Hope you like this new chapter, it's a little lacking in length this time, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Leave a review, I'd love to hear what you guys think.

Edited 30/September/2014

Chapter 3: Serious Talks

It doesn't take long to get home, and I really wish it did sometimes because then I would have a longer walk to fill my head with thoughts as I move, even though I have a terrible consuming headache, a long walk would have been nice.

But it's far too cold to walk a long distance, so instead I just head to my apartment and maybe curl up in my covers pretending that the world isn't real, and everything is just one bad dream.

Don't even try and fool yourself. It really won't work.

It didn't. Curled up like a baby, nuzzled under my bed covers does not help me in the slightest. Really, all it gives me is a pathetic conclusion. That I, Alka Speare, am just a coward, but I like to think with good reasons.

Good reasons that may not have a good outcome, but good reasons none the less.

Truthfully I don't know why I ran from them, but at the same time I do. In a way I suppose. It starts with the fact that I'm dying, and I know most dying people don't want to be alone; they want someone to hold them and tell them that everything will be ok, but even though I want that, I could never let someone do that for me. Because when I'm dead, the people who loved me, took care of me, would be alone, and left with the crushing guilt that everything wasn't ok, and nothing could have saved me.

But I want people to be with me, to talk to me, and help me live out my days. You know what I mean? Like, my mother always told me that things are more fun with other people, so maybe I should let people try.

But I just don't know. I can't help but feel that, if people knew what I was going through, they would either acknowledge my fate to an overbearing point, or they wouldn't at all because they didn't want to know.

Either of them isn't really what I want. I want people to hear me when I scream, but not to worry, I want them comfort me but not cry, and I want them to be there, but not smother me. I know, it's a lot to ask because no matter what, if people really cared about me, then they would always worry.

I'm stupid, lying in bed, crying over this, but I just can't stop.

No, no. Get up. Get up.

It takes me a lot to get up, but I stand there, with tears running down my face. I'm a mess. I need someone to talk to. Someone who isn't John, or the others, or a nurse, or even my social worker. I just need someone different.

Carl.

It doesn't take me long to find his house, I remember my mum coming over here, visiting him and his wife, while my dad was at work.

•••

It was a Saturday, the last day they really saw her. I don't remember it vividly, but sometimes, I see fragments, and sometimes I see blankness. This memory comes to me in waves, sometimes it's faded and other times it's clearer than ever.

My mum hadn't seen Carl and Denise in a long time, my dad didn't really like coming over here, but I never really knew why. Maybe he was too good for these kinds of people. Either way I don't care to know anymore.

I never got to know Denise and Carl, not properly, I was too shy, and too studious to even comprehend that they weren't going to make fun of me. But my mum was good friends with them, and she always smiled at them.

I loved her smile. It was always so bright, never half way, it was always complete. I miss it sometimes, I miss her.

•••

The memory fades gradually as I walk up the path, and as I do, I see him opening the door, pausing as he sees me, standing there, shaking. He gestures me inside. I go without complaint.

Inside is how I remembered it all those years ago, it's nice. Makes me feel familiar with myself, like there was a missing piece to me.

Carl's walking me to the sitting room, and it's a cosy place. Full of warm colours, and bulked out furniture. And Denise. She's sitting there with a cup of tea, which she immediately puts down as I come into view. It doesn't take long for her to rush over and hug me. It reminds me of my mother, and I start sobbing, crying that I'm sorry. Because I am sorry.

I'm just not entirely sure what I'm apologising for.

We stand there for ages, or at least it feels that way, until I'm exhausted from crying. Denise pulls away from me, and leads me to the sofa, as I hiccup and blub every once in a while.

It's silent, apart from the ticking off the clock that sits in the corner, and I can see Denise gesturing for Carl to go, which he fights before kissing her forehead, and surprisingly mine.

He doesn't wait for a response, before he's gone.

It takes everything in me to look Denise in the eyes because I feel like a child, sitting in front of her, crying as if I had skinned my knee and I wish it was that simple. She's patient with me, rubbing up and down my back, allowing me to calm down before I can even think to speak.

Eventually, I grab my bearings and open my mouth, and though my voice is rough, sadness swirls between the gaps.

"I can't do it."

"Do what, dear?"

"Live."

She doesn't say anything; she only stares sadly at me, as I break apart in front of her. But she doesn't have to say anything, I don't really give her time as I begin to explain, explain my situation as best I could without being heartless.

"You know, don't you?"

"Know what?"

I know she knows, I don't need to say it, and she doesn't either. We both just know, so instead of asking the blatant question, I just let the bottled emotions pour from my mouth. Little by little, I get quieter and quieter until there is nothing but a whisper running from my mouth.

"I thought I could handle people, like, I would make friends and they would support me but I can't make myself do that. Every time I think about being someone's friend, I just freeze and blank them, and I shouldn't do that. It hurts them. But, I always think that, when I die, what will happen to them? Yeah, maybe they will move on pretty easy, but what if they don't? There's this chance that I would just destroy them and I can't do it. I can't chance it. I just don't want to live to hurt another. I'm selfish though, because I really want friends, I want John, and Andy and Brian, and Ally and fuck, even Claire but, I'm dying. I'm really dying. I can't give them false hope, I can't tell them that it's okay because it isn't. It just isn't this time around."

Denise is silent for a long time, before she finally shift me closer to her, wrapping her arms around me tightly, giving me the comfort I never knew I really craved, and speaks slowly, her voice begging me to understand.

"Alka, dear, I know you want what is best for them, and I know it's hard for you to trust after all that's happened, but perhaps you should trust this group. Life is about taking chances, and if yours is coming to an end soon, then you should take that chance rather than look back cursing yourself for never making that leap. I know you are scared, anyone would be in your situation, and you are such a brave woman for doing this, all alone but there are people willing to be friends with you. You'll be surprised at how many of them will help you, and not treat you any different. I can't make you let them in, but, life is short, yours is painfully so, and everyone deserves a chance but you have to be willing to."

"What if they hate me?"

"Now why would they hate you, Alka, if they really are your friends, then they would stick by you. You don't have to tell them straight away, but, just see how it goes. See if you can trust them and if you can, be happy with them, enjoy the things you may never get to do again."

"John already knows."

"John Bender?"

Carl's voice makes me jump, to which he gives me an apologetic look, before he gives me a look urging to continue.

"Yeah, he asked and I just needed to tell someone. Anyone and he was so nice to me, he told me he wouldn't leave me. I mean, Bender, of all people told me that it would be alright."

"Are we talking about the same kid?"

"Carl!"

My voice is shrill, but this banter, it makes me feel safe, and I feel like I have a family in a comforting sense. But I miss my parents, and I wish my parents were both here, telling me that they would never leave me, and I could always come to them if I needed to. But they aren't here. They never would be.

The two adults seem to sense my mood change because Carl rests his hand on my head, as Denise rubs my back, and he clears his throat to speak.

"You're mum would be proud of you Alka."

"What about my dad then?"

They never did answer that question, because they moved on to safer subjects, and I have dinner round their house and I feel happy, really happy for the first time since I was diagnosed again. We joke, and laugh, and reminisce about my mum, and I don't feel so sad, talking about her to people who knew her, and I mean really knew her.

When it's too late to stay, Carl drives me home, and makes me promise to come round for tea everything week at some point. I don't even try to disagree or get out of it because, I actually want to, I'm looking forward to spending time with them because they really are great people and I'm happy that I still have a connection with my mum.

The last thing Carl says to me, before I leave the car is:

"Make it up to them tomorrow, yeah? It would do you a world of good."

I spend the whole night thinking through them words, and come to the biggest decision I've made concerning these kinds of situations.

I would be their friend, and maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright in the end.