Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 21

Unedited.

Writing this was a lot of fun, I have to say. So, I hope you like it!       

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 James walks a few metres behind me and I'm grateful. He seems to realise I need my space after that to sort it all out. Childish as it is, I feel like hurling my oxygen machine at a window. Frustration, anger . . . it's all there. Yet my heart won't stop fluttering and I know I'm blushing. I can't wrap my head around it. Any of it—it's too surreal. James kissed me. Called me beautiful.

               Why? Why me?

               What am I supposed to do now? Avoid him because I've embarrassed myself; given him the worst kiss of his life? He'll be trying to avoid me now.

               The glass doors of the museum slide open and I look for a place to sit and have a breakdown. Inner turmoil runs thick. Self-hatred burns. Off all the people to kiss, he'd chosen me. The dying girl with under a year to live. The girl that can't even kiss back, standing like a statue the whole time. For one, he's out of my league. Two . . . I'm dying.

               They're my ride home, without James I'm stuck here.

               Locating the nearest seat, I walk over to it. The pressure on my lungs eases once I'm sitting, and I lean back against the wall. It's cold against my back, just like the seat under my legs. With my eyes shut, I can't see James but I know he's nearby.

               As my emotions run ramped, I blink back tears of frustration. Isn't your first kiss supposed to be the most amazing moment of your life? The one thing you remember forever? I have to be the only girl to have the most awkward kiss in history. All you have to do is kiss back . . . not stand there like a stature.

               Without meaning to, I speak aloud, though it's quiet enough for no one else to hear. "Why is everything so hard?" The oxygen machine mocks me, once again reminding me why nothing goes right. Getting diagnosed with cancer isn't even the beginning. The bad luck that follows, years on, is even worse.

               "First kiss," I mutter wryly. "Fail."

               My phone sits in one of the bags and I take it out before I can think about it. I'm halfway through typing the text when I start to reconsider. Should I really be texting Rachel when I haven't spoken to her in weeks? And worse, about an embarrassing first kiss?

               Sighing, I put my phone on the seat next to me. The last thing I want to do is spread that I can't kiss to save my life. The sounds of the museum whirl by—screaming kids, laughing parents—but none of it matters. What really matters is the complete and utter mortification I feel. First I don't kiss back. Then I run off.

               Was is as uncomfortable for James as if was for me? Did he feel the same awkwardness?

               Who am I kidding? Of course he felt it. It was impossible not to. He's kissed girls before and I'm sure they actually reciprocated the kiss. They didn't just stand there like an idiot, waiting for it to be over.

               Wiping away tears of frustration, I grab the tubes of my oxygen machine. If I'm going to sit here and debate my depressing life, I might as well do something useful. Wrapping the tube around my head, so it rests against my ears, I put the plugs in.

               Out of the corner of my eye, I see James sit on the red leather seat next to me. There has to be at least half a metre of distance between us. Guilt sinks in and I catch his eye. He stares at me, smiling softly. I'm sorry, he mouths.