Colors

5.

a couple tw's in this chapter!! i know of people who can get triggered with some of this stuff so just a warning!!! read at your own risk lovelies xo

Hands gripped tightly on the bowl of the toilet seat while being hunched over it while contents spilled out into the water below. The muscles in her stomach are tightening and she's getting a headache from throwing up so much. After she finished, she rested her head on her arm that was laid on top of the toilet. She's been sitting here for an hour because she's felt nauseous all morning and the excruciating  pain in her temples wasn't helping. The amount of pain killers she's took to get rid of the pain in her head wasn't helping and this was one of those moments where she wouldn't care if she dropped dead. She already felt like she was dying, which technically she was, but she literally felt like she was going to be dead in a matter of minutes.

Her throat felt like it was on fire, the flames starting at the bottom of her throat and reaching up to the back of her mouth. She's drank about 3 glasses of water, because she thought the cold liquid would possibly soothe the burning sensation in her throat but it failed to do. Even though she knew that, she continued to drink it and she didn't know why, it's not like it was doing anything for her. 

She should get up, force herself off of the cold tile floors because she's supposed to be going for coffee in an hour but she knew she'd feel like shit the entire day. The pain killers her doctor has prescribed her were sitting on the counter just above her and since they weren't doing absolutely anything for her, she was tempted to swallow every single tablet in the damn bottle. She wasn't sure if it would even kill her, but if it did, who cares? She's dying anyways. Demetria Devonne Lovato. Dr. Cook, Amanda. Morphine Sulphate. TAKE 1 TABLET 3 TIMES A DAY. Three tablets a day and it's supposed to work? Apparently not. It's considered one of the strongest pain relievers and it isn't doing shit for her.

With her now weak arms, she lifted herself off of the floor with the toilet bowl. Her and Wilmer were texting all night and he was so excited to go out for coffee, she didn't want to cancel. She was too nice of a person to do that. But, was she really that nice if she was letting him get to know her when she clearly isn't healthy? She was going to go anyways, she needs a day to just enjoy herself even though she knows she'll regret it later.

She definitely needed a shower, so that's what she did. She even did her hair, makeup and got herself dressed. That's such a normal thing for people to do, but for Demi that's a difficult task to complete, especially when her head is throbbing and she feels tired with every movement she makes. She was wearing black skinny jeans that were ripped down the legs, exposing small part of her skin. As well she had a plain white V-neck on, with a denim jacket with the sleeves only rolled up one quarter up her forearm. By rolling up the sleeves just a little bit, it exposed a couple of her tattoos that marked her body. There was also a few rips in the denim jacket, in the shoulder, on the sleeve and some areas around the jacket. 

Before, her jacket was grey. Now it isn't.

Her dyed black hair was just up to her shoulders, and she had noticed it had grew quite a bit. Her hair used to be thick, down to the middle of her back, but before starting radiation therapy her doctor had recommended to cut it off. So she did, and she cut it fairly short, but after four weeks it started to fall out on it's own. Ever since she's been off the radiation therapy, her hair has slowly started to grow back. 

When she saw her own reflection, she didn't like what she saw. She hated her reflection more when she didn't have layers and layers of makeup on, but Demi's self confidence has dropped ridiculously fast over the past two years. Shit, she was the most confident person and so many people admired that, but she doesn't understand how she used to be like that. She'd say she hates herself, but hate is a strong word.

Demi is beautiful. Absolutely breath-taking, makeup or not. You'd think she was some kind of movie star or model, but she isn't. She's stunning. And unfortunately, she no longer sees that. 

She was sure her heart was about her explode out of her chest. Her nerves were making her forget about the fact that someone was drilling a screw through both sides of her head. The last time she went out with anyone, or a date as Dallas would call it, she was nineteen years old. She wasn't sure how to do this. She was also confused because the world was so much brighter and it felt like that was only causing her head to hurt more.

Then he was walking into the small cafe, his eyes scanning around the room before they met hers and a small creeped onto his face. 

He looked beautiful. The colours, his smile, just everything about him continued to drive Demi to him. 

"Hermosa," he spoke, sitting down in the chair directly across from her. "First off, how are you?"

"I'm pretty good." She was mentally screaming at herself for lying, but it was so natural to her she didn't have a chance to even think about it first. "How are you?"

"I'm great! You want a coffee? Anything?" And she just nodded, which was his signal to get back up and wait in line to get them both drinks. 

Wilmer was rambling on about something Demi hadn't really paid attention to, she was just so intrigued by him. She didn't know what it was, she couldn't put her finger on it. But all she could think was wow. 

"You're how old? 24?" He guessed after he finished whatever story he was explaining to her.

"23." She corrected. 

"Ah, so you're much younger. I'm 36." She wasn't surprised. It's always the older men.

"Future plans? Have you gone to school?" 

She was going to say yes but that was because she forgot that she dropped it.

"I was going to take a one year break, I just haven't gone back yet. I'm still saving for school, you know. Student loans suck and I don't want to dig myself into a hole." She lied.

"Ah, where are you working?" He questioned, probably assuming she has a job since she's saving money.

"I'm a waitress." It was the first thing she spat out.

"Where?"

"A family restaurant, diner, whatever you want to call it." He probably wouldn't believe her.

But he apparently did because he was nodding. "Enough about me, tell me about you."

And she was thinking about saying that she was a 23 year old girl who was diagnosed with leukaemia cancer when she was 22 years old and that she only has 7-10 months to live so she probably won't be alive for her 24th birthday. 

But she didn't. Instead she told him the truth, just not the whole truth.

"I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Partially raised in Dallas, Texas, moved to Los Angeles when I was 12 years old. I want to travel the world, but I'm saving for college instead." She didn't know what to say, or how to talk about herself. 

"I self taught myself to play guitar and piano, music is a big part of my life." She was eventually just spitting out facts about herself. 

Wilmer was doing the same.

And she was in love with the colours that he was covered in. He was the brightest in the entire cafe. 

If this is what dying was like, then she doesn't mind continuing to fall in love.