Wow, this is the fastest I've ever updated. And I'm disappointed that I only got three reviews, but it's alright because I love this story so much. SO yeah. Here you go.
"So, uh, Becca-" Cammie had just gotten the nerve to talk to the intimidating girl before she cut her off.
"It's Bex." She said without looking up from her novel.
Cammie cleared her throat and began again. "Umm, right. Bex. Listen. I know you've been here a while, and I've felt pretty rude not welcoming you like I should have. After all, I am the closest to your age here. You're twenty, right?"
Once again the girl nodded.
"Right," Cameron was at a loss. She had figured Rebecca would be grateful that she was attempting to make nice with her. After all, the nineteen year old had her own reserved bed here since she was three. The whole ward was a family, and Cammie was right at the center of it all. This was Rebecca's ticket to belong here, not that she had made much of an effort herself. "Well, anyway, if you need anything, or anyone, I'm Cameron, but you can call me Cammie. I'm right," she paused to point over her shoulder at the open curtain that separated the two, "over there."
"Okay," Bex finally made eye contact with her, and Cammie was met with a blank stare. It was as if she hadn't taken in a single word she had said.
"Well, see you around, I guess," she said uncomfortably, before swishing her curtain shut and taking out her laptop.
What she missed was Bex's tiny whisper, "See you,"
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My iPod is my life.
That's right. I don't have a boyfriend. I don't have any real friends, besides the little kids in my ward, who are all fourteen and younger by the way. My parents… well… I don't want to get into that, but you should get the point.
I'm in the hospital so often, it's like I'm cut off from the outside world. My only lifeline is my Genius playlist, which automatically hooks me up with new songs. This way, I'm listening, enjoying, feeling the same things that normal girls do. And with my uncomfortable white ear buds in, music blasting deafeningly loud, staring out my window at the pouring rain, knowing some other girl somewhere is doing the exact same thing… that's when I feel most alive. I might as well treasure that anyway. It's not going to be happening much longer.
Cam. Shut up. You know that Joe hates the pessimism.
But Joe's not here. And he can't read your mind, can he?
Well, who knows? Joe Solomon is the closest thing to God that I had ever laid eyes on. Not because of his good looks, EW, I can't even think of him that way. It's because until four months ago, I thought that he could do anything. Every time I relapsed, he was there to save me, bring my almost rigor mortis body back. Every time I felt the tiniest bit alone, he was there with ten reasons I wasn't. All the while making it seem as if he had no idea what he was doing.
My name is Cameron Ann Morgan, I'm nineteen years old, and I have eight months to live.
And if he doesn't know how to save me, then nobody can.
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Retch. I heave for one last time.
Retch. It's the last time.
Retch. Last time.
Retch. I swear it.
Okay, I'm done.
Throwing up is really not Bex Baxter's favorite pastime, no matter how it may seem.
It's a side effect of the chemotherapy. These people never give up. The Radiological Emergency ward in the Roseville Medical Research Hospital is not just a home for cancer patients. They like to experiment with people to see what might happen.
And as I read back over that I realize that I made it sound as if this place treats us like specimen, but that's not what I meant.
They're constantly researching, even when all hope seems to be lost. That nurse with the humongous boobs, Nurse Morrison, told me that it's saved quite a few lives. Which is why, even thought I know that I'm dying in six months, the doctors here act like they haven't heard the newsflash.
So that's why I'm still undergoing chemo. But this was my last session. I asked, because I'm over the age of eighteen, so I have the rights to my own body, to be left in peace for my last half year. I want to enjoy it.
So I've decided that after I'm done getting all of this puke my body suddenly seems to have generated out of my system, it's road trip time. I'm going to do everything that I've always wanted to. I'm going to go to exotic places, eat foods that have always been 'too hazardous to my health'; I'm going to go bungee jumping, skydiving, everything. And I'll start with number one on my list:
Bex's Bucket List
Make a (real) friend.
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The next day, Cammie's head bobs up and down as she loses herself in her music. She prides herself on her amazing playlist. No matter who you are; pop princess, oldies rock cult member, wannabe rap artist; you'll find something you like on there. She's sure of it.
Right now she's listening to Invisible, by Taylor Swift. She's in that Taylor Swift mood, where all you can do is mope around and listen to songs that, heartbreaking as they are, make you wish you were in love.
After all, Taylors had her heart broken many times, but at least she's had the chance to put it out there.
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So I'm just minding my own business, right? And then Bex barges in and rips my headphones out of my ears. Like, what the hell?
I sigh and force down the biting remark bubbling at my tongue. "Can I help you?" I ask through what probably looks like a grimace.
"Yeah. You said I could come to you if I needed anything, right?" she says, eying me.
"Uh-huh. What's up?" I paste a bright smile on my face, which seems to make her even more uncomfortable. What's wrong with this girl?
"Listen, what you said, about us being close in age. You're right, so far everyone in here either looks five or fifty," I open my mouth to correct her, to say that the kids here range from four to fourteen, and the adults don't even stay in this ward, but she waves me off and continues. "So. We should stick together."
And here's where I get really confused. "Umm, I'm sorry, what? I don't really understand."
"Let me break it down. We both are gonna go off the deep end soon, so we've got to make the best of what we've got left, right? So stop the chemo, and come with me on a road trip. It's going to be one hell of a journey, and when we inevitably kick the bucket, we're not going to be moping around, thinking of all the things we could've done if only we had lived longer." She said all of this in one breath and for a long time I just stared at her. I took a good look at her for the first time. She had almost flawless skin; she would be a supermodel if it weren't for the cancer eating away at her. There were a few scars here and there from surgery all over her body, just like myself. What intrigued me however, was not the vast amount of scars marring her brown skin, it was the overall look. She had one blue streak in her dark hair. Three piercings on one ear and four for the other. A nose stud, which surprisingly made her look refined and superior. She was obviously going for the tough girl thing.
And it would work if she didn't have warm chocolate eyes that were blatantly hoping that I would accept her request.
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