Expiration date (Editing...Again!!)

Chapter sixteen

Jet dropped his bag on the concrete against the brick wall and faced the punching bag. He let out a deep breathe before hitting the bag over and over until his knuckles were red and raw.

Jet held up his hands in front of him and winced; his knuckles would scab. He then moved his attention to the weights. Jet was partly keeping track of the time because he wanted to spend as much time with Rose as possible. He had missed her that day and couldn’t wait to see her.

After spending some time on the weights Jet felt calm enough to see Rose without worrying her. Rose would be able to tell if he was mad and that was something that she didn’t need to be thinking about, Jet wanted her to be carefree. Well, as carefree as a dying cancer patient could be.

In the bathroom Jet discarded his sweaty gym clothes and got into the shower. The hot water washed away the dirt, sweat and the rest of his anger. He let his anger go as he thought about Rose. Her smile, her laugh even the small, stand alone, freckle on her flat belly.

Jet blew out a breath and ran his hands blindly threw his hair.

What has this amazing girl done to me? Jet asked himself. Jet dropped his head and opened his eyes. He watched the water disappear into the drain.

Black hair dangled around Jet’s chiselled face. It wasn’t a far stretch to say Jet, in away, looked older than seventeen. He had hit puberty early and developed manly features before most guys his age. the things he had seen and been through had left him with scared eyes and tough skin.

Water droplets fell from Jet’s long eyelashes and joined the other droplets only to hit the tiles and get sucked down the drain.

Jet scrubbed himself clean and got out.

After a quick text to him mum saying he’d be at the hospital until late he got dressed into his usual dark jeans, grey shirt and black soft-leather jacket. Jet got in his car after slipping into a pair of his black and white converse sneakers that were by the front door. A Rolling Stones song played through the speakers as his car roared to life.

‘I see a red door and I want to paint it black.’ Jet pulls out of the driveway. ‘No colours anymore, I want them to turn black...’

Dear diary,

I miss my old body. I miss my tanned skin. I miss my curvy hips.

I hate what I see in the mirror. I have asked the nurse to cover the mirror in the bathroom that joins on from my room. I don’t want to look at my face. My plump and healthy cheeks are nowhere in sight, my once bright eyes are dull and tired looking.

I look like what I imagine someone with no soul to look like, just an empty body, going through the motions and waiting to be put to rest.

Speaking of rest I have been spending most of my time sleeping. I am so tired and worn out. It’s worse than going through chemotherapy.

...I have a regret.

I haven’t told anyone about it because I’m afraid of what they might say. My biggest regret right now is not going through Chemo.

There! I said it. I regret turning it down. I regret not loosing my hair and throwing up and having to be overly careful of germs and colds.

I don’t want this anymore. I never did, but now I really don’t want cancer. I just want to live a normal life with my friends and be able to kiss and make love to Jet all the time. I want to be able to run up The Hill with Jet and laugh while doing it.