The Story of a Dying Girl

Let me start out by saying sorry.

I am sorry for the waits, and the short chapters.

I am swamped with school and an occasional social life. I tried to write a little bit each day, but even then, I wrote most of this today, so I hope it's not total shit.

I still write a little each day, so do not worry, my updates will still come as frequently as they are now.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, or read the story!

And thank you to LilyCanBeMyPyjamas for giving me a shot out! Both Paradise Hotel and Make Me A Bird were updated recently, and I'm already excited for the next chapter!

So, away we go!

Chapter 15: Emily

The room is cold.

Like really fucking cold.

I hug Naomi's jacket a little tighter as she laughs prettily at the movie playing on my computer.

The chairs are deserted, empty and gone and left behind.

I wonder why that is.

Is it because the people that usually use them are off chemo today? Or is it because they are no longer around to use them?

I cuddle in closer to Naomi, clinging to her, looking for the support she always gives me.

She wraps her arm around me, and I feel safe.

A few months ago, things were different.

And it's funny, because I don't feel any different.

But it started with simple things:

Chills, a fever.

I felt tired more often than usual.

Katie's punches did more damage than usual, bruising me whereas they never did before.

But I ignored this, dismissing it and putting it down to odd things that happen to everyone.

Everyone gets nosebleeds frequently, and everyone has bone pain, and really, who doesn't excessively sweat during the night?

Well, turns out, not everyone does.

I was different, I am different.

I'm sick.

But like I said, I didn't pay attention to it, choosing to dismiss it, to put it out of my mind, thinking that if I didn't worry about it, then it wouldn't hurt me.

Well, how fucking naïve I was.

And so mum took me to the doctor one day, and they ran all these tests, and then later on, it was October, and pumpkins were being placed on the steps and kids were already excited for the night where they could don a mask, and pretend to be someone other than themselves.

They could be anyone they wanted to be.

I, for example, would like to be a healthy person.

So it was October, and I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, the ones you see on some dramatic soap opera where the main character goes into the hospital to receive some kind of life altering news.

And then mum was crying, and the doctor looked… guilty, almost, and her tears were wetting my shirt, like I have done to Naomi several times.

And I just sat there, staring straight ahead, not blinking, not moving, trying to slip away.

I did not slip away.

My days went from mindless things like perving on Naomi, and pretending to me interested in Katie's bitter gossip, to watching all these people cry.

My mum, my dad, my brother, my sister, my friends.

All of them cried a fucking river.

And it made me feel bad.

And yes, I know it's not my fault, but it's hard. It feels like it is. I'm the one who's making them feel so shit. They were fine before and now they're not.

I am the one who has to hurt them.

I feel a stab to my gut and I wince, twisting my head while Naomi looks at me in concern.

"Are you okay?"

I fake a smile.

I am not okay, not really.

Because she is looking at me with so much concern, and like nothing else in this world matters, and I don't want to worry her, and I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to put her through any of this shit.

I wish I could just be healthy.

But I'm not.

And so I smile and nod, and tuck myself back under her arm because I always feel better when I'm with her.

Katie is sitting on my bed when I come home, and she has all these movies out on the bed, and I see snacks all around.

"I thought we could have a little twin time?" She asks kinda shyly, and it's strange because Katie never asks for anything, nor does she ever do anything shyly.

But she's looking so shy about it and I sit down next to her, a movie already playing on her computer.

"So… Ems…." She starts off and I have no idea where this conversation is heading, but I get ready for something awkward because this conversation does not feel like one that we usually have.

"So… Katie…." I mimic, trying to make this whole thing a little less awkward.

Things have never really been awkward between us, and this whole conversation already feels forced, like strangers at a business dinner, not twin sisters.

"How are you? You know… with the whole… cancer…." She says cancer quietly, like if she says it too loud it will appear out of nowhere and be like fucking Bowser from Mario.

I could tell her that everything is fine, that I feel good, I barely notice that I'm even sick.

I could say that I don't notice the whispers about my paling skin , or my hair, falling out slowly like I'm 92, not 18.

I could say that I don't think about what happens if the chemo doesn't work, and about all the people I would have to hurt.

I feel so fortunate to have people in my life that care about me, but I spend time thinking about how this hurts them, maybe it's killing them too, and I really hope it isn't, but I can't lie and say I don't notice my mum silently crying before she takes us to chemo, or that I don't notice the way my dad watches over me so much more carefully, scared that every little thing will hurt me. I can't say that I haven't noticed how James doesn't perve on me as much anymore, like he feels guilty doing that to a sick person.

And I certainly can't say that I don't notice Naomi's black eye, the one she got for fighting that bitch. The one she got because her girlfriend has cancer, and people feel the need to talk about it, despite the fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with them.

So I tell Katie the truth.

I'm scared.

I remember when I was eight, and I was climbing a tree.

Katie and I had gotten into a fight about something stupid, and so I ran into our backyard, and I climbed the tallest tree, not even bothering to look down until I thought that I was high enough to have escaped from her wrath.

Things were so peaceful up there, and everything was quiet.

And I became scared though, when I looked down and my feet were on no solid ground.

I remember the fear coursing through my body as I found myself alone on a tree so high in the sky.

And now I feel like I'm eight again, scared that I am not on the solid ground that was my health.

I'm not even watching the movie anymore, it doesn't matter.

But Katie is holding me while I cry this out, and I feel so little, scared of the great big harsh world and all the things that could hurt me, and maybe we never really grow out of it.

Maybe I'll feel this way when I'm 26, and maybe when I'm 48, and maybe still when I'm 81.

Maybe we're always scared of the world.

It's a scary thing.

The possibilities are endless, and I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet.

But I'm in Katie's arms, and I pull Naomi's beanie further down onto my head, because I need her.

I need her to love me and hold me and take me on bike rides and watch movies with me and I need her to kiss me and tell me stories about all the stupid things she did when she was little, because I need her.

Because I love her.

And so now I'm in Naomi's room with her, and we're listening to music and kissing, and all I can think about is how I want to do this forever.

I want to get married to her one day, and I want us to have kids one day, and I want us to have the white picket fence, and then I want rocking chairs and drinking lemonade on a porch.

And what if I don't get that?

What if I have no future?

And this thought alone freezes me.

She opens her eyes.

"Bad breath?" She asks, brows furrowing, and she does a sniff check.

"Doesn't smell too bad…" she murmurs to herself, now sniffing various parts of her body to see if they are the culprit.

"You okay?" She finally stops sniffing herself and asks.

"What if I die?"

And she pauses, and her eyes go wide.

"That won't happen," she says firmly, like because she has said so, it won't happen.

"But what if it does?"

And she looks so scared, and her eyes are brimming with tears.

"You won't," she says sternly.

"But what if…." I won't let the subject go.

She pauses, and wipes a few of the tears from her cheeks, and it really isn't fair. It isn't fair that we are 18, and we're talking about death.

It isn't fucking fair.

It's so goddamn unfair.

"If I lose you… I lose myself," she says shaky and firm all at once.

And now my heart hurts… it really does. Because it shouldn't be like this. Everything should be fine, and the last thing I ever wanted to hear was that she will lose herself, that she will not be okay, because I need her to be okay.

I need her to be happy, and to smile, and I don't want her to hurt because of me, even though it's not my fault.

I move into her a bit, and she's crying silently, not the body shaking and heaving type you see, but the type you see where the tears are just coming down, falling and dripping off the face, and I'm crying loudly, sobs being lost in the crook of her neck.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," I say, because I know that she knows, but I need to be sure she does.

"I love you," she says, and still my heart swells up with happiness at her words.

"I promise you Emily, one day I'm gonna marry you, and we're have kids running around in the yard, and Katie and Cook will have kids, and our kids will be best friends with their kids, and they'll do all the stupid stuff we used to do. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep. I might die Naoms."

"I promise you Emily."

I pull away, and look into her icy blues, rimmed red."

"Yeah?"

And I know she can't really be 100 percent sure that everything will work out, but she says it like she knows, like she's seen our future and it's bright.

"Yeah."

She says it so sincerely, and meaning it completely, that I can't not believe her.

And so in fifteen years, I will be in our house, as the kids our outside, running around, and she chases them.

I will not be in a coffin, buried six feet under while Naomi thinks about all the conversations we'll never have, and all the things we'll never do, and how she'll never see me again.

The old lady next to me has been staring at me for the last half hour. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was checking me out.

I mean, she's obviously not.

But she keeps on staring at Naomi sitting next to me in the big chemotherapy chair, as she keeps smiling and reading a magazine out loud in a stuck up accent.

"'And so Don Henmenlin and his new girlfriend were… canoodling…' canoodling? The fuck is this? 'in a restaurant.'"

I find myself laughing, and I start to cough.

"Are you okay? What hurts? Do I need to get a nurse?" She's all over me in a second, making sure I'm alright and everything is okay.

"I'm fine. It just hurts a bit to laugh."

"Then I will be the least funny and most serious person ever to exist. Like one of those Buckingham Palace guards with the tall, poofy, black hat."

And once again I laugh, coughing just a bit.

"Really Nomi, it's fine. Just something to drink would be great."

"On it." And with that she leaps up and is out the door.

"Cute."

I turn to look at the old woman, the only other person in the room, occupying a seat across from me.

"You guys make such a cute couple. Reminds me of me and my Harry."

I blush.

"Is that your husband?"

"Yes, yes. Wonderful man, oh there were stars in his eyes when he looked at me," she says with a sad and distant smile.

And now I'm thinking of how Naomi looks at me the same way.

"Where is he now?" I ask, because now all I want to do is learn more about them.

She sighs, frail shoulders heaving.

"Passed a few years ago. The house always seems too quiet without him. Oh, he had such a marvelous booming voice. He used to tell me that his voice could be heard from a football field away," she says, still looking away, kinda sad, and kinda smiling.

"I'm sorry," I say, because there isn't really much more to say.

"Me too dearie. Oh, I remember our honeymoon, what a stubborn man. You know we got engaged in an argument?"

"Really?" I'm intrigued.

"Sure. I didn't want to go back home to see my parents again, and boy was I mad. And he kept on urging me and begging me and finally he just pulled out the ring and said he was gonna do it while we were visiting."

She was laughing a bit, and a feeling of melancholy filled the room.

"Alright, I wasn't sure what type of drink you wanted, so I got you all your favorites," Naomi says, an armful of drinks being put down on a table by the chair.

"Okay, so we have Coke, Sprite, water, coffee with two sugars and cream, and cinnamon tea."

"Where did you even get all of this?"

"Vending machines, and bribing one of the nurses to get me coffee and tea from the break room."

I laugh at her sweetness and at all the drinks covering to table.

I grab the coffee and take a sip, offering the tea to the kind stranger.

Naomi follows my eyes and grabs the tea handing it to the woman who simply smiles and takes a large sip.

"Oh, dearie, this one is definitely a keeper," she says, gesturing at a blushing Naomi.

"I think so too," I say smiling.

"So what college interests you?" I ask, flipping through my large book of colleges.

She has applied to a few already, but I'm trying to get her to apply to more.

"I don't know."

"Okay, well, how's your application going?" I ask, gesturing to her computer on which she's doing the application.

"Shit."

"What? Why?"

"These questions are stupid. 'Tell us about yourself. What are you? Who are you?'"

"It's not that bad…"

"It's pretty bad."

"Well, act like it's a first date. Tell the college about yourself," I supply, semi-helpfully.

"I've never been on a good first date apart from ours."

Ours.

Something about that just feels right.

One day it will be our wedding, our house, our kids.

"Okay… well what's something that you think that's important. What are you? Well… let's see. You're funny, smart, kind, sweet, amazing, the best girlfriend ever…"

"Well, you might be a bit biased on that one."

"Just a bit."

I kiss her nose.

We lie down, and I cuddle into her.

"My head hurts with all this college stuff," she groans.

I place a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Better?"

"Try again."

I place another.

"You know what, just keep doing that."

I swat her stomach.

"Write!" I laugh.

"No. It's too much work," she rolls over.

"Naomi!"

"You know what's better than working on college applications?"

"What?"

"Not working on college applications."

"Oh quiet you!" I laugh, and start to cough a bit.

"Are you okay?" She looks at me cautiously.

I start to have a fit, face turning red as I try to catch my breath.

"Emily? Emily?" Naomi's reaching out, handing me water, patting my back, looking absolutely terrified.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, really."

But I'm not.

I'm dying.

And that is something I will never accept.

And I know that is something that Naomi will never accept.

Because we shouldn't have to.

Really, we shouldn't.

I should not have to shrug it off, and say, "Oh well."

I should not have to be called a person in denial.

I am not.

I am very aware that I have cancer.

The difference is, I do not accept it.

I do not accept that I just have to deal with this, that this is my life, and that all this shit is happening.

I mean, I know it's happening, but I will never be okay with it.

I will never say that I am okay with it, or that these things happen, because they do, but it's always such a fucking unfair thing.

Naomi's still looking at me warily, still eying me with caution.

"I'm fine," I repeat, meaning it a little bit more.

"So, back to the college applications?" She asks, sitting up.

"What question are you on?"

I bet she's almost done. She's probably on one of the very last questions.

"Question 2."

Well that's a little different.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal: For every question you complete, you get a kiss," I say, straddling her legs.

"Deal," she says with no hesitation, and picks up the computer.

"'What do you want your future roommates to know?"' She reads aloud.

"That you have a smoking hot girlfriend," I say, only half joking.

She furrows her brow and types, poking her tongue out of her mouth ever so slightly.

"Alright, done with question 2. Now you have to kiss me. Pucker up buttercup!"

I roll my eyes and smile into our kiss.

"'Describe one of your greatest accomplishments,'" she reads the next one.

"Landing a super hot girlfriend," she says.

"Shut up and write!" I laugh, swatting her arm.

"And… d… done! I'm done! Kiss me woman!"

And so I do.

Our kiss deepens, and I push back on her chest.

"Answer another one!"

"'Name some of your best qualities.'"

"Your smart, sweet, kind, lovely, funny…." I list off.

"Done! I want another kiss."

Her hands start to wander into the kiss, grazing my breasts.

"Naomi!" I slap her hands away.

"But…."

"Finish and then you'll get lucky," I say smirking.

"Doing it now!" She starts furiously typing as I laugh at her eagerness.

She continues to write.

"Well this question is stupid," she frowns.

"What is it?" I ask.

"'What are you?'"

"A person?" She asks.

"No, just think, what are you?"

She pauses, eyebrows furrowing again.

And she's got…

Nothing.

"Okay, we'll come back to it," I say finally, when I'm scared she will end up thinking so hard she breaks.

And so she continues, finishing each question until she's left with the one she doesn't understand.

It's late, and buckets of rain are coming down.

"It's getting pretty late," she says, and she packs up her stuff, kissing me goodbye, and she's almost out my bedroom door when she pauses.

"You know, I think I finally have an answer for the question."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you know, of all the things I think I am, I think the thing I am most is yours."

And with that she's out the door.

Naomi Campbell is mine.

And I, Emily Fitch, am hers.

Short, I know.

Bad, I know.

But there we go.

I will start work on Chapter 16 tomorrow, and I'll either have that up Friday or Saturday, Sunday at the very, very latest.

Thank you so much!

Let me know what you thought!