A/N Bradford Bad Boi is in da house/chapter ;) So yeah, this is dedicated to the one, the only, 1derfulStyles, whose stories are absolutely amazing, check her out if you are alive.
Katherine xoxo
CHAPTER 2
**JOY’S POV**
My pale, frail hands grace the ceramic, white basin that I have positioned myself over to empty my stomach of the chemicals flowing throughout my body.
My back arches as I retch again. I can tell that my face and forehead is covered in the slightest sheen of sweat, placed there from the flashes of heat that I have succumbed to.
Gasping, trying to get the life-saving oxygen to my lungs, I pull away and my hand flutters to touch the hair that isn’t there, as if to push it out of the way. Still not used to it I suppose. Well, I only have six months so it doesn’t matter. My mouth curls into a bitter smile at the thought.
Only six months.
It sounds crazy but that’s all I have left.
No miracle cure, no amount of Chemotherapy, no blood transfusions will ever change that. Six months then I’m gone. Flying away from this accursed place we called Earth.
And so much left to do.
I gently wipe away the black bile that has streaked the side of my cheek. I knew this would happen sometime. Unavoidable.
Just like my death.
My body is covered is large purple bruises from the needles that have been inserted into my translucent skin. And if a portion of skin isn’t covered in bruises, you can easily see my spider-webbing blue veins, etching its ghastly painting across my body.
Skin and bones. That is all I see in myself. My cheekbones are easily seen and my face is gaunt, covered in the slightest amount of skin.
I hang my head over the large glass mirror, as if I don’t have the strength to keep it up. Sometimes, that is the case.
But I have to keep going.
I wash the sink out and clean my thin face, trying to get of the acidic taste left in my mouth from my date with the toilet.
I pull my head up slowly and rest it against the cool glass of the mirror, opening my grey eyes to face the creature on the brink of death in front of me. Hopelessness and depression is written all over its face. Dark shadows are painted across its eyes. Piercings glinting in the strong fluorescent light.
That creature is me.
I feel a wave of disgust flow over my body. I don’t know why I should still be here. I am of no importance to anyone. I will never change a life. I’m just a sick, nineteen year old with a ruined future and a shattered past.
Be strong.
Sighing, I look away from the mirror. The mirror doesn’t lie. I cast my eyes down to the wet grey, tiled floor. Better to look at the floor rather than myself.
Don’t let this pull you down.
I look up again see my eyes glinting with a fire I haven’t seen for a while. Scorching a trail of ash across my soul and heart. Sparking, glowing with both anger and fight. Flickering with a stubborn light.
A real smile uplifts the corners of my mouth, making my eyes dance. I haven’t smiled like this for a long time. A slight rosy pink floods across my cheeks, bringing colour to my pale and sickly skin. But then it fades, leaving me with the image of defeat.
Walking out of the bathroom, I throw myself on the bed, staring up at the low, white ceiling, dark thoughts running through my head.
I can’t do this.
**ZAYN’S POV**
“Yeah?” I tiredly ask the person on the other side of the phone. I have no idea why they are calling me at this ungodly hour of the night. Let’s just say, I am a little more than pissed.
“Hello Mr Malik-” a crisp, professional voice sounds from the earphone. I can imagine a smartly dressed female, drumming her manicured fingernails against the hard surface of brightly polished wooden desk.
“Why are you calling me at” I cut her off, glancing at the glowing green light from my clock, signifying the time. I groan loudly when I notice it is 6:56 am. If you are judging, I don’t give a shit, I like my sleep and sleep likes me.
“6:56 am?” the voice finishes for me. I am really starting to hate that voice. Too authoritive and cold… and it woke me up.
“Yes” and trying to outdo her in the professional sounding department, I add “and what is the reason for this call” Take that.
A slight laugh echoes from the phone, like I’m nothing more than a slightly amusing dog that barked for her. My brows furrow and my hand clenches tightly around the phone. I hate it when people do that. Just because I’m famous does not mean I do not have a soul, everyone has feelings and I am no exception.
“The reason is, there is a very sick girl with cancer and I found a list of hers and it seems that meeting you and the band is on it” she tells me, her voice betraying a slight amount of emotion but my tired brain couldn’t pick up on it.
Until those words finally hit me.
I sit bolt upright, sleepiness forgotten. I know a lot about sick people. My aunt was one of them.
“I’m going” I say quickly, running a shaking hand through my messed up, raven black hair. Morning hair is never a good look on anyone.
A thought stops me in my hectic tracks
“What… is she sick with?” I ask her haltingly. From the sad sigh escaping the woman’s mouth, I fear the worst. She is silent for a few moments as my stomach continues its slow journey to the bottom of the floor.
“An aggressive brain cancer called Melanoma; she only has six months left to live”
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P.S. I Love You
FanfictionJoy Script. Zayn Malik. Add in cancer. And you have their life.
