being calm, stoic.
"Few weeks ago," I say, dreading the next one, which will be pretty soon. One each moth. More, if my condition gets worse. Less, if it gets better. It's been a year since I've been doing one check up per month thing. "Everything was fine," I say to assure her, even though I'm sure she needs no reminding of it. If things weren't fine, she would have remembered.
She keeps glaring at me without saying another word, which is how I know her mind took her places, like mine always does. My mother is always on the top of things, never allowing herself to get distracted, but Jenna and me often wander away from reality.
After some time she exhales loudly, her look softening. "If something happens, you have to tell someone, okay?" she asks me as if I'm a child, as if I don't know better. She even adds, "You have to be careful."
You have to be careful, you do remember what happened the last time, don't you, is something I often hear from my mother. Aunt Jenna doesn't say the second part, but I'm sure she thinks it.
The last time I didn't tell anyone how bad I am was the day before I was supposed to go back to school. I was dizzy, warm. My body got so hot in just a short period of time. It felt like I'm standing in the center of the sun. I took several cold showers, but they didn't have any effect on me. Finally, my whole body had started hurting. There was a commotion on the inside of my body, like my organs were having an argument, loud, violent one. I didn't say anything because I was afraid they won't let me go back to school. Ever.
It will pass, I kept telling myself. It will pass.
But it didn't pass.
I lost consciousness in the kitchen while taking some cold milk. I remember how my mother kept asking me how am I feeling, am I excited for tomorrow.
I passed out in the middle of her question, my body falling down, crashing on the tiles. I woke up in the hospital almost 24 hours later. As it turns out, I've had internal bleeding.
See, cancer is like a truck, and your insides are a road too small for it. Your organs are too close and it just can't pass between them. But it keeps trying, squeezing itself between them, knocking them out of its way. You never know what's going to happen next. Symptoms connected to the cancer are easy to detect, but the consequences it has on the rest of your body is what catches you unprepared.
I force a small smile on my face, "I will."
We keep looking at each other for a while. I'm wishing her away and she's weighing on should she trust me or not. Finally, she nods, and before turning on her heel, says, "Well, I should go. Tell your mom I stopped by and that I'll give her a ring later."
"I will," I say, watching her leave.
When she reaches the door, one foot in the hallway, the other almost there as well, she turns to me and says, "Elena, regarding your writing assignment.." she seems to hesitate, but after few minutes she just spits it out, "In order to know what you want from life, I think, you first have to allow yourself to live."
Matt keeps asking me do I want to do something, and I'm starting to run out of excuses. How many ways are there to say no to a person?
The more he keeps asking, the more I feel guilty for turning him down. He's really sweet, just.. he's not my kind of sweet.
Bonnie is still not talking to me or looking at me, really. Caroline is jogging from me to her, refusing to give out Bonnie's location, like I'm going to come and tackle them. Which I would do at this point, I'm desperate enough. I've tried texting her, calling her, I left messages on her phone. Nothing. She erased me from her life completely.
I didn't know any boy is worthy of that.
Caroline offered to have lunch with her today, since she had it with me yesterday, but Bonnie said she's going to hang with her debate team. Caroline probably feels like a child of divorce. Again.
I'm glad she's here, though, I would hate to be stuck with Tyler and Matt, alone.
"Yeah, but the tickets are impossible to get now in a normal price range," Tyler explains calmly.
"I know," Caroline sighs, dropping a french fry in her mouth, "I just really wanted to go."
They're discussing some concert in Atlanta. I'm barely paying attention to what they're saying because I'm too busy keeping my head down to avoid Matt's pleading stare.
"Go where?" I hear a voice coming from behind me, instantly whipping my head up. Stefan comes into my view and sits opposite of me, next to Tyler. I can feel Matt's eyes on me when I smile back at Stefan who smiles at me first.
"Coldplay are playing in Atlanta on the 30th," Tyler answers, "But the tickets are sold out and people who are reselling tickets are out of their mind judging by how much they're asking for them," his voice implying that he's disgusted by it.
"I have tickets," Stefan says casually, his mouth full of cheese puffs. His lips are orange, and I have to hold my laughter in as I watch him try to hold all the cheese puffs inside of his mouth while talking.
Caroline leans on the table, squealing, "You do?"
"Yeah," he says, trying to get his food down. When he's done chewing, he adds, "Elena's going with me."
My expression becomes serious, somber, like someone just splashed my face with cold water. I don't feel like laughing anymore.
"I am?" I say at the same time Caroline asks, "She is?"
Her voice holds more surprise and confusion than mine.
"I mean, I'm not," I say when I manage to shake the initial shock off.
"And why the hell not?" Caroline raises her voice, differing very much from her tone just few seconds ago.
"Because, A, he never asked me - "
"I think he just kinda did," she says, her glare burning into my skin so much that it physically pains me, obviously angry at me for turning this opportunity down.
"And B," I continue despite her interruption, "I don't know any songs by Coldplay."
"Wait," this time Stefan is the one to make an interruption, "You don't know a single song by Coldplay?" he squints at me like he doesn't believe me.
"No," I emphasize my answer by shaking my head.
"How does one not know at least one song by Coldplay?" he asks in disbelief, but not me. He's looking at Caroline. I can't believe this. They're ganging up on me.
"Urgh," Caroline makes an incomprehensible sound, "I forgot. Elena's not into music."
Stefan slowly shifts his attention from her back to me, his eyes full of disbelief, like he thinks we're lying to him. "Not into.." he doesn't even finish his sentence, instead he lifts his hands in the air, his open palms facing me, "You know what? Forget it."
I roll my eyes. "Don't be such a pretentious jerk," I smile a little so he knows that I'm joking.
"And I will try to fix you," he says in a sing song voice.
I squint my eyes at him, "What's that supposed to mean."
He stays silent for a moment, staring at me, like all of this is some test. "You would know if you listened to Coldplay," he says completely calm, cocking his eyebrow at me.
I can hear Caroline chuckle beside me.
I take a handful of cheese puffs and throw them in his face.
"Hey," he says, picking the snack from his lap, "Don't abuse the cheese puffs, this is not their fault."
I make a face at him. "I hate cheese puffs," I don't know why I just said that. I don't hate cheese puffs. I freaking love cheese puffs.
He makes a face as if he's offended by my comment, "You don't really mean that. Take it back."
My lips stretch into a wide smile, "No," I shake my head disobediently.
"Hmm," he says, picking one extra large cheese puff from his plate, "Maybe this one will change your mind," he extends his arm in my direction, waving a cheese puff in front of my mouth.
I grab it. I actually grab it with my teeth.
"That's disgusting," I say while chewing it in anticipation to swallow this deliciousness down to my tummy.
His laugh is light and quiet when he says, "You say that but your orange cheesy puffy lips are giving you away."
"Wow, okay," Caroline says, which brings me back to reality. We're not alone. There are people around us. People who can see us. I forgot about them, I forgot about what I'm doing, I forgot that I'm not supposed to be doing that. He made me forget. "Can we stop pretending that Elena refusing to go to a Coldplay concert is not a big deal?"
"It's okay," Stefan shrugs it off, "Maybe next time."
"What next time?" Caroline yells, annoyed, almost climbing on the top of a table, "This is the first time Coldplay is preforming in the close proximity of us! There will be no next time!" she puffs, clearly too worked up over this.
But I know to what he's referring to, and it's not a Coldplay concert. My mind goes back to that day in the Grill when he asked me out for dinner. I remember what he said then, when I turned him down. That maybe next time I'll choose differently. This means he won't stop asking.
"I can give you guys the tickets," Stefan says.
I can basically hear Caroline's breath get stuck in her throat. "What?" she asks quietly, not sure she had heard him right.
"Yeah, Damon got a bunch of them for free because of some sponsorship deal, so it's really no big deal."
"Are you for real?" she asks, not because she doesn't believe him, but because she can't comprehend that this is really happening.
"Yeah," he says through laughter.
"Oh my God!" Caroline squeals, almost piercing my ear drums, "Thank you thank you thank you," she repeats probably hundred times, basically throwing herself over the table to give Stefan a hug.
She must have sucked all the air out of the room. Maybe that's why I feel like I can't breathe.
"I have to go," I stand up abruptly, trying to get to my bag.
"Where - " she starts, but I'm already walking away, my bag swaying in the air behind me, dangling on my little finger, "Elena, wait!" I hear her yelling after me, but I don't stop, I can't stop.
I run into the hallway. I feel like my lungs are going to burst open. The hallways are empty, everyone are in the cafeteria, eating lunch, our doing the same outside. I lean against a wall, trying to catch my breath.
I don't know if this is happening because of what happened in there. Anxiety, embarrassment, anger, confusion over the way I acted. Of how I've allowed myself to act. Or if this is because of cancer. I can feel a change in my body, but I don't know the cause of it, I can't determine if it's good or bad, if it's excitement or actual lack of air.
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
I stay in that position for a while, until students start bursting into the hallway from all sides. I push myself off of the wall and start walking towards my locker.
I can hear someone calling my name. It's faint, far away, lost in the sea of voices. I don't turn around, not until I feel someones fingers grazing my shoulder.
"Caroline," I say, assuming it's her, "I - " but when I turn around I realize it's not her. "Oh," I say, blushing for my mistake, "Matt. Hi."
He doesn't say anything, he just keeps looking at me, like he's gathering courage to say something. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I fear he's going to ask me out again.
"Is it because of him?" he asks. My expression must show that I have no idea what he's talking about, because he continues, "Did you turn me down all those times because of Stefan?"
"What?" I ask just in case I didn't hear him right.
"Because I can see how you're around him," he frowns, but I'm not sure why. He doesn't look angry. "You're never like that with me. Or anyone else for that matter," he points out.
"What?" I ask again, feeling like a fool, so I add, "No. It has nothing to do with him."
"I was actually hoping it does," he laughs nervously, desperately, confusing me even further, "Because then at least I would have an explanation to why you keep saying no to me. After the party, I hoped that - "
"Matt," I interrupt him because I can't allow him to go any further. It's about time I put a stop to this, once and for all.
"Yeah?" he says with a shaky voice.
"I'm so sorry," I say, not caring that there are people all around us, able to hear every word. I can't hold this inside anymore. I have to say it, because if I don't do it now, I don't know when I'll gather enough courage to do it again. "I made a mistake. I should have never kissed you back," my voice is not rough as I say this, at least I try not to make it rough. Instead I try to make my words come out softly, quietly, with extra care, as if they're going to break if I push them out any harder. "It's time I finally tell you this, because we've known each other for a long time, and we're friends," I don't take my eyes off of his as I say this, "I care about you, Matt. A lot. But I just don't like you like that."
After I say this, he doesn't say anything for a while. And when he does, his words take me by surprise, because what he says is the last thing I would expect from him to say.
"How do you know?" he asks, but he doesn't sound angry. He sounds upset more than anything.
"Excuse me?" I push him to explain further.
"How do you know you don't like me like that? You never give anyone a chance to get close to you, including me," he says, "You shut yourself off from the world. You're missing out on so much. I don't think you even know the difference between what you do and don't like."
I open my mouth, but no words come out. I'm speechless. I don't know what to say to this. So I say the first thing that comes to my mind, "I don't have to go through every guy that looks my way to know I don't actually like him."
"Well maybe you do," he says, a little bit of spite present in his voice.
"Wow," I say, a little offended. I know I've made a mistake with Matt. I should have told him all of this a long time ago. I knew that he likes me for a long time now, even though I kept pretending I don't. Maybe I really was leading him on. But I never expected him to react like this. "You're telling me about missing out on things, but you're so hung up on one girl you can't have that you're not even seeing all the girls you can have."
This seems to catch him off guard, his eyes go wide as surprise colors his features. Like it's impossible for someone else to like him.
It's funny how people think nobody is looking at them just because they're not looking back at that person, but in a different direction.
"You're a great guy, Matt, and you could make some girl really happy," I say honestly, "But I'm not that girl. I'm not your girl."
He seems stunned, but he finds the words he wants to say, anyway. "And whose girl are you?"
"Nobody's," I say after a while, "I'll never be anybody's girl," I try not to sound too desperate as I say it.
Something in his eyes shifts. From anger to.. pity. For me.
I've seen that look one time too many to miss it, but in this case, I try to ignore it.
"Are you going to be okay?" I ask.
He nods almost instantly. "Yeah," he steps away from me, adding before turning away, "It will take some time. I need time," are the last words I hear, in the form of a murmur, as he walks away from me.
Me too, Matt. Me too.
You just have a hell lot more of it than I do.
AN: I'm sorry my updates have been so slow and rare, I was real busy with some personal stuff, but hopefully my schedule will clear up starting this week. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as much as, judging by your reviews, you enjoyed the previous ones :)
