I left this amazing Author's Note at the end of the story... then I deleted it... by accident... it was fairly long... I can not tell you what was said or what I wrote... for this I might have to begin sobbing into my hands for... Other then this is not the last chapter, I should have the last one up by Sunday the lastest... and that their will be a HUGE author's note in the next chapter, thanking and commenting to all those who reviewed :) If you guys had any questions reguarding anything in this story please leave it in the review and the ending Author's note in the last chapter I will clear everything up and such (hopefully). I tried to incorporate people's opinions/comments/ideas/predictions in the story and I hope I did not disappoint :/ Well, anyway, R&R, I hope you enjoyed! And THANK YOU again :)

(The worst part is trying to figure out if I want the happy ending or the unhappy ending.)

I waited in the small doctor's office. The walls were painted a soothing blue with white carpets. The walls had framed degrees, posters of Dr. Phil, comic strips about doctors, and various pictures of Dr. Brooke with friends and family. There was a large mahogany desk with an over stuffed leather chair. I was in one of the smaller leather chairs on the opposite side of the desk staring around the room as the walls slowly enclosed on me.

It had been two weeks since the funeral. Since the incident. As I had earlier suggested, things would not initially change, yes well, that's just a false truth. Not only did things "change" they went into another dimension. Miriam had been locked in her bedroom since the funeral. She only came out to get water and fruit. I hadn't even seen her since that Sunday (the funeral). I only knew she came out because things (like the water and fruit) were missing from the kitchen.

This was not the only thing to have "changed". Bob wrote a very nice, excuse me, Bob's Lawyer wrote a very nice letter to Miriam about how since Olga was dead, so were we. He would no longer be supporting us. We have depended on him for too long. Since I am almost of legal age there's no real reason to keep sending money. Of course, being almost legal age, I called Bob, excuse me, Bob's lawyer and left a very sweet message.

Fuck you.

I had felt much better after saying this and found myself somewhat feeling of legal age. In reality when I turn legal age I'm suing Bob for everything he's worth. I'll win. I'll win because I have something Bob's lawyer does not. I have the ability to begin sobbing and crying into my hands, sobbing of suicide and abuse. Arnold assured me that I was being dramatic. I've accepted this. I don't care if I am being dramatic, but I've accepted it.

Speaking of Arnold. Ever since that day, at the lake, he's been attached to me at the hip. I do truly believe that he has spies watching me in all my classes and whenever he can't be with me. Not that I completely minded of course. It felt nice to have him around. I figured I was getting use to him. Damn.

His project for the past two weeks (besides keeping my mind busy) was shuffling me from doctor to doctor. I only agreed after he promised he wouldn't tell his mom or my mom. Of course, my foresight failing me, I forgot to include his father in this arrangement. So, his father was the one driving us to all these appointments and test. And were there ever so many tests. Blood, fluid, cell, you name it, and I had to take it. I truly believe all nurses enjoy stabbing needles into people.

Arnold's doctor, Robert Brooke, had called my cell earlier today and said that he had all my tests in and would like to see me. Of course I rushed right over. It was Saturday and other then I quit my job (go figure) I had nothing planned or even better to do. I didn't call Arnold though. I wanted this information to be given to me while I was alone. Just in case it was as bad as I had figured it to be.

The door opened and I looked over. I was finally feeling what I was suppose to be feeling at the time I was suppose to feel it. Fear.

"Hello Ms Pataki." He smiled and I nodded. "Well before we discuss your results I actually wanted to ask you some questions."

Oh great.

"Of course." I smiled politely.

"How much sleep do you get?" He placed on his thin rimmed glasses and looked down at the folder that was now sitting on his desk.

"Three or four hours I guess." I shrugged. I knew I couldn't lie to him. Doctors know when you are lying; they hold your folder in their hands.

"How much do you eat?"

"A meal, two meals maybe." None of this is my fault; it's been a hard life.

"I see." He said looking at the papers and making small marks as his eyes moved up and down the pages. "Helga." He looked up and sighed. "You know that you live a very unhealthy life."

Really now?

"Yes sir." I nodded. This is the part where he takes out the tissue box and tells me I only have a few months to live.

"Luckily we caught this before it could do some serious damage." He said slightly more upbeat.

I stared at him confused. I was coughing blood, how is this not serious?

"Excuse me?"

"You are very lucky Helga. It could have been worse."

What the hell?

"What do you mean? How much longer do I have?"

"For what?"

"Till I die!"

"Well, I'm no fortune teller but I guess seventy or eighty more years. At least medically." He shrugged.

Now to normal people this seems to be comforting. It's something they want to hear. Now I am not normal. I have never been normal. This was illogical.

"No!" I said loudly. "I'm dying!"

He looked at me as I named off random symptoms that I had dealt with for the past month.

"I'm suppose to die! Like her!" I finished my rant off glaring at him as he stared at me with wide eyes.

"Her? Olga? Helga… you're not dying. You have a lower leveled pneumonia. A harsh case indeed but curable none-the-less." I stared at him.

"What?"

"I'll admit that you probably caught the germ from Olga. But with your living habits you developed a weakness to the virus." He began writing something down. "It's a harsh case but it's no real threat to you."

No, this is not how this works. I'm suppose to die. I'm suppose to die like her. I'm suppose to get a large funeral, with an ivory casket, and be buried under a weeping willow. Someone to always weep for me. This doctor is wrong.

"Are you joking?" He looked up and cocked his eyebrow.

"You sound as if you want to die." I opened my mouth but shut it quickly. It would be bad to deny this or to tell him that I, indeed, did want to die. At least I had been ready to die.

"I just… I thought I had her sickness." I sighed and closed my eyes.

Life is unfair. I was the one who deserved the sickness. I should have been in that casket, not her. She had so much to live for. What the hell would I accomplish?

"Here." I looked at him and took the pink slip of paper he had given me. "The directions are on the bottles. I gave you three different medications. Two of them should be taken every day, preferably as the directions suggest. The third is a syrup that every time you begin a coughing fit, drink a tablespoon. I'll see you in one week."

He smiled and folded his hands on the desk and looked at me.

"I'm going to be ok?" I asked. I wanted to cry. I'm not sure if it was out of goodness or because I somehow cheated death while my sister laid six feet under.

"If you take the medication AND begin adjusting your life habits. I think you'll be as good as new before you know it."

As good as new. How clichéd.

"Ok." I gave a small smile. What I really want to do was fall on the ground kicking and screaming, flailing my arms about, protesting life and how it always seems to screw with my head.

"You need to get at least eight hours of sleep and I want no more of this one or two meals a day. I demand that you have three meals with a small nutritious snack in-between. Try and stay away from junk foods and sodas."

I nodded and stood up. I was slightly shaking. Whenever I think I have the world figured out. That I have my life figured out. People like Dr. Brooke go and screw it up for me. Hell, I go and screw it up for me.

"Thank you." I smiled. "I'll go make an appointment for next week."

"Alrighty Helga." He smiled. "Say hello to Arnold for me."

Oh right, Arnold, he might want to know about how I'm not going to die any time soon.

"No problem." I smiled and then shut the door.

I felt as if I still had miles until I reached the end of the tunnel.

I seem to have a lifetime until I finally get to the end.

Lucky me.

(Every time you hold me, I shiver slightly. I'm not use to your affection, your devotion to me. And I might never get over the fact that I look over my shoulder and your not that far behind. But I know I like it. I know I love you.)

I gently walked into his room. It was eerie how this room was slowly becoming my home. I couldn't bear staying in that house sometimes. Miriam was in shambles and she wouldn't let me help. She wouldn't let me in to help.

I had begun staying in his room every other night or so. The first few nights he slept on the couch. However this changed to him sleeping on the bed next to me. I felt safe when he was around. I don't know why.

He was currently out cold on his bed. I couldn't blame him. I was causing the kid enough stress to make him sleep during classes.

He looked so peaceful. I gently moved my hand to his face. He was warm and his skin was so soft. I gently pushed some hair off of his face, allowing my fingers to entwine with the soft locks of blonde. I loved playing with his hair. Just allowing my fingers to comb through it. It was a small perk to being his girl— his friend.

The idea seemed almost silly. We were not a couple. At least not publicly. When we were together, alone, it was easier. I could get lost in his eyes and be almost happy. However, when it came to the real world, I would do no such thing. I refused any type of affections he had to give while we were in the eyes of the rest of the world. I knew this upset him, Arnold is an extremely affectionate person. It's just who he is. Maybe in private I was more affectionate and dare I say loving, but publicly I wasn't strong enough to show that side of myself.

I like to think he understood that.

He doesn't though.

I felt something slid along my thighs and then come to a rest at my waist. I was sitting at the edge of his bed and looked down to see his arm resting on my thighs and his hand gently sitting on my waist, just above my jeans.

"Hey." He smiled softly. His eyes were barely open, I knew he was happy I was there though.

"Hey." I felt my own lips move towards a smile.

"How are you?" He asked, his voice full of sleep.

I don't think I will ever love someone as much as I love him. I've known him since I was four. You don't love a person like you love the boy who complimented your pink bow in preschool, you just don't. I had realized that my knight in shining armor had held this position since preschool. I never want to lose him.

"I'm ok. I saw Dr. Brooke today." This seemed to perk him up.

"How did it go?" He sat up quickly and wrapped his other arm around me. I focused my eyes on his hair where my fingers were still laced.

"I'm going to be fine." I gave a sad sort of smile (at least this is how he says it when he recalls the day).

His eyes sparkled as his whole face lit up. "You're not going to die?"

"Nope." I smiled and looked at him. I didn't react fast enough because in a heartbeat his lips were on mine.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds but his smile made up for it.

"This is amazing! I told you you'd be ok!" I continued to smile my "sad" smile and just stare at him.

I felt like crying. I hadn't cried in a while, not since the day at the pier. Miriam cried everyday, every night. Was I suppose to cry as well? Was I doing something wrong? I flew into a relationship (sort of) mere hours after my sister's funeral. What the hell is wrong with me? And now I'm "celebrating" (at least Arnold is) that I'm not dying. Why wasn't she curable? Why do I have to go on with my life while her's ended so soon? Why couldn't I be happy? I hadn't been happy in so long.

I gently felt my head lean against his chest. I wanted it to end. I know I wanted it to end. Whether it be the sorrow, the guilt, the mourning, or my life, I wanted it to end.

"Helga?" I closed my eyes as my arms encircled his waist. It's times like these where I wish I was stronger. That, maybe, I could stand on my own two feet without needing to fall apart in his arms. I could die in his arms.

"I'll be fine." I said as I looked up at him. He opened his mouth but I couldn't bare another speech, another lecture on how it would be or was ok.

I quickly captured his lips with mine pushing him back down on the bed. He now laid under me as I intensified the kiss.

I felt his hands go under my sweatshirt as my own hands made their way to his hair. Gently pulling it as he forced more emotion into an already passionate kiss.

It might have been illogical but it was good enough for me.

Come Monday I would once again have to pull away from his arm around my waist or dodge his kisses on my neck. Sometimes I hate myself for not being able to allow the rest of the world to see me like this. At least I was safe like this. No one could hurt me. Other then Arnold of course.

As I felt his hand move along my tank top, up and down my spine, I had reassurance he would never purposely hurt me.

Of course unconsciously was whole different ball game.

(Memories are sometimes hardest when you relive them. Like putting an album in a box and then placing the box in the attic. You know it's there, but you can't get to it. Sort of like a memory in your head.)

I walked into my house and vaguely noticed that it was slightly collecting dust. I decided that I would clean tomorrow.

I slowly walked up the stairs. I told Arnold that I would see him tomorrow, that I really wanted to go home. This of course was a lie, but I just felt emotionally unworthy to be with him right now.

I've actually had people tell me that at sixteen I had no idea what real love was. As Arnold had no idea what real love was. And I listen to their reasons and their whole view of the situation. Once they finish I shrug and move on with the story. They never seem to understand that at the age of sixteen, at the age of twenty, at the age of thirty, I would never know what true love was. I had never experienced it expect for Arnold. My family (of course not counting Olga) had not taught me what true love was. What people don't seem to realize is that since I was four, four, Arnold had always been like this little guardian angel of sorts. He would constantly show me the errors of my ways and try to save me on a number of occasions. The boy had literally been my obsession for twelve years. Not only was he my salvation but I was his "duty". I never asked for him to follow me, to keep tabs on me, or to love me back. I've always loved him, but I never asked him to return these emotions. So yes, at sixteen one might not know what true love is, but I'll be damned if I hadn't experienced it at the age of sixteen, at the age of four.

As I neared my room I noticed that Olga's door was open. Thinking this a mistake of some higher power I went to close it. I was surprised to see my mother sitting on the middle of the floor, tears rolling down her face, and putting books in a box. She looked up and quickly turned her face wiping away the tears that had ran down her face.

"Hey dear. Did you have fun at Arnold's? What a sweet boy." Her voice was full of tears and unspoken emotion.

I gently moved into the room and stood over her looking at the various boxes and items that were now occupying her room.

"What are you doing?" I asked softly.

"Oh this?" She looked around, still trying to compose herself. "I'm just cleaning up a bit. I thought we could send some of these things to the Salvation Army, you can take anything you like."

I looked down at her and slowly realized this was part of the process.

Letting go and cleaning up.

"Do you want some help?" I asked, slowly sitting down next to her.

"I'd love some." She was smiling through the tears. I felt the need to begin sobbing hysterically. I, however, suppressed this emotion. "She kept so many things. You'd think she'd be able to throw something away."

I nodded but didn't say anything. Saying something meant something. I wasn't ready to mean anything.

I looked over at my mother and I saw her, for what seemed like the first time in years. Her hair was swept into a clip, pulling the strands of hair off her delicate face. She was starting to get crows feet and some wrinkles on her forehead. She was slowly aging, right in front of my eyes. I wanted to hold on to this moment forever. But forever didn't seem so long at this point. It didn't seem long at all.

I found it ironic. Most parents keep their child's room as a shrine after they have "left". Miriam wanted it to be packed away and taken away. It almost seemed in bad taste. But I couldn't blame her. I couldn't look her in the eye and say that this was a bad idea. I couldn't tell her that she was probably going out of her mind. I couldn't tell her because it wasn't true. Miriam had been known to be neglectful, irresponsible, and ditzy. But as I looked at her, as I saw her, I couldn't see anything wrong. She was acting stronger then I could ever act (or be for that matter). She was acting almost like a real person. She was a real person.

"You think it's to soon." She said it with an air of a comment rather then a question. I looked at her.

"Is it?" She shook her head. It had only been two weeks I thought.

Slowly, however, it hit me. Olga had been dead for four years. Only now she was truly gone. I figured out in those few moments, sitting with my mother, just looking at her, that we had been mourning for four long years. Every night we had sleepless nights with tear stains on our pillows. We didn't eat or even communicate outside of the house. We had mourned since we found out about the sickness. Maybe we had done our time.

Maybe I wasn't as selfish as I was giving myself credit for.

"I love you." I looked back at Miriam, my eyes wide and unsure. "I just, I want you to know that. I love you. I'm sorry that I couldn't have been a better mother to you."

"It's ok." I heard myself reply. "We're ok."

I leaned over and gently hugged her; almost afraid she'd break if I held her too tightly.

"I love you too." I heard myself speak through her red sweater, the scent of her shampoo filling my senses. Maybe I wasn't four anymore, but I still needed her. I feel as if I'll always need her.

Let's face it I'm not normal. Maybe with her here and Arnold, one day I would be normal.

Who knows?