The Story of a Dying Girl

Sorry about posting this a little late. I finished this earlier but I lost track of time. Once again, this is a very short chapter, and it's not very good.

I hope you guys had a good weekend. Thank you so much for everything.

Enjoy!

Chapter 20: Emily

"We're busting you out of here."

It started with an idea, or really an inkling of an idea.

Now, at this point, you probably are very confused about what it is I'm talking about, and that's okay, but let me explain.

I sit watching the walls.

Okay, now let me explain that.

Sitting in a hospital all day is not fun.

In fact, it's quite the opposite.

Sure, there are things to do, and I still have some kind of education, in which a woman comes in and teaches me what I'd be learning in school so I do not fall behind, but it's not fun.

You lose some kind of feeling of freedom being cooped up in a hospital all day, and it's hard. Sometimes I barely feel like I'm alive with all the shit happening to my body, so spending my young life sitting in a bed in a hospital only makes me feel even less like I'm living, despite the fact that here I am, breathing and all that jazz.

It's hard, I mean that. I spend my days waiting for Naomi to come over and that's when I'm happiest. That's when I'm not the sick girl, and I'm not one of the patients in the cancer ward of the hospital, but I'm Emily. And that's who I've always been, but at times, it feels as though I've been stripped of that.

No, no, no, no more Emily, but rather the hollow shell of a sick girl, sitting in a bed, living out her life in misery until her girlfriend comes and rescues her for a few blissful hours in which I actually feel happy.

And it's hard because I can see exactly what it's doing to the people around me, and I know you would never really expect a sick person to feel bad for what they're doing to others, but I do.

Mum cries, and Dad hides behind a large smile that he plasters on for my sick, and Katie acts all tough, like she'll scare my cancer away, and James just watches, not really sure what to do I guess.

And Naomi is Naomi, but she's scared, and she's too sure it'll go aware like the flu.

And I know I'm getting weaker.

I know I'm not getting better.

And no one except the doctors will say it.

But I'm not getting better, and I know I'm not.

And it's hard.

But back to the inkling of an idea that started one day early in April and has now become concrete in the early/mid days of April.

"We're busting you out of here."

And how could this go wrong?

Well, "busting" someone out of a hospital seems to be like something that could easily go very wrong, and will most likely never, ever, work, even in our wildest dreams.

So yes, that is how it could go wrong.

It also seems to very likely to be illegal, although so is drinking underage….

Anyways.

Here we were, and Naomi, Cook, and Katie were standing there dressed in black, looking like something out of a stupid movie with a robbery.

It was late, and the sky was black, and the kids all around were asleep.

And so maybe I should have protested, and said something and put an end to this awful idea, but really, how could I when it seemed so fun?

And so I got out of bed, and Naomi handed me the black beanie from all that time ago, and we tip toed out of there.

"Cook, distract the nurse at the desk," Naomi whispered as we got closer and closer to the door.

"On it, Naomio." He walked over and began to hold up his left hand.

"Pretty sure this pinkie is broken. Can you check it out?"

"Sir, this is not the place for that."

We started to walk by.

"This is a hospital right?"

"Yes, but this is not the right section."

We got closer and closer to the door.

"But is it broken?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, neither do I, and I think that may be a problem."

We opened the doors slowly, and out we went.

"You know what, it's not broken. Thanks. Bye."

Cook ran out, and we semi-walked/ran back to Naomi's mum's car.

Cook sat in the front seat and Katie sat down in the passenger, leaving Naomi and I in the back.

She reached out and grabbed my hand, bringing it carefully to her lips, and kissed my knuckles sweetly as I closed my eyes in one of those very calm and pleasant ways that only happens when you feel at ease.

Because that's what happens when I'm with her.

And the car started to move forward, and Cook started to laugh at something Katie had said, and it was all peaceful.

Because here next to me was the girl I loved, and there in front of me was the sister I loved, with the guy that she loved, and everything was okay, everything felt okay for the first time that day.

Cook stopped at some park, and I watched as he and Katie got out, carrying blankets in their arms.

"My lady," Naomi said, holding her hand out, and so I took it, and we walked out into the night, into the dark, and everything was so quiet as opposed to the daytime hospital noises, the beeping and the moving and the cries of parents who have suddenly aged 20 years, looking down at their children who will never grow up, who will never fall in love, and will never go to prom, and will never get married, and will never get that job they always wanted, and won't have that dog they begged for.

Because there is no will anymore, there is no future.

And I wonder how many of those things I will get to do.

Months ago I might have told you that I would do all of them, and I would do them with Naomi by my side, but now I'm not so sure how much of a future there will be for me, and I wonder if Naomi will age 20 years, or maybe she'll age 40, and will her soft blue eyes go hard? And will they ever go back to being soft if they do?

And will Katie cry about everything she had ever wanted to say? And will James say something pervy, because he doesn't know how to say what he wants to say? And will my mum lose her composure, and will dad stop acting like men don't cry, when I've seen him shed enough tears to drown us all?

I don't know.

Naomi pulls my hand, and I think more and more, more than I should, because sometimes it's hard not to think about all those things.

She sits down, and she pulls me into her into her lap.

Her face looks so young here in the moonlight, and her smile looks so bright, and her laughter rings out into the night. And will I get to see her face gain wrinkles? And will I hear her laugh when she's 70?

I really hope I do.

I kiss her softly, and I bring my hands up to her heart again.

"It's beating really fast Naoms, are you nervous?" I tease.

"Would you rather it stop beating?" She teases.

"Never."

The moment her heart stops beating, mine will too, I know it. Although it seems like mine will stop much sooner than hers ever will.

"Did I ever tell you about the stars?" She asks quietly after a moment, when we're lying down on one of the blankets, and Katie and Cook have inevitably gone off to shag somewhere.

"Your dad used to tell you about them."

"Yeah. Did I ever tell you about him?" She asks once more, quieter this time.

"Bits." I know that she doesn't like to talk about it, not even with Cook.

"Did I ever tell him about the time I destroyed his stuff?"

"No."

"I was 14, and I was sitting in my room doing something stupid no doubt, and then I started to think, and I wondered where he was, you know? What had ever happened to him. So I googled his name," she chokes out, and she's laughing, but not because there's anything funny.

"Oh Naoms," I say and wrap my arms around her.

"And there were all these pictures of him on Facebook. And he looked so happy, so fucking happy. And there he was, holding some little girl's hand, and there she was when she was a little bit older, and she was just so happy, and he was smiling. And then it hit me. It was his daughter. And that little girl, it wasn't me. It wasn't me."

And she's crying a bit, tears falling down her cheeks as she looks straight up at the sky.

"It wasn't me," she whispers again.

"And so I thought something was wrong with me. Why wouldn't he want me? Why wasn't he holding my hand? Why wasn't I enough? And now you're lying here, and I know that there must be something pretty special about me if you're lying here with me. And so Emily Fitch, I need you to know that. I needed you to know that."

And now I'm crying too.

I will love her forever.

I will love her no matter what.

And as we lay here in the dark park, and we start to recover from our crying, I realize that in all my life, I will never love anyone else the way I love her, and that's fine with me, because I never planned on it anyways.

I don't really remember sneaking back into the hospital, but I found myself in the hospital bed, and there was Naomi spooning me, and Katie was passed out in one of the chairs, and Cook was sleeping next to her, falling over trying to make sure she was in his arms.

I hear soft mumblings in my ear, and I smile again. I close my eyes again, and let myself drift off back to sleep.

I feel weak.

I feel weaker.

It's hard to articulate this, but I will try.

Have you ever tried to punch or so something like that when you're sick? And you just know it's weak and that you're ill and slipping further into sickness? But at the same time, you know that you'll get better?

Well, it's like that, only I'm not too sure on that last part.

Now, you've probably been reading this, and found yourself thinking how incredibly morbid this is of me to think.

Well, I am not saying I will die, but I am saying that I am dying.

And that scares me too.

I am feeling myself go farther and farther into this sickness and nothing is improving. I might not die, but I am definitely dying, and there is no possible way of accepting that without it being morbid, and so this whole thing will sound morbid, but at the same time, I haven't accepted it.

And neither has Naomi.

Although, I know that it has hit her, that this is really truly happening, and that she will not wake up one day to find that I have miraculously gotten better over night, and that everything is okay now. That she and I will not have to worry about hospital visits, and we will not have to worry about running too fast or making me laugh.

The first thing I want to do when I am better is run up the hill that Naomi and I watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off on. I will run up the entire thing, and my lungs will not scream like they would now, and I will not cough like I am in my seventies, and Naomi will not have to worry about taking it slow.

And notice how I said when. Which may seem presumptuous, but it's hard for me to really consider it to be any other way. Sure I may think about it, but really, the idea of me in the ground while there is never a world filled with Naomi and I's wedding night, or our children running around, or sitting on rocking chairs together is crazy to me.

How can there be a world where Naomi and I don't grow old together, where I don't grow old period?

A nurse enters my room.

She's older, and her face is kind, but there's something else there, and it's then that I realize it's sadness, and that it must be from all the children she has watched pass, from all the people lost.

A person can never get used to that.

"You seem to be doing a lot of thinking, dear," she says gently, like if she says it any louder I will shatter.

And it makes me smile and makes me mad all at once.

I know she is trying to be kind, and I know that she is probably a very nice person, and that I am very sick, but I wish I wouldn't be treated like I am made of glass.

I wish I wasn't treated like I am some vase in a museum, like I will break so easily and that I am untouchable.

There's something incredibly unpleasant about that.

I want to be treated like a human, not some cold thing you have to stay away from.

"Yeah, just thinking about things."

"There's a lot of time to do that here. But you'll get better."

I wonder how many people she's told that to. I wonder how many people she lied to as a result.

She walks off a little later, and I reach for on of my many books.

Perks of Being a Wallflower is what is sitting on the top of my pile, and I smile because I know it's Naomi's copy, the one she has written on and read many times.

And so I read, and I love it, and I read Naomi's notes on the sides, and I know how much she loves this book, and I stop at one certain place. It's a quote that's been underlined a few times and highlighted.

"After that, I couldn't believe that Sam actually got me a present because I honestly thought that the 'I love you' was it."

And in the margins she wrote, "Emily, Christmas 2014."

And it makes me smile even more, and it's a wonderful thing to know that the person you love so completely and amazingly, loves you back, just as much.

It really is unlike any feeling in the world. It's amazing and it makes you smile so huge that it hurts your cheeks.

I continue to read and smile and enjoy all her little notes, and then I find myself looking up into her smiling face.

"Hey Ems. Miss me?"

"Incredibly."

And she kisses me softly.

"Well, that's good to hear. I wouldn't want you to be glad that I was gone."

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…."

"Hey!"

I laugh as she takes off her messenger bag and shoes, and situates herself next to me, like it's always been.

"I found your notes in your copy of Perks of Being a Wallflower."

"Did you like it? Please tell me you did."

"I loved it."

"Oh thank god."

I laugh again.

As the day turns into the night, and she's still here next to me, that's all I can think about.

How incredibly lucky I am to have Naomi in my life.

Yeah, short I know.

So, I hope you guys liked that. Next chapter will be up on Sunday.

Let me know what you thought!