meghan trainor oneshots // m.t

6.8 Twenty-Four Hours [ Redraft ]

A/N: Three things:
1, Meghan's hair is still blonde in this story.
2, I'm sorry.
3, this is the longest oneshot I've ever written so, it might take you a little longer to read. 

Would you have ever thought a mere six letter word could crush your soul and devastate you just moments after hearing it fall from someone's lips?

It can.

Cancer. Six letters, each of them sending your future down in flames as you think of every possible scenario in the short period of time that follows. Almost exactly three months ago, that is what exactly Meghan had found herself hearing.

She sat nervously in the doctor's office, biting her fingernails down to stumps and impatiently tapping her foot as the though thought of every possible illness sped through her mind. When finally the doctor entered, she was almost a wreck. Anxiety knotted in her stomach as she watched him move slowly around the room, his plain white doctor's coat mimicking the color of the wallpaper behind him.

"You have cancer," he spoke, pursing his lips as he combed a hand through his graying hair in thought. Meghan heard nothing more of what the man said, as he absentmindedly clicked the top of his pen repetitively. Click, click, click. No matter how much or how fast she watched his lips move she heard none of the sound coming out, just empty, haunting silence. Her head was spinning. Everything she'd thought she'd known had fallen to nothing but a puddle of despair that sat teasingly at her feet, staring her in the face as her vision became blurry. The first thing she'd asked, once she found the strength within herself to speak, was if she was going to die. The doctor's response to the question Meghan had asked, sent her whole world crumbling into fragments around her. "Yes," he softly sighed, looking apologetically at the emotionally wrecked blonde, twenty five year old that sat dejectedly in front of him.

"How long?" she croaked weakly, dreading the answer that would follow. Time stopped around her, the room spinning and making her light headed, like she could lose consciousness at any given moment. It didn't feel like reality, nothing did. The older man sat in his desk chair wearing a grim expression, his ashy auburn slicked back out of his face. The doleful glint in his eye was enough to tell her that whatever words he spoke would not be positive ones. Clenching his eyes shut for a moment in, what she assumed was, an attempt to prepare himself, then saying it. She didn't hear him though, all she heard was screaming silence. Never in her life had she heard silence so deafeningly loud. "I'm sorry," she choked out, her voice barely a touch above a whisper. "Could you repeat that?"

He paused, as it seemed even he, the professional, had to compose himself. Eventually, he slowly nodded. "Three months." He winced as he repeated himself, as though he hated the way the words tasted as they spun off his tongue. Silently, she sat there, in a state of complete numbness. "You have three months, Miss Trainor. I'm sorry."

Now, three months on, a very weak and disheartened Meghan lay in bed beside her clueless fiancé. She found herself watching him as he peacefully slept, admiring him for what she knew would be the last time they would lie in bed together, her awake and him sleeping. A soft smile was painted across his lips, and his chest rose up and down consistently with every delicate, steady breath. The only certain thing left in her life was him, she knew that, and she spent every second, of every minute, of every day, being thankful that he was a constant despite her uncertain future. Every day of the past three months had been a balancing act, juggling her illness and pretending to be okay like a street performer.

Though her sickness had made her significantly weaker, she knew that her time had come before it did. She was even weaker than usual, she found herself out of breath from a task as simple a sitting up, her limbs ached and yearned for rest despite her rarely moving, her breathing became uneven, raspy and shallow. He pleaded incessantly to let him take her to the hospital, but she insisted that he didn't, and that she'd get better. It felt like every word she spoke got further and further and from the truth, her life had become a strong of lies that she told herself so that he wouldn't suffer.