Two more chapters until it's finish! Don't forget to review!

Comments

ThisIsHope: Oh gosh I'm sorry but I started laughing as soon as I read Kumquat. I have a horrible temptation of calling someone that now lolol. P.S. You're on the right track for your question. ;)

sweetdevilgirl- I was going to, but then I figured no one would know what cancer I was naming anyways. Thank you!

Lizzy's POV

Just as I feel like I can't be any more useless, I'm proved wrong once again by the universe.

I've been so wrapped up in Paul that I didn't even notice Claire was sick. Usually I'm pretty good about things like that. People turn a grayish color to my eyes when sick, but I'm only seeing it now. There's the slightest pallor of sickness in her face now that she's so still. She never seemed sick, she's always been so happy.

Now that I think back on it, I realize there were hints. She's been less active the past month, getting tired faster than usual. She's been eating less, signs all of us brushed away thinking that she's going through a stage.

I truly am useless.

A month passes and Claire still isn't better. She's beginning to lose her hair. It was heartbreaking when she noticed. Her mother was pulling a brush through it and a chunk came out. She burst into tears. She'd been amazingly strong until then. The chemo makes her sick, and her once never ending movement is barely a buzz. She doesn't complain, and only ask when will she get better again or if the treatment will work this time. She's had four, one each week. Every time she goes for chemo it chips a little more off her. Quil is barely holding himself together. He stays strong in front of her, but as soon as she's out of sight and hearing distance he burst into tears.

Because the fact is she's not getting better, she's getting worse.

She had a 70-90% change of living. How could Claire, the cute little ball of energy that she is, fall into that 10-30% mortality rate? The doctors are on repeat, telling everyone not to lose hope since she's not in the high risk range and many people make a comeback from this and live perfectly healthy lives.

Soon enough Claire is frail. She won't eat, because the chemo just makes her throw it all up. All her nutrients come from the needle that painfully juts into her vein, irritating the skin all around it. Her weight plummets until she is only skin and bones, a caricature of what she used to be. She's lost all the hair on her head. There's a few wisps left and she refuses to touch them. She was playing with the strands once and all of them fell out into her hands. It started another round of tears. Her parents keep themselves together pretty well, but only when Claire is strong. They lose it whenever she waivers. Quil's resolve to not break in front of Claire keeps him going in those times when Claire's parents cannot. He hasn't shed one tear in front of her.

Claire talks to me often. She asks me about death, and how much it hurts. She asks if she will be a ghost like me, and how much do dead people miss their family. She even asks me if there's muffins and cookies in heaven, and I tell her I don't know. I've never been there.

She asks me a lot of questions.

The doctors noticed her talking to me on one of their daily rounds and wanted to give her medicine for hallucinations, but her parents were adamantly against it. They said they're already pumping Claire up with enough drugs that they don't need to add another. We told Claire not to talk to me in front of the doctors anymore after that, and to try not to do it in front of her parents either. She listens for the most part.

Her parents had to sell their home and move into a small apartment. The pack tries to help with money whenever they can. They've asked for donations in both the Makah and the Quileute reservation. Paul drops every penny he has into that jar, as do the others. When Paul is not working, he's patrolling. When he doesn't patrol, he visits with Claire.

Then came the day when the doctors officially announced her to be in the high risk category, with only a 30% chance of survival.

There are always tears in her mother's eyes when she visits after that, although she fights to keep them from falling. Usually she succeeds, but other times she doesn't.

"Why are you crying mommy?" Claire's voice is weak, barely able to be heard over the beeps of the monotonous machine. "It's okay. One day I'll be all better and we can go to the park and eat ice cream like we used to. I'll get hair again too and you can brush it all you want." The statement is surprising, because Claire hates to have her hair brushed.

Claire's comforts break the woman and her husband has to practically carry her out. Claire stares where her mother once sat before bursting into tears herself. Quil bundles up with her and holds her tight, the sobs wracking her emaciated body. Quil's lost weight too, and there are always dark circles under his eyes. He hasn't said it, but if Claire dies I think he will follow. It's in his eyes, the emptiness that resonates from them.

After seeing all of this I understand what Paul was saying about imprints. It's not natural. How could fate give you something so precious only to rip it away? I hope a werewolf never imprints again because this pain is not worth it, not like this. I think Quil knows Claire is not going to make it. It's like there's an invisible timer that only he can see. He keeps every minute with her, leaving only when someone wants alone time with her. Even then he's like a caged animal, pacing the edges of the hallway until he can get back to her.

Claire becomes too weak to even pick up her arms, and she stares almost sightless at the ceiling. Her breath is labored, and they have an oxygen masks moved into the room and placed on her at all times. She doesn't look anything like the little girl I once knew.

Her fourth birthday passes. Nobody tells her because they know she can't eat all the cake she wants. She can barely drink water. She wouldn't be able to unwrap the presents either, and the only thing she would ask for is what she's been asking for months for.

To get better.

She sleeps more often than naught, and now I think she knows the truth too. Her eyes are dead, and she doesn't ask me any questions anymore. She doesn't say anything at all.

The doctors finally admit there is nothing they can do for her anymore, and we should look at keeping her as comfortable as possible in her last moments.

There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. There is nothing that they can do for her anymore. The words repeat over and over until it's a mantra, and then I understand.

Claire is going to die.