The Story of a Dying Girl

Hey, how are you? How's life?

So, here's the newest chapter! I'm currently on chapter 12 of the story. Thank you so for much for the birthday wishes and for reviewing and reading! I know that I sound like an annoying as shit, broken record, but I really do appreciate it.

School starts in a few days, and I am wondering where the hell summer went and why it couldn't have stayed longer.

But that's enough from me about that.

So, away we go!

Chapter 9:

I wake up on Cook's couch, hanging off it awkwardly.

I look over at Cook.

He's asleep on the floor, empty bottle of vodka in his right hand.

"Jesus," I breathe and look around.

The table has spliffs out and cigarettes and more booze and DVDs for really shit movies, like Zombeavers and Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf, and yes, both of those are actual movies.

Crisps are spilling onto the floor from a table, they looked mashed and mangled.

"Cook."

Nothing.

"Cook."

Nothing.

"Cook."

"Leave me alone, I want to sleep," he rolls onto his side.

I get up from the couch and kick his side softly.

"Wake up you tosser!"

"Fine, just fuck off Naomio."

He gets up and looks around.

He starts to laugh.

"Jesus. That was what I call a celebration!"

All we did was drink, smoke, watch awful movies, and pass out, but at least it was fun.

I looked at the sad looking Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

It was the early days of Christmas, and Cook and I always went out and got a Christmas tree for his house. Like I said before, my mum and I don't really celebrate Christmas.

But Cook, Paddy, and I always went out and found one to take back to Cook's, because even though Cook didn't give a shit about Christmas traditions, and his mum wasn't even really around for them, either passed out, yelling, or with some new guy, "wrestling" in her room, Paddy loved the idea of Christmas.

So we went out to the woods in the beginning of December and strapped one to the top of my mum's car, driving back to his.

The tree had two ornaments that hung sadly off one of the branches, one made out of notebook paper from Paddy, and the other some kinda trinket that mum told me to put on their tree for Paddy.

I stretched and reached for the remote on the table, clicking on the TV.

An old Tom and Jerry episode came to life on the screen and my interest was immediately caught, as was Cook's.

I sat down on the couch, reaching for the mint container containing spliffs and pulling one out, grabbing a near by lighter and tucking the spliff between my lips, shaking the lighter and cupping my hands 'til the spliff is lit, taking a large drag.

Tom runs into the wall by the mouse hole and begins a sad little Tom-pancake.

"So Katie huh?" I say as Cook grabs the spliff from my hand, taking a pretty generous hit if you ask me.

"What about Katie?"

"Are you… dating, are you… talking about dating, are you… shagging?"

He scratches his head.

That's his giveaway.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever you're hiding something, you scratch your head."

"Okay… so I may have… kind of… sort of… possibly…"

"Spit it out."

"Askedheronadate."

I grin evilly.

"I'm sorry, what was that? Could you please repeat yourself?"

"Adate."

"One more time. I'm sorry, I'm having trouble hearing you."

"I asked her on a date," he says quietly.

"So sorry, what?"

"I asked her on a date!"

"Sorry, didn't think I heard you right."

"Oh, fuck off."

"I think you're gonna be whipped!" I yell out, shoving him.

"Me?! Are you kidding me?" He's throwing his head back and laughing.

"What?"

I don't get it.

"Take a look at yourself!" He teases.

"Me?!"

"Don't act so surprised Blondie! You are fucking whipped!" He makes a whip cracking sound.

"Oh, fuck off, prick."

I kinda smile though. It would have bothered me otherwise. I would have gone on and on about how I'm independent, and how I'm not tied down like all those fuckers.

But it's Emily.

How could I be mad at the idea of being hung on Emily?

It's not like he was wrong.

I want to do everything with her.

I think about her when she's not here.

I mean, look at me! I'm thinking about her now.

I'm just a pathetic whipped fucker.

And I couldn't be happier.

It sounds like Cook will be following in my footsteps soon.

I mean, this is Cook we're talking about. The closest he had ever come to asking a girl on a date before this was a girl named Dara Hiyerson, and even then it wasn't even really a date.

He asked her to hang out with us, and the only reason that had happened was because he felt bad he had inadvertently ruined her science fair project.

We were in the seventh and she had made a very cool looking and very original baking soda and vinegar volcano. Cook had decided that he could throw the perfect football spiral, while we were in the auditorium after school, messing around. All these projects were set up for the fair the next day, and poor, unsuspecting Dara Hiyerson with shoulder length brown hair and eyes a color I can't remember, just finished setting her project up.

So did Cook throw the perfect spiral, over to where I was stood, waiting for the ball?

No, Cook threw the ball too low, not spiraling what so ever, and it hit the paper-mâché, ruining it completely.

And what happened to Dara Hiyerson?

She yelled, very loudly, uttering a few choice curse words that I had not known she knew about.

To make matters worse, Cook and I attempted to fix it, trying to shove and force the paper back to make a volcano.

It did not work, not at all.

So what did we do instead?

Well, this was the time when I was dating, or really, making out with Annie Wilders, and going on some pretty terrible dates where we pretty much just made small talk and kiss.

Cook said that we could all hang out together, and that we would pay as a way of saying sorry.

I thought she was gonna knee him in the balls.

Instead she said yes.

So that Saturday we awkwardly went into an empty movie theater.

It was clear within the first three minutes that the movie was boring, so we half watched, and also awkwardly talked.

Turns out Annie and Dara got on pretty well, and for a bit, things were going well. Cook and I were watching the movie and talking a bit, while Annie and Dara were talking a shit ton about I don't even know what.

This peace and calm lasted for a bit until they began to fight, for whatever reason, it was not clear to us, and Cook and I stared in horror.

So Annie and I went to the back of the theater and started to make out.

And it was nice. Looking back at it, it feels odd to think about how much I liked it when I didn't even feel an ounce of what I feel with Emily, but I guess that's just because Annie and I were really not made to be anything other than people who went on a few dates with each other and made out.

Halfway through the movie there was a tap on my shoulder, and Cook dragged me away from Annie Wilder's lips.

"You are not gonna leave me alone with Dara!" He shouted whispered.

"Well what am I supposed to do?!" I whispered angrily back. I could have been making out with a girl but instead my best mate was aggressively whispering at me and spitting a bit in the process.

"I don't know! But she doesn't want to kiss me or anything, so we're just sitting awkwardly as this shit movie plays!" He said louder.

"Well I don't know what to do!" I said even louder.

We continued to grow louder and louder until we were kicked out, all four of us.

We had to call Dara's mum on a payphone to come pick us up and drop us off at our houses.

She was not pleased.

Nor were Dara or Annie.

By the time we were dropped off at my house, Dara's mum was grumbling, Dara was crying for a reason that I do not know, and Annie was glaring at me for dragging her into this.

We broke up not long after.

But back to Cook and the TV.

We stayed like this, Cook occasionally panicking about going on an actual date, and then relaxing, and then panicking again.

It was not fun.

It was Monday, and Cook and I were sat on the bus, talking about shit.

At this point, you might be asking me about my quest to find those DVDs. Why didn't I give them to Emily yet?

Well, I hadn't found all of them yet, in fact I had only found three more since that day I found those five, not due to a lack of trying, mind you.

And I went through hell just to get those three. I went to god knows how many garage sales until one day I hit a fucking jackpot and found an August Rain, A Quarrel in Paradise, and Vast Blue Ocean.

An August Rain

The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog

Guilty of the Following

Vast Blue Ocean

Sea of Thoughts

A Quarrel in Paradise

Peering Off the Edge

Eying the Stranger

Lighting the Sky

Passion in Paradise

A New King

Heart of Silver

Sinking Ship

Orange Delusional

Night of Love

I wanted to give all of them to Emily at once, so it's gonna be a while.

But back to the bus.

We got off, jumping down the steps and almost like magic, Emily was standing there, waiting.

She appeared out of nowhere, like a magician's rabbit, but she was a lot cuter than a magician's rabbit.

I don't really see the hype around bunnies, though.

They got them hoppy legs and twitchy noses, and what's with all the carrots?!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer reference.

And they're pretty fucking tough too. I mean, the only thing to really take care of them is The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail Reference.

But she was there, waiting, grabbing my arm, and we started to walk.

She looked over her shoulder.

"My sister's looking for you Cook," she said before turning her head forward and continuing to walk us to our place under the tree.

Our place. That's right. I just claimed that tree. No one else can go there. It's mine. I've claimed it.

Why?

Because. That's why.

We were sitting under the tree, and she was tracing lazy circles on my hand, moving her index finger softly over my knuckles.

Small stolen kisses and soft murmurs and stories about things and laughter.

These are all things that go along with Emily Fitch.

It is cold out, freezing to be honest, and Emily looks cute with her rosy red cheeks and mittened hands.

It's adorable, really.

She's leaning her head on my shoulder, and in a way it's kinda become our routine.

We sit under our tree and we talk and laugh and spend time together and she leans her head on my shoulder, occasionally stealing kisses, and then I'll walk her to class.

I just feel happy when I'm with her.

And look at me now, I'm smiling like an idiot because this girl, this beautiful, smart, funny, kind, amazing, girl is leaning into me and kisses me and is my girlfriend.

I remember when the Fitch twins first came to our school, back in third grade.

It was almost two years after my dad had left, and Tina had moved in and mum spent a lot of time either crying in her room or trying too hard to force a smile.

I remember once I was making cookies with my mum after one of her happy streaks and she broke down crying before we finished.

But, that's not important.

The Fitch twins were like a beacon of light in a way. Third graders are highly amused by twins, and expect them to read each other's thoughts and like the same things.

Cook was among them.

"I bet they think the same things… and are like, copies of each other," he said, as we were hanging upside down on the monkey bars and staring at the twins on the swings.

"Isn't that clones?" I laughed, feeling the blood flow to my head.

I could immediately see just how different they were.

The boys liked to follow Katie around, and the girls all wanted to be friends with her.

Emily always stood back quietly, reading a book or looking at her shoes (I always thought that was odd because shoes aren't that interesting).

I had never really seen the point with Katie though, to be honest. I always thought Emily was… I don't know, illuminating really. Prettier, kinder, better, I don't know. I was just drawn to her.

So here we were, hanging upside down, staring as Katie was talking to a few popular girls that had swarmed around her, and Emily was swinging softly back and forth on the other swing.

"Emsy, don't just sit there!" A lispy voice called out.

They were not far from us.

Katie got up and started to walk close to where we were, and we craned our necks to get a better view of them as they passed, especially as Emily walked somberly behind.

"My head hurts," Cook said laughing with a stupid expression on his face.

I don't know why, but this was the funniest thing to ever happy in the entirety of the world, and I began laughing hysterically.

Laughing + Hanging upside down = Not good

I fell off, landing on my side with a loud thud.

Cook continued to laugh, as I rolled around, clutching my arm, kinda laughing and kinda groaning in pain.

"Are you okay?" A soft, husky voice asked.

I looked up and saw Emily standing over me, concern in her eyes.

"Yeah, I was just being stupid," I said, very embarrassed.

"Oh. I'm glad you're okay though."

We were just kinda looking at each other, Cook still hanging behind me, until Katie called Emily over and I watched her walk over.

I would have never thought that I would luck out like I have.

Here's a letter I just wrote inside my mind for third grade me:

Dear Third Grader Naomi,

You know Emily Fitch, the really pretty and nice twin? Yeah well, when you're older, you're a lucky twat, and she ends up being your girlfriend.

Sincerely,

Senior Naomi

P.S. Yes, her lips are really soft and she kisses as well as you thought she would.

If you gave third grade me an infinite amount of time to guess who I would be dating as a senior, I would never have guessed that I would have been so incredibly lucky.

Mrs. Incart is crying again, but I think that there might not be a specific reason this time, I think she may just be sad.

I've learned something about looking at people.

Some look happy, some look sad, some look indifferent, some don't look like any of those things.

But sometimes the ones that look happy are sad, and I didn't really get why for a long time.

I think that a lot of people are probably sad when you think about it.

I really hope that I'm wrong though.

So Mrs. Incart is crying again, and I feel bad because it's one of those moments where I don't see a crazy science teacher with crazy make up who slurs her words. I see a woman who's sad, kinda broken really, who didn't know where her life went wrong, and doesn't know how to fix it.

Doesn't know if she can fix it.

I think that if you look close enough at people, you will find an entirely different person, sometimes.

Sometimes someone looks amazing and nice and kind, and they're only more amazing once you get to know them, like Emily for example.

Sometimes someone looks amazing, but when you get to know them, they're really not that great.

I like politics, I really do.

It's interesting, and to learn about injustices only infuriates me and it feels like my mum could be teaching that class sometimes.

But some days I don't pay attention, and instead I just stare at Emily, because it's really hard not to.

I'm lying on her bed, and she's curled into me, and my chest is rising and falling because I'm in the midst of calming down after laughing, and I'm trying to stop smiling like a loon, but every time I try to stop, it just comes back ten times bigger and brighter.

I kiss the top of her head.

"I'm gonna go get some water, do you want anything?" I ask sitting up and walking towards the door.

"I'm okay, thanks though."

I walked down the 17 stairs and into the kitchen, not really sure if it's polite to just grab a bottle from the fridge.

"Hello." I hear Jenna Fitch before I see her.

She's sitting at the dining room table, and she's looking at me intently.

"Hi Mrs. Fitch. Is everything okay?"

She has these brochures out, and a laptop is open, she looks distressed, her hair a bit messy, her eyes a bit tired.

I walk over to where she is, but when as I get closer, I see the brochures more and more, and I really wish I had never came down stairs.

Cancer

Chemotherapy Treatments

Dealing With a Child With Cancer

How To Help During Cancer

"Mrs. Fitch?" My voice is shaky, I can hear it despite me willing it to be strong, it's not.

She's looking at her hands.

"Mrs. Fitch?" I say stronger, I can feel my chest tighten and it feels like I can't really breathe to well.

I forgot about the cancer.

I always forget about the cancer.

"She was supposed to start chemotherapy soon, but… every time we mention it… she just sits there."

"It's not serious though," I say, because there is no way that anything can happen to Emily.

No response.

"Mrs. Fitch?" I say it in a hard voice, still shaky and nervous and I'm willing my chest to stop being so tight and for everything to stop hurting.

"It shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't be?"

She looks back up at me.

"She'll probably be… fine. But, she should start the treatment soon."

I refuse to believe that this is happening.

I refuse to believe that it is December, and that out of nowhere her cancer is suddenly something to be terrified of.

If I had forgotten about it, there was no way in hell it could be bad.

If she had not started treatment yet, there was no chance she could be really sick.

"Naomi."

Because I can't…

I…

She will be fine.

"Naomi."

She has to be.

"Naomi."

I look up at Mrs. Fitch.

"She'll be fine, but she needs to start treatment."

"Well, then why doesn't she?"

"She… I don't know, she just won't, can't talk about it."

She sounds so tired. But I guess that she is.

"Maybe you could talk to her about it," she suggests.

I'm looking at my shoes, and I feel so little, so small and weak and awful.

Because it was real.

She actually has cancer.

She's actually sick.

Someone who isn't sick doesn't need treatment.

They don't have anything to treat.

I nod, softly and I try to swallow but I can't because everything hurts. If she would be okay, then why did Mrs. Fitch look so sad?

No.

She will be fine.

I start to walk back to the stairs, completely forgetting about the water.

"Naomi?"

I look back and see Mrs. Fitch, holding a brochure out.

"What's this?" I ask, grabbing it from her hand.

How To Deal With A Significant Other With Cancer

I look at her, and she's just nodding.

"I think you should read this."

Why should I read this? Why do I need to? She's gonna be fine. She has to be.

There is no need to deal with it, really.

I just nod, and I can hear ringing, sharp and painful.

I walk up the stairs like a zombie, tucking the pamphlet in one of my jacket pockets.

"Hey, everything okay? It took you a while," Emily's sitting on the bed, smiling at me.

"I… uh… I had a talk with your mum."

"Oh? What about?" She asks, patting the spot next to her. I walk over, sitting next to her, looking at my hands.

"Treatment."

And it's quiet.

Like really quiet.

There is no laughter.

No stolen kisses or whisperings and gentle murmurs.

There is just Emily and just me, and silence.

"Oh." I can hear her swallow the word.

"Emily…" I say quietly, like any louder will break her into a million small pieces.

"Naomi, I… can't."

She can't what?

"What?" I look at her, she's picking at her comforter.

"You don't understand."

"Tell me. I want to know," I'm begging her.

"I can't."

"Why not?!" I can feel my face kind of squish, that odd kinda pucker when you're about to cry.

I'm an ugly crier, by the way.

"I'm scared! I'm terrified! I'm gonna lose my hair! I'm gonna be hooked up and, and, and, what if it doesn't work?! Huh?! What then?!" She's crying and I can feel my own tears streaming down my face.

"It will work! It's gonna work, and you're gonna be fine! You're Emily! Cancer is just… a fucking… pussy! It's nothing!"

"Is that what you believe?" She asks softly.

"That's what I know. You're gonna be perfectly fine. This is just… this is just a small… bump."

"Really?" It's so gentle and sad and quiet and I know that she's starting to believe me, starting to see what I see.

"Yeah."

And she hugs me, burying her face into my neck, and I place my head on top of hers, holding her, protecting her from everything, everything bad, everything that can hurt her.

And now it's late, the sky is dark, but I'll go home later, because right now, her head is on my chest and I'm stroking her hair and nothing else matters right now.

"So, even if my head is shaved… you'll still think I'm pretty?" I'd laugh, but she sounds so serious, so vulnerable, that I know she's not joking.

"I'd think you were gorgeous even if you wore a garbage bag, three teeth, and a beard."

She laughs, I can feel it.

"Really?" It's so scared.

"Of course. And you know I'll be here for you the whole time. I'm not going anywhere Ms. Fitch." I poke her side, and she cuddles more into me.

That was Monday.

Today is Friday, and I'm at Cook's house, as he goes through his closet looking for some clothes.

Emily will be starting her chemotherapy soon, sometime in January, after Christmas.

And I have chosen to stop thinking about it, because she will be fine.

She has to be.

"Is this good?" He's holding up a polo.

"Yeah, looks good enough."

"Good enough? It need to be like… perfect."

I don't think I heard him right.

Cook has never cared this much.

But right now he's looking at me, looking for approval.

So I give it to him.

"It's perfection my friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I can see his face flush with relief.

He's taking Katie out to a nice dinner, and he's been panicking about every small detail that runs through his mind.

It's odd to see him shitting himself over this.

Really, it is.

I mean it when I say that I have never seen Cook like this.

I should probably tease him more, but I didn't really feel like he needed that from me, and like that would be a very kind thing to do when he was already bricking it.

So instead I listened to him ramble, going on about how this date had to be perfect and how he wanted to impress Katie, and I felt like we were eight again, rambling about some show on TV, talking about the cartoon characters like they were extended family.

He just seemed so young and vulnerable.

I don't know, but that's just how it seemed.

And by the time he was neatly dressed, dabbing on nice cologne, which I didn't even know he had, he was sweating like we were in a 100 degree desert.

We walked out of the house, getting into the car and driving to the Fitch house, Cook gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

"I'll be fine. It's gonna be totally fine, great in fact," he kept on repeating it, and I was sitting watching him, not entirely sure what the fuck was happening.

Jesus, he's sweating so much I'm surprised he's not glued to the seat.

I got out, Cook doing the same, still looking panicked.

I waited for him to knock on the door, but as the time passed it became clear he was too preoccupied trying to wipe all the sweat off his forehead, so I did it instead.

Mr. Fitch opened the door, smiling and gesturing us in.

I watched Cook tentatively step in, looking around nervously.

"I'm gonna go upstairs, is that alright?" I asked Mr. Fitch, coming to the realization that I did not have to suffer through this awkward and uncomfortable situation that Cook currently found himself in.

I have already had my fair share of Mr. Fitch's warnings.

He nods before turning back to Cook and I walk up the stairs, smiling evilly at Cook as he catches my eye.

I knock softly on the door, before being given the all good.

Emily was lying on her bed, reading through a rather large looking textbook, which she instantly cast aside in favor of me, which was good, because I would have been offended if she had chosen that over me, her girlfriend.

I never got tired of that.

Being able to call her my girlfriend. Being able to sling my arm around her and kiss her goodnight, or the way my heart beat so much faster whenever she was there. The way I always felt better when I was around her.

So my girlfriend, was sitting on her bed, cross-legged.

I would really have liked to say that when I saw the way she was sitting, the first term that came to mind was cross-legged, rather than criss-cross applesauce.

What can I say? Criss-cross applesauce just has a nice ring to it.

I am obviously not ready to be an adult.

The world should be terrified that not only do I drive, but that I am technically an adult.

So I laid myself next to her, jumping onto the bed in what was probably the least graceful way possible.

It shook, as did she with laughter.

And she just looked so beautiful, in a pair of sweatpants and no make up on, how could I not kiss her?

My lips captured her and I was slowly pulled on top of her, and the kissing continued, growing more intense as the time went on, my lips travelling to her neck and sucking harder and soothing the same spot, trying not to leave a mark, but knowing I would inevitably leave one.

I heard a loud noise and it sounded like someone with heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Remember the whole leave the door open thing?

I did.

So what did I do?

Well the idea of Mr. Fitch walking in and seeing me on top of his daughter, kissing her neck while she kept her hands on the small of my back was not something I liked.

Scotty Renold, the poor unsuspecting bastard.

So instead, I pulled away and moved quickly away, falling on the floor harshly with a loud crash.

Mr. Fitch paused and stuck his head in the doorway.

"Is everything alright in here?"

Emily for her part, was trying to not laugh, and looked a bit flustered.

"Yep, just fell," I squeaked, very scared at the idea of him mangling me into a pulp.

I feel like Mr. Fitch was a very kind man, one who didn't enjoy hurting others, especially girls.

I also feel like all of that would go out of the window if he caught me in the position I had been in minutes ago.

He seemed to accept this and walked away.

Emily looked down at me and started to laugh.

And I, well I just stayed on the floor for a bit, not really sure what had happened.

I slowly got up and sat on the bed, staring at the doorway, waiting for Mr. Fitch to come back, hoping he wouldn't.

I looked at the bedside table, and saw that the aforementioned large, boring looking textbook was actually one of those books filled with information about colleges.

I grabbed it, looking at the cheesy cover of students laughing in front of a large, intelligent looking, university.

"I was looking through it, trying to see if there's anything that really interests me," Emily voices as I open it, flipping through pages rapidly.

"You know what you should do? Just flip to a random page and choose a random college," I said, laughing at the idea that a person would just do that, making one of the biggest decisions just like that.

It was also kinda ballsy, but not something for me, or Emily for that matter.

"Has anything got your eye?" She asks, looking over my shoulder at the pages rapidly passing.

"No," I said simply, because nothing had. And that was scary.

By now I should already know what I want to do and what interests me, and how I can get a good job and make my mum proud and all those other pressures.

And I didn't have any of it figured out.

"What interests you?"

Not much really, to be honest.

Injustice did, but I don't really know how I can succeed doing so.

"Politics? I don't really know."

Emily sensed my discomfort and tried to change the subject, reassuring me that it was okay that I didn't really know what I was doing, because in reality, no one ever really does.

"So, are you excited for Christmas?" She asked, and I wanted to laugh at the obvious change in topic, but I decided to leave it.

"Uh, I don't really celebrate Christmas."

"What?!" She was shocked, looking at me like I had just admitted that I enjoy touching myself while listening to Nickelback in a dark basement.

I don't. I promise.

Because, a.) That's creepy as fuck, and b.) Nickelback is shit.

I bet you someone out there has that fetish.

Jesus, that's scary.

Anyways.

"Nah, my mum was never big on it, something about it 'bout consumerism ruining it."

"But… it's Christmas." She looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.

"We just aren't big on it," I said sheepishly.

"So you don't want to do anything for it?"

We didn't really do anything for our one-month anniversary. We just ate takeaway at my house and watched movies.

I could tell that this meant a lot to her.

"Well, I didn't say that."

"Really?" Her face lit up like how I imagine a nice, big Christmas tree would.

"Yeah, we can swap gifts or do whatever you usually do."

"My family always has this big family dinner on Christmas, and my dad always makes us leave milk and cookies out, and carrots for the reindeer, even though we all stopped believing years ago. And then James always wakes all of us out, and we sit around the tree and exchange gifts and stay in out pajamas all day," she continued to go on and on about Christmas, a large smile on her face the whole time.

And it was really cute to see her go on about this holiday I didn't really knew about, something she obviously loved.

But I also had an impossible task.

I had never really bought Christmas presents, save for giving mum some kinda hippie thing (even though we didn't celebrate Christmas, she usually got me some small little thing), giving Cook something (we exchanged gifts every year), giving Paddy some neat toy, and also pitching in with Cook to buy some gifts to give Paddy as Santa.

Just because it wasn't important to me didn't mean I didn't care about helping someone else enjoy it.

This year, Cook and I were saving up for a bike to give Paddy as Santa.

Despite his mum being rich, they didn't get anything.

But back to the girl lying down next to me as we watch a movie on her computer (one of the Harry Potter ones).

I had no fucking clue what I would get her.

I would like to give her the movies, but there was no way I could find them by Christmas, so that was a definite no.

I would have to think of something that would mean a lot to her.

But for now I decided to stop thinking about that, and instead hold her close to me, hearing the beginning of rain coming down softly against her roof, a light pitter patter hitting gently, like it was scared to hit any harder.

My jacket was on the floor, my shoes kicked off next to it, and we were leaning against propped up pillows, Emily cuddled up into my side, watching the movie so intently, like if she looked away for even a second she would miss some life changing event happening to Harry.

There are so many moments in life that you know, you just know that when you're older, you'll think about them and smile without even realizing it.

For example, this moment. I know that one day when I am old I will look back on the night where the rain hit her roof and that amazing girl was curled into me, and nothing else mattered.

She was incredible, everything about her.

But you're probably getting tired of me being a mushy twat, so I'll stop, for now.

Although I will say this:

It was hard to think of too many times in which I was as happy as I was in this moment with her.

Okey-dokey.

So there we go.

Those movies mentioned, Zombeavers and Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf are actually real, like someone was actually like, "Zombie… beaver… zombeavers…"

But, hey, who am I to judge?

The next chapter will be posted on Wednesday or Thursday. Also, just to let you know, the time that I post will change. I usually post at around two in the morning, but I will start posting at night instead, so you can probably expect a new chapter on Wednesday night from where I am, (sorry I know that might fuck things up, but I have to start sleeping earlier or else I'll fall asleep when I am not supposed to).

Anyways, thank you for everything, next chapter is during Christmas time.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought.