The Story of a Dying Girl

Hi!

Sorry, I know this is a bit late. I'm really sorry about that.

I said I had a lot planned, and I meant it, and I hope you think this is good, especially since I've had some of the ideas in this chapter for a long, long time.

Thanks again to everyone. Your support is truly amazing, and without it, this story would be left at chapter 1, so thank you so much. Words will never be able to tell you how grateful I am.

I hope everyone who celebrated Thanksgiving had a good Thanksgiving.

Okay, so let's go!

Chapter 23:

Emily got worse.

I'm sorry to be so abrupt, I really, truly am, but cancer is abrupt, and I couldn't find myself to being able to break things to you in a way that was not so blunt.

I tried, but it's hard to voice it any other way.

I couldn't lie, and tell you it was fine, she was fine, that she got better, and she gained back her weight, and her hair grew back out, and she didn't cough when I made her laugh, and that we could run up hills and go out. I couldn't tell you she wasn't sick.

Because that's not true.

It wasn't a large decline, not like some massive one, but really things got even worse. She was even more tired when I came around, and when I kissed her knuckles they were bonier than ever before, and she felt very cold, and she coughed so much, I might have guessed she smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.

And so I would come to the hospital, and I would be with her, because I didn't want to ever not be with her.

And sometimes I read to her, and sometimes I didn't. And sometimes we watched movies, and sometimes we didn't. And sometimes we listened to music, and sometimes we didn't.

And we felt like a normal couple, in love and happy, but we weren't.

She was lying in a hospital bed, dying.

And I remember when Mr. Fitch came into visit her one day. Her family spent a lot of time with her as well.

He came in, but his bright smile was gone, and he stood in the doorway, watching me read to Emily as she drifted off, and he gave me a soft smile.

And that's when I decided to give them a minute alone, even though by then, Emily had drifted out of consciousness.

I went to go grab a soda from a vending machine in the hallway.

And I walked around a little bit, visiting all the little kids that Emily and I had started to visit so much together.

It was later that I saw Mr. Fitch crumple and cry.

I had returned, and I stood in the doorway, and I watched as he sat in the chair I usually sat in, and he sobbed, his head bent down, tears streaming out.

I remembered all that time ago, when he held me as I cried, and I didn't know if Mr. Fitch had ever been held, but I think that there are moments sometimes everybody needs to be held.

And so I walked up to him, and he stood up, and he hugged me, so powerful, falling into me, that I stumbled back a bit, but managed to hold him up anyways.

"My little girl," he sobbed.

I held him.

"…born with ten perfect toes, and ten beautiful little fingers…"

I held him.

"…always a Daddy's little girl…"

I held him.

It felt odd to have this man cry in my arms, but I did it anyways, because this whole thing felt very odd.

I'm not sure how long I held him, but eventually, he backed away, thanked me for doing that, and he told me two things that I won't forget:

1."Thank you for taking care of my daughter. Thank you for loving her. Thank you for being precious with her heart, it's one of the most important things to me."

2."If you ever tell anyone that I cried, I'll hunt you down."

It wouldn't take him very long to find me. All he would have to do is look for Emily. He'd find me right by her side, a place I will never leave.

Prom only made things worse.

There were posters everywhere, probably made by Amanda Horite and her gang of well meaning but terminally stupid friends.

But they were in the hallway, in the entrance to school, on the walls in my classes. I couldn't get away from it.

Emily used to talk about prom.

She'd mention it before things got really bad, and she'd say how excited she was, and how she already had an idea of what she would want to wear, and how she had an idea of what she wanted me to wear, and how amazing it would be, and all of these things and I would find myself getting excited too.

And maybe we would still go.

Maybe we could.

Sure she was sick, but it's prom! I mean, she's gotta go. Right?

And maybe we could still do all of those things.

And maybe it wouldn't feel like she was dying.

And maybe everything would be all right.

Cook and Katie are going. Katie seemed upset that she didn't get to do the whole shopping and stuff thing with Emily, but she still seemed excited, just less than she would have been had things been different.

And Cook, well Cook was shitting himself, and it was funny to me how much we had grown.

We were 18 now, and we both had girlfriends, and we were becoming those grown ups we didn't really want to be, and still we were those children who used to run from my neighbor's mean, violent dog.

But I digress.

Prom.

And I allowed myself to be a little excited, now that this prospect that Emily and I could still go was there.

Hope was alive, burning and beautiful.

And so I had it all planned out.

I was at the mall with Cook when I figured it out.

How I would ask Emily to prom.

And so I got to work, like only a mad person in love with a plan could.

There was poster board, and glue, and letters and it looked kinda crap, but it was made with love, just like my mum's well-meaning attempts at making cookies.

Prom was fast approaching.

It was Wednesday, and Prom was on Saturday.

Emily was awake and smiling when I walked in to her hospital room on that Wednesday afternoon, holding the sign behind my back, like she couldn't see the sides poking out.

She's not fucking blind Naomi.

But I held it behind my back, and she tilted her head to the side.

And that's when I pulled it out from behind my back, the glittery (I fucking despise glitter, that stuff it shit and you will never ever truly fucking be rid of it, but it looked nice on the poster) and bright construction paper letters cut by yours truly spelling out:

"My name is Naomi Campbell. You stole my heart. Prepare to go to Prom with me."

It barely fit on the poster, but it did, so I stood there holding the sign with a big grin on my face.

"Emily, will you please do me the honor of going to prom with me?"

There were tears in her eyes, and she looked so happy, and she was smiling and I prepared myself for the yes.

"No."

My heart stopped.

Had I done something wrong? Was the sign shitty? Were those tears of sadness and not joy? How did I fuck this up? How am I that bad at reading signals?

"Naomi, let me explain."

What have I done? Oh god, of course I managed to fuck this up! Oh fucking shit! I fucked everything up once again!

"Naomi, you're gonna think yourself to death."

I looked up.

"I don't understand." My voice was a whisper of what it usually was as I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I want to go to Prom with you so badly Naomi, you have no idea. I mean, I want to go so much it hurts, but we both know-"

"I don't know Emily," I said, because I didn't. Well, maybe I did, deep down I did, but I had put that aside, and so know I found myself looking down at the ground, at my shoes, trying to swallow the lumps that continually kept forming in my throat.

"Naoms, please look at me. Come here honey."

I walked over to her bed, still looking down at my shoes, and took a seat.

She gently tilted my chin up until I was looking into her warm chocolate eyes.

"Naomi, I can't leave the hospital, I'm too sick." The statement was only furthered when she started to cough again, loud and violent and exactly how you would imagine how a sick person would.

And it hurt to hear. It really did. And to think of all those kids at my school who didn't have to worry about rejection because their date was too sick to leave the hospital.

I wanted to go to Prom with Emily, and I wanted to go get her punch, and dance with her in the gym, and I wanted all of those things I had never wanted before I had Emily.

We spent the rest of the day in her bed. We didn't talk too much that day, and I don't think we could have because the mood was kinda somber, but even then, I couldn't imagine not being here with her.

It was Thursday in which I found myself staring out the window in all of my classes, and clicking my pen obnoxiously, and trying to will away all the recurring thoughts of prom.

It hurt too much.

My teachers chastised my lack of concentration, or so I think, I wasn't really listening.

The kids talked about Prom like no one had ever heard of it before, and people had their plans for the night, some girls talking stretch limos and dresses, some guys talking about corsages, most talking about hotel rooms after prom.

And I hope this isn't coming off a too woe as me, or like I think I'm the only one to ever have problems.

But I can't help it. It hurts more than words can describe.

I was sitting in Emily's room later that say, talking about classes and stuff of that sort when she said something I wouldn't have expected if you had given me an endless amount of guesses.

"You should still go to Prom Naoms."

"What?"

"Just because I can't go, doesn't mean you shouldn't go either."

"Emily-"

"You should ask someone else. Not, in like a romantic way, but, I mean, I still want you to be able to go with someone who's… you know."

"No, I don't know."

"Who's not dying. You could ask that Amy Skyler, the one who likes to write death poems. I think she has a little crush on you. Just don't get any ideas Naoms."

Was she crazy? Why would I want to go with someone who's not her?

"I'm not going to do that."

"Okay, well what about that Didi Oranga? Or how about Jillian Bobringerts? I think I've heard that they both like you. I mean… I don't want you to date them, or treat it like a date though…"

"Emily-"

"I mean I want you to have fun, but you're mine Naoms. And I'm yours. And, well… yeah. But like I was saying, there are a lot of people I'm sure you could ask."

"Ems-"

"Or what about-"

"Don't you get it?"

"Get what?" She looked confused.

"Don't you get it?" I say a bit louder this time.

"Get what?" She asks louder.

"I don't want fucking Amy Skyler, or fucking… fucking Didi or Jillian! I want you!" My voice was only getting louder. "Don't you get it Ems? I don't want anyone else! Give me a hundred fucking girls, I won't care, because they aren't you! I want you! You, Emily Fitch! Don't you understand?! You! You! You! It's you! It's always been you, I've just been too stupid to realize it all along! Since I was fucking little Emily! It's you! No one else!"

I was panting by the time I was done.

Emily was staring at me with those big beautiful eyes.

"Oh Naoms," she said, voice breaking a bit, and there we were, in her bed, a big blubbering mess.

"I just want you to be happy," she whispered fiercely into my neck.

"I'm happy when I'm with you."

So Friday came and went with boring tests, and I found myself at Cook's house on Saturday morning, as he started to freak out about Prom even more, and Paddy ate his cereal on the couch calmly like the mature 11 year old he is.

"So you're not going?" He asked me for the 50th fucking time this morning.

"For the last fucking time, Cookie, no."

"Who else is gonna spike the punch bowl with me? Well, maybe Emilio could still use a Prom," he said, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

Oh my god, this man is a fucking genius.

"Cook, say that again!"

"Say what?"

"What you just said!"

"What did I just say?"

"You know what you just said!"

"I do?"

"For fuck's sake, yes!"

"The bit about Emilio, Naomio?"

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"…."

"Do you want me to still say it?"

"You know what, it's fine."

He got an excited look on his face.

"You got a plan, don't you, Blondie?"

"Yes I do," I said, rubbing my hands together.

"Am I apart of this plan."

"Yes."

And so I receded to the files about Emily in my memory, and found this bit about Prom.

It was promptly titled:

What Emily Wants You to Wear to Prom, and Don't Fuck This Up Or Else Emily Might be Sad and if She's Sad, Then You're Sad, and Then the Night Will Suck and Like You Said Before, Emily Will be Sad, and She Should Never be Sad

And there it was:

My plan.

And later that night, Cook and I were in my room, getting ready, tying ties and fixing makeup. Not Cook. Me. I was fixing my makeup.

"Naomi!" My mum called from downstairs.

"Yeah?!"

"Naomi!"

"Yes mum?!"

"Naomi!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumbled and trudged downstairs.

"Yes?" I asked once I was standing in front of her.

"I just wanted to see how beautiful you looked." There were tears in her eyes, and I wondered if that was a thing that mums just did, too.

"Oh honey," she said, eyes filled with tears.

And I smiled kinda shyly, not really sure about what to do other than just stand there awkwardly.

And that's when I saw the TV.

"What are you watching mum?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

I was successful.

"Oh, it's just about over. It's an old movie a friend gave me. It's good, but not my favorite."

"What's it called?" I asked, watching the image of a man move across the screen.

"Uhh, Day of… no, that's not it. Hmmm… oh! I know! It's called Night of Love."

I didn't think I had heard her right.

How is it that the movie I had needed most was here the whole time?

But then again, how is it that Emily, the love of my life had been there the whole time, and it had taken me for fucking ever to realize it?

"Mum, can I have that? Please?" My voice was desperate and in shock.

"Of course love." And with that she put the DVD back in the case and handed it to me.

I looked down at it for maybe three minutes, still not sure how this was possible.

And then I rushed back up to my room, bursting through the door, ignoring Cook's questions and pulling out the box where 14 movies lay.

And now there were 15.

15 movies that Emily had thought she would never see again.

15 movies I had worked so fucking hard to find.

15 movies that were so much fucking trouble, but that would be worth it.

The hospital was like how it always was when it was dark out.

It was quiet and it should have been calming, but it never really was.

Emily sat on the bed, looking straight ahead at the wall when I walked in, nice shirt, nice pants, nice shoes, suspenders, and tie, looking like that one kid who always takes his yearbook photo way too seriously, although instead of wearing a suit jacket, I wore my army jacket.

She looked at me, surprise etched on her face.

"Naoms?" She didn't seem to believe that I was there, standing in front of her like this.

"Emily," I said, smiling.

"What are you doing here? You look amazing."

"Well, since you couldn't go to the Prom, I brought the Prom to you."

And I put the box with all the movies to the side, leaving those for later.

"So, will you allow me to have this dance?"

I walked over to her bed, and I crouched down on one knee, holding out my hand for her.

"I'd love that."

And so I stood up, and I put my hands on her waist, and helped her out of bed, and led her other to the middle of the room, where the music started to softly play from my phone.

She linked her arms around my neck, and my hands stayed around her waist, and she put her head on my shoulder.

Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?

It always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer

Dear lady, there's so many things that I have come to fear

Little voice says I'm going crazy to see all my worlds disappear

(Violent Femmes- Good Feeling)

"It's our song," she whispered softly into my ear.

"I know," I said, and we swayed softly. She had to lean on me a bit for support.

And the light in her room had been turned off, and the room was dim, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

She looked so beautiful, there in my arms, and don't think it would have been possible for me to not kiss her, but I would never find out because I leaned in and pressed our lips together, and we kissed so deeply I could get lost and never be found, and I would be okay with that.

I would be happy with that.

It was a little bit later, when a few songs had played, and we remained dancing softly, that we heard a slight cough, and there behind us were Katie and Cook, all dolled up, yes even Cook, who didn't know what it meant to dress nice, had dressed nice.

"Mind if we join?" Katie asked, smiling.

"Katie, you came too?" Emily asked, voice disbelieving, smile even brighter, which I didn't think was possible.

"We always said we'd be together at Prom, Emsy. I meant it." And with that, Katie and Cook made their way to the make shift dance floor, and they started to sway softly under the dim light too, and the music was soft, and Emily's hands were playing a bit with my hair, and everything felt so right.

And no, Emily did not get to wear the dress she had always wanted. She wore her hospital gown instead. And no, Emily did not have her hair dolled up or her makeup done.

She looked gorgeous to me.

Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

There was faint pretty laughter and smiles so big they split faces, and there was punch (yes, there was punch, I had bought some).

Later that night, we lay on the floor that we had been dancing on, and that's when the box came out.

I walked over to it and brought it out, and Emily looked puzzled.

"What's that?" She asked, brow furrowing.

"Why don't you open it and find out?"

And so she did.

"Wha-wha-what? Naoms? Are these… how did you… how…?"

There were tears of joy in her eyes, and she looked through all of them, disbelief ever so present on her features.

"How did you?"

"I looked for so long, so fucking long. You have no idea. But I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"What is it?" Katie asked.

"All of the movies from the posters that were on my walls."

"What? But I thought you couldn't find them anywhere?"

"I couldn't."

Her smile was so big, it was blindingly beautiful. It was huge, and disbelieving, and full of love and shock, and it was amazing to see.

Truly amazing.

And all that hard work was worth it.

"I can't believe you did this!" She kissed me face, every single inch of it.

And she kissed me passionately, so fucking deeply.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

It was most definitely worth it.

"So, should we watch one?" I asked.

"Yes!" She said, and Cook grabbed her computer for her, because I don't think she could have gotten up on her own.

And she popped in the movie about the man and the woman deeply in love.

And it was beautiful.

She was right all that time ago when she said it meant something more than all those other movies.

It was love. It really showed love.

I don't know how to tell you any other way. But it showed love.

And she was crying by the end of it, and so was Katie and I, and hell, I even saw Cook wipe a tear away, but I kept that to myself.

"You know what Naoms?" She said later that night.

"What?"

"You know how that couples was amazing in Night of Love?"

"Yeah…."

"I think we have them beat," she said proudly.

Well so do I, Emily Fitch.

So do I.

Was that any good?

I read all the reviews again before I post a chapter in case I forgot to answer any questions, and I saw two.

Emily's condition will face a decline soon, but I'm not sure when yet. I haven't decided when I should include it. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Also, to answer the question about other stories, I wrote a few that were shit, but I had one I liked enough, and it got to about 28,000 words. I haven't touched it for a while because I didn't think I was developing things between them very well, and it also dealt with some sensitive issues, and I wasn't sure if I was writing them well enough. The last thing I want to do is offend someone with a shitty portrayal of a serious subject. And yes, I do have an idea for a next story, but at the moment I would like to focus on this one. Don't worry though, I'm not going anywhere.

Alright, so there that was.

Let me know what you thought!