I remember when I was little I used to always hide under my bed. When mum got a bit too drunk and I became afraid, that was where I'd go. When I'd had a bad day at school and nobody to talk to, I'd bring all my stuffed animals in the small space between my bed and the floor and confide in them.
I have the urge to that now. But there's no bed in here.
There's just my father, and a doctor telling me I have stage one breast cancer.
My dads eyes water, and I wonder if he feels like hiding under a bed, away from the world, too. Does he want to burrow himself beneath his covers and stay there for the rest of his life like I want to, too?
He suddenly clasps my hand, and I notice him squeeze my fingers in reassurance however I don't feel anything.
"Right." My dad whispers, "and—what do we do now, then?"
"There's chemotherapy. I'd suggest a surgery, but it's highly unlikely that the tumour would be able to be removed since it's grown bigger."
He nods, but the simple movement seems to be done idly.
"I'll give you a leaflet with all the options you can choose from. Then you can email me, and let me know what Celine wants to do."
"Okay." He says.
She explains more things. I'm unable to listen to them, that hole in my chest growing until it could fit the world into it.
"Celine."
I stare down at the floor.
Celine has stage one breast cancer.
Stage one breast cancer.
Stage
One
Breast
Cancer
I think I'm gonna be sick.
I must say the words aloud, because my dad grabs a bin and holds it beneath me. I lean forward and throw up into the bin, my head and chest ringing with a horrific ache at the same time.
His heavy hand comes to rest on my back, rubbing it in small circles.
Stageonebreastcancer.
Stageonebreastcancer.
I throw up again.
Stage
One
Breast
Cancer
"Celine." He whispers again.
I have cancer.
I look up at him, eyes glassy.
Stageonebreastcancer.
Stage one
breast cancer
"Baby." He says softly. He doesn't say anything else—only my name. I used to think it had only one syllable, but it really has two. Cel-ine. Cel-ine Mo-net.
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Teen FictionCeline Monet has lived alone with her mother ever since she was five, when her parents got a divorce and only one won custody over her. But finally, eight years later, her father wins shared custody. After moving across the country and settling...
