❦ WINNER OF THE RIVETING WRITING CONTEST ❦
OLIVER IS DYING
With only months left to live at just seventeen, Oliver spends his remaining days of endless tests and debilitating drugs in the St. Andrews paediatrics ward planning his impending funeral...
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Morning light pours through the window. It's blinding as the rays shine over the bed and onto me.
Ollie's fast asleep next to me, nestled close to me. I brush strands of his hair from his face. He looks so peaceful, like sleep is the only time he has away from his suffering.
My lips lift up to one side in a small side when his forehead crinkles and his brow knits together every now and then in little twitches.
His dimples seem more prominent when he's asleep; I love them when he smiles, but I love them more when he's more at peace like now.
I don't want the morning to end. I don't want to take Ollie back to St. Andrews. I don't want to clean up the house like nothing happened. I just want to stay like this forever with him in my arms.
I glance at Ollie as he begins to wake up. His eyes open, fluttering when the sun hits them, and those sea green irises are breathtaking in the morning light.
"Hi," he croaks.
"Morning." I massage his cheek with a light thumb. "So, was last night...okay?"
"Okay?" Ollie inches closer to me and rests the side of his head on my abdomen, watching me with a lazy smile. "Last night was the best night of my life."
I cover my relief with the biting of my lower lip.
I'll admit, I was terrified of last night. When I lost my virginity to Hunter, it was nerve-wracking and scary and wonderful all at once. Not just for me, but for him too. Despite his unbelievable amount of confidence, the night everything changed, Hunter had told me how daunting it had been for him. He'd been just as worried about ruining the experience for me as I was with Ollie.
But it's different for Ollie. For me, I've got decades to have more of these experiences. Ollie doesn't have that luxury. From what he's told me, he'd be lucky to get to twenty, which must be the most awful thing to wake up thinking about. It makes me wonder—is that what he wakes up thinking about every day? Does he wake up wondering if he's going to wake up tomorrow?
"Can I ask you something?" he says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I face him. "Only if I can ask you something, too."
