64: Hoping

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She yanks the door open and rips the list from her wall. She takes the marker and slashes off number 12. 

She flops onto her bed, trying to clear her head but with no luck.

Adrian. 

Adrian. 

ADRIAN. 

Her mind screams. 

She squeezes her eyes shut and rolls her face into her pillow. She grunts in frustration into it. The grunt turns to a cough. 

She knows she should just drop it, that she's overreacting, but she, for whatever reason, can't push the memory from her mind. 

His face is imprinted on the back of her eyelids. No matter how hard she tries to stop it, the memory of her finger touching his lips as he leans in replays over and over and over in her mind. She doesn't know what to do. 

She tries to distract herself with the remainder of her bucket list. 

Take one picture a day for a year. 

Help someone else achieve a bucket list goal. 

Beat cancer. 

She looks at her camera, which sits on her dresser, and picks it up. She scrolls to the first picture and sees the date of it, watermarked in the corner. It says April 18, which is exactly four days from today. 

Almost done with thirteen of fifteen. 

Number fourteen, helping someone else, could be easy or hard. It just depends who she helps and what it is. 

Number fifteen... she can just hope, she thinks as she hacks a few times, feeling her chest tighten immensely with every inhale. 

She loathes just hoping. 

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