The Story of a Dying Girl

Sorry!

I am so sorry!

Once again, another long wait and a bit of a short chapter! And now you guys must be thinking that this is when the excuses come in, and so, here they are.

School is fucking insane, so many tests and so much homework, and like I said, occasionally I have a social life, and I have just been so busy!

I'm really sorry that this took so long. It seems like I always update on Sunday. Maybe I should just make that my update date. Who knows? I just started Chapter 17 though!

Thanks for everything. I will never be able to tell you how much all this means to me.

So, shall we go onto the next chapter?

Let's go!

Chapter 16:

Do you remember a time in your life when you were just so incredibly blissfully happy?

Maybe it was when you were at that party with all those people, you know, the ones you care about so deeply, not on the surface level like so many others.

Maybe it was when you were at that concert, and that artist made you feel alive again, and you smiled the whole time.

Or maybe it was that time when you were at that place, with that person, and all you could think about was of how of all the people there are in the world, you are the only one getting to experience this exact thing.

I was in Cook's mom's car, and Katie was sitting up front, holding his hand and shit, being all coupley and in love.

Yes, I know, it surprised me too when my best mate in all the land sat on his beaten couch, and smiled a cocky smile, and I thought he was about to read something from my least favorite saga:

Tales of Cook and Katie's Sexual Adventures: Volume 6: The Kinky Times

Instead he continued smiling his smug smile, and turned over to me.

"She loves me," he said smugly.

"What?" That had not been what I had been expecting to hear.

"I told her I love her, and guess what?" He said, pretending to dust a shit ton of dirt off his shoulder.

"She told you she loved you too?" I asked, deciding to use previous clues to answer this ever so difficult question.

"On the money."

But I digress.

We were in the car, and Emily and I were in the back, and her head was on my shoulder, and we weren't driving anywhere specifically, just driving around, deciding we'd stop when we'd stop.

And music was playing, not too loud, not too soft, just right, like Goldilocks herself was testing it out, smug little perfectionist bitch she is.

And it was music I loved, and I was so incredibly, blissfully, happy.

Driving aimlessly in a car, with some of the people I love most in this world, listening to some of the music I love most in this world, and just being.

Does that make sense?

To just be?

I don't know.

But there always has to be some kinda hidden meaning, and something else, and we never just let things be.

And so just being here with them, just being like this, well… I felt right.

I don't know if I'm making any sense anymore.

Emily's eyes held all the passing lights, bright and beautiful, forming stars of a different kind.

I held her hand, reaching out, my pinky inching over slowly, until my hand completely covered hers.

I could have just grabbed it, but I tried for the subtle approach.

I broke out into smile.

Every time I held her hand, even though I've now done it many times, it felt amazing. Her hand just fit mine like it was meant to be, like our hands exist for the sole purpose of holding each other's.

The familiarity was there, like we had been doing this for centuries.

The music was on a cycle, an album playing again and again, but never seeming to get old.

And everything is so amazing.

Katie is laughing at something Cook said, and Emily's buried her head into my shoulder, kissing it, and she's wearing my jacket again.

Have you ever seen those high school movies, those ones filled with clichés?

The cheerleader girlfriend always wears her football boyfriend's jacket, and that's just how it is.

I am not saying it is the same, not at all, but I'm saying that I can understand why that would happen.

There is something immensely beautiful about seeing her wear something that means so much to me. It just makes me happy.

It's just giving another part of me to her, and while that might have scared me before, it only makes me happy now.

And so we're driving, the sky dark and still, and the trees and buildings are passing us in blurs, and it reminds me of the night when we went to that diner.

Nothing else seems to exist at this moment.

It just us and music.

There's no homework or tests, or reminders that college is around the corner, and no angry bus drivers who yell when the container of yogurt they decided to eat during a route with many speed bumps, ruins their shirt.

There's no cancer.

Just us.

People always refer to your high school years as your glory days, the ones you will crave when you're old, and you're tired and sad, because people say that's what always happens:

You grow up and you become sad, an adult passing through life just barely, hardly finding any reason to get up in the mornings anymore, other than something trivial like my boss will be mad if I don't.

And then all you do is talk about the time you did that thing with those people, and you were actually happy.

That's what people always say.

I don't think this is necessarily true, but if it is, and I am doomed to a life of misery, which I honestly don't see possible if Emily's by my side, then this is what I will look back on.

I will look back on the time when we were in the car, and Cook kept on driving, speeding up faster and faster until Katie swats at him and tell him to:

"Stop driving like a prick or else you'll be having a lonely night, Mr. Future Blue Balls."

And Emily is so beautiful, with her hair kinda messy, even though she has less of it now, and her smile so beautiful, and she is holding my hand, and my jacket is clinging to her tightly, she's bundled in it proudly, and she's laughing at something stupid I said, but that part doesn't matter because she's laughing, and it makes my stomach flutter.

All I want to do is shout something loud, something loud for the world to hear, something probably clichéd like, "This is what it means to be alive!" or maybe something that actually means something, like, "I love this girl! Holy fuck I love this girl!"

So then we're stopped, and we're standing on the top of some hill, and yes you have probably seen this all before, in one of those clichéd scenes in some clichéd movie you saw. The one where all the critics called it confusing, and you understood it, and thought they were morons for not understanding.

Emily's hand is in mine, and I feel alive, adrenaline coursing through my young body, and so I shout loudly, looking at all the houses down below us, where people are sleeping and not driving aimlessly.

"I will marry Emily Fitch one day!" I yell it loudly, and Emily's smiling, and Cook's laughing, and Katie's being Katie and fighting back a smile at my words.

I need the world to know.

I need everyone to know.

And so I shout it again and again until my lungs burn, and until Cook is shouting that he will marry Katie, and Katie is smiling and so is Emily, and they are smiling so largely, that their cheeks must hurt.

And everything is still.

There is a hazy fog settling over a series of bright twinkling lights in the distance.

March is fast approaching, and temperatures continue to be cold and hazy, rain and gloomy skies.

I kiss the top of Emily's head, and tighten the grip on her hand.

I never want to stop holding her hand.

I leaned over and kissed her.

"Naomi and Emily sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage!" Cook sang loudly, tauntingly.

"I can't exactly get Emily pregnant now can I?" I said, looking back at him and Katie, still holding Emily's hand, who just smiled largely.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd find a way Naomikins."

"And then, she was just going for it and-"

"No."

"Cum again?" Cook says with a cheeky smile, laughing at his ability to change the word come to cum.

We were in the park, Paddy on his non-pussy flame bike we had bought him for Christmas.

He was riding around in circles throughout the park, while we sat on one of the old benches and watched.

"I do not want to hear about what you and Katie got up to the other night."

"Why not? It was very enjoyable."

He's grinning ear to ear.

I am about to throw up.

I have learned way too much about Katie. Way too fucking much. Oh god, I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

Barf.

But moving on.

Paddy was riding around and yelling at the top of his lungs while Cook took another drab of his cigarette, inhaling it and releasing it with a relaxed effort, blowing smoke out in expert rings.

Puff, puff, puff.

He seemed to be in thought, looking straight ahead.

"Are you scared?" He asked finally.

Vague question. Was I scared?

Was I scared that Paddy was about to fall and break every bone in his body?

Yes.

Was I scared that I wouldn't get accepted into a college I wanted?

Yes.

Was I scared about life after high school?

Yes.

Was I scared about Emily's cancer?

Yes.

I would like to say I wasn't scared of any of those things. That all of them didn't faze me. I was tough, nothing could scare me.

But I couldn't say that. I'm human, and I can be scared, and I am scared. I'm scared of all those things.

So I kept my answer simple, because I didn't think it was possible to make it complicated.

"Yes."

And Cook accepted this, once again taking a drab.

"Me too," he said finally, through an exhale of smoke, "me too."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, and I watched the dark clouds come, and yes I know, cliché, but they came anyway because clouds don't give a fuck about your clichés.

And so they came, as did the rain, dousing us and Paddy, who just continued to ride around, probably not even noticing.

We started back, Paddy riding ahead, Cook and I following.

"Let's go fucking swimming," Cook said out of nowhere, stopping and looking at a house with a gate.

"What?" I asked, not entirely sure what was happening. The sky was getting darker, the rain was constant. Now, I am not some kinda swimming time expert, but I was certain this wasn't it.

"Let's go fucking swimming," Cook said once more, still not getting the whole part where he was supposed to explain his irrational idea.

"No, I got that part."

"Let's go swimming. The people obviously aren't home, it's late, no one will see."

Paddy had peddled back, obviously interested in what his bat shit older brother was saying.

No, Paddy, stay away from the light that is Cook's awful ideas.

"Come on!" And with that he started to climb the rather large, looming fence in front of us, and Paddy was all excited, and I was pissed that the Paddy card had been played.

I lifted him up to Cook's waiting hands, and began climbing the fence, grumbling about Cook and his shit ideas.

I jumped down, and watched as Paddy jumped into the pool, screaming "Cannonball!" and leaving his little shirt and pants behind, just in his tighty whities.

Cook did the same, leaving himself in a pair of boxers, running after Paddy and splashing in.

What a cliché.

Swimming at night, in the rain, in someone else's pool.

But is it so wrong to love a cliché?

Because I find myself stripping down to my bra and girly boxers, and diving in, laughing when I come up and see Paddy clinging to Cook's neck.

And I'm smiling.

The rain is hitting our heads, and the sky is dark, and the water is cold, but we splash about, and I'm laughing.

Paddy is swimming around, and my heart feels a twinge of sadness.

What will happen next year?

What happens when Cook leaves for college? What happens to Paddy?

Does his mother automatically become better, because she has to now? Or does it not matter?

Does it not matter to her?

I would hope it does.

And what happens to my mum?

After Tina died the house was quiet, because it always seems quieter when someone leaves.

And what about when I leave? It'll be silent.

It's always been mum and me, and now it'll be just her, in a quiet house, and how will she cope with that? The silence will be deafening. No screaming, no laughing, no stumbling in at three in the morning.

Just her.

And it's unfair.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to complain, but it really is unfair.

Because there are all these families, and the kids can leave and maybe they feel bad when they do, but some of them will never have to leave the house silent.

I am the one who will leave my mother, the one who will make the house quieter.

My mum has had too many people leave her.

But I shake my head, because I'm losing track of what I'm saying, and Cook is jabbing at my side.

"Blondie!" Cook swims over to me, and splashes me.

"Oi, twat. Could you be any less graceful?" I ask, splashing him back.

"Probably." And with that a wave of water approaches.

I look up and see his grinning face.

"Oh, you're so gonna pay." And I swim after him.

We're walking back, hair wet, clothes soaked, sky dark, and Cook keeps on bumping into me as we get closer to his house.

"Hey, Naomio, I've been thinking."

"That's a dangerous combination: Cook and thinking."

"Shut up!"

"Alright, alright. What have you been thinking about?"

He's probably been thinking about what would happen if he had four cookies, and he ate three of them.

"Next year."

"Oh."

I'm surprised he's been thinking about the future. He always wants to live in the moment, and now he's thinking about the next.

"Maybe Paddy, could… live with your mum or something? I know it's a lot to ask, but…"

"I think she would like that very much."

And we continue walking.

Emily's asleep. We're on her bed, her head on my shoulder, and her breathing even, gentle inhales and soft exhales, and it sounds so wonderful that it could be my favorite song.

Well, second favorite.

Her laugh is my favorite.

I brush my fingers through her hair, finding the strands of red to be a bit thinner than before, but I continue to play with it softly, combing and smoothing it between my fingers.

Her face is nuzzled into my collarbone, vibrations of whispers of snores.

I want nothing else at this moment.

Sorry, I didn't mean to get all tumblr posty on you, but it's true. Having her sleep next to me, bodies entangled like lost puzzle pieces that finally found each other again, is what makes my heart soar, fly so high with all the planes, and all the clouds floating by.

She mumbles into me, something along the lines of, "I'll take fries with my burger please."

I laugh.

I press a chaste kiss onto the top of her head, and run my hands up her arms.

Gentle murmurs spill quietly from her just open lips.

I kiss her forehead this time, and I hear a soft sigh.

And so I kiss her eyelids.

And I kiss her nose.

I kiss her lips.

Her neck.

I kiss her fingertips, all of the tiny ten.

I kiss her.

And I never want to stop kissing her.

The chair is cold, and I don't like the way it feels.

It's hard and uninviting, already telling me to leave despite the fact that I just got here.

We just got here.

Emily is sitting in the chair next to mine, as is her mum.

The doctor is sitting in front of us, hands clasped, face serious, but I'd like to think his face is always serious, and that maybe it's just stuck that way forever, and not that he has bad news.

He has bad news.

I just didn't know that yet.

How would I have?

In the deepest pits of my heart I would have never guessed it could be anything bad, because it was Emily, and I couldn't find it in my heart to even contemplate anything bad ever happening.

"Chemotherapy is… working, well… kind of. It is not having the desired effect. In fact, it's… well, it's moving at a much slower rate than we thought it would."

Her grip on my hand tightens, and I hear a breath of surprised, scared, air being breathed in.

"What does that mean?" Mrs. Fitch asks, and I can hear the tightness in her voice.

He rubs his temple, like he's the one being given bad news.

"We're thinking that maybe chemotherapy gets a bit more intense. Pills added to the mix, maybe longer visits. We just thought it would be easier," he said finally.

Someone chokes out. I think it was Emily, but I really couldn't tell you, because I was slipping away.

Things were happening in technicolors that I never imagined, shades of reds and oranges appearing where I had only envisioned hues of blues and green.

Emily was wetting my shirt with tears, head buried into my shoulder as Mrs. Fitch started crying in the back.

The doctor slips away, but I don't register it happening.

I finally snap out of it, and I hold Emily in my arms, tight.

Her mascara is staining my shirt, but I don't care.

I care about the girl who's staining my shirt.

And so I hold her, I hold her like the world around us is crumbling, because it feels like it is.

I hold her as she cries, and I can't help but feel my own tears wetting my cheeks.

She needs to be okay.

She has to be okay.

I desperately need her to be okay.

Without her, there is no me.

I can't imagine a life without her.

There is no life without her.

Because we will get married, and we will have children, and we're be living in a home with a yard, and there will be a garden for my mum's sake.

And cancer can't take her away from me.

I need Emily more than I think I've ever needed anything.

And so I whisper soft, "It's okay," into her hair, even though it's not okay.

It's so goddamn unfair.

I kiss her forehead.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," I say again and again.

"I love you," she says.

We're sitting on her bed, and we're watching a movie, and she's been a bit quiet.

She's entangled into me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm just scared."

"I won't let anything happen to you," I tell her, and I mean it.

I will hold her so tight, nothing can happen to her. I will kiss any danger away, and I will do anything I can.

And so she kisses me, deeply and fully, and my hands drift to her waist, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

And so things deepen, and clothing is thrown off, and eventually it's just skin.

It's just skin.

My skin against her as I kiss her sweaty neck, and as her nails dig into my back.

Her skin on mine as she licks me in the spot, and as I bunch her hair up in gentle fists, and as I do the same, me gradually kissing down her mesmerizing body, spending extra time worshipping her breasts, her amazing breasts.

I wake up to a car turning off loudly, and someone getting out.

Emily is looking around wildly, wondering whom it could possibly be when her eyes go wide.

"Dad's home."

Say it with me, all together now! Repeat after me:

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

I'm.

About.

To.

Get.

Scotty.

Renolded.

I hear the noise of the front door opening.

"Get dressed now!" She whisper shouts as I struggle to throw on clothes, jumping into my boxers and clipping my bra very quickly.

I hear the stairs being climbed by heavy footsteps.

"Emsy! Emsy! I'm home!" He shouts while Emily thrusts my clothes at me and whispers, "No time!"

I look around for a hiding place.

Under the bed? No.

In the closet (Pun not intended)? No.

Out the window? Yes.

I thrust it open and toss my clothes out, watching as they land far below.

I can hear the sound of her door opening just as I step out, dropping down so I'm dangling, barely holding onto the ledge.

"Why are you under the covers? Are you naked, Emsy?"

"Uh, I… just got out of the shower dad."

I try to prepare myself for the drop.

"But your hair's not wet…"

"Well, I uh… I wore a shower cap!"

"Uh… Ok, then."

I drop, landing on my feet and looking wildly around for my clothes, racing into my pants, buckling my melt, and fumbling to put my shirt on.

Then comes the jacket and the socks and shoes.

"I thought Naomi was coming over today."

I freeze.

Now would be a good moment to run.

Now would be a great moment to run.

Now would be an excellent moment to run.

"No! I mean, no… just me…."

Smooth Emily, smooth.

"Okay, hmmm, do you hear something coming from outside?" He asks, confusion lacing his voice.

NOW WOULD BE A SPEC FUCKING TACULAR MOMENT TO RUN.

So I do, running and running so that way I don't get Scotty Renolded.

Oh, would you look at that, I made his name a verb.

Scotty Renolded

(Scot-ty Re-nol-ded)

The act of having Mr. Rob Fitch beat the shit out of you after he catches you having sexual intercourse with one of his daughters.

Example: Naomi Campbell will get Scotty Renolded real bad if she does not leave now.

As I'm running crazily, I feel my pocket vibrate.

I take out my phone and read the message from Emily.

"U r crazy."

I reply.

"I love you."

My smile brightens hugely when I read her reply.

"I love you too."

And so maybe, things look a bit bleak right now, but maybe that doesn't matter.

Because right now I just dug into the inside pocket, and I found the napkin from that gross diner, the one I will tell our grandchildren about.

The ink is a bit faded, but I can still make out the words clearly, the ones that matter more than anything else.

I love you Emily Fitch.

Alright, alright, alright.

I know that you might be worried about the whole chemotherapy not having it's desired effect, but like I said, I am no sadist. That would be Jess Brittain.

Any of you see the Lily picture Kat tweeted and instagrammed. I think it's cool that they're still close.

Anyways.

I hope you guys liked that.

Next chapter will be up Thursday or Sunday, most likely Sunday.

Let me know what you thought!