❦ 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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RESTING my face on a closed fist, I flip through the political science textbook a friend of mine was nice enough to lend me. If Dad's going to pull out all the stops to make me follow him in his expensive kangaroo leather footsteps, I might as well find out what I'm getting shoved into.
I eye the travel pamphlet of Europe I've been reading every night peeking out from under the stack of books on the side of my desk.
I purse my lips.
I've read it so many times that it's seared into my brain. I've memorized the photos of Florence, Venice, Forli and the beautiful Tuscan countryside.
The ache for adventure has been gaining intensity for a while now. The need to get away is even stronger. Living under this very roof is suffocating, like the house itself is sitting on my chest.
The weight of lying to my parents is worse than all of that combined.
I want to tell them, I really do. I want to feel the relief Ollie had talked about. I want to do it for him. I'd like to do it for me too.
But that comes with a price. It comes with consequences and repercussions, especially from my father. I've seen him angry more than once. I've experienced his rage first hand.
But I've only ever seen his true fury once.
With Matt.
The gentle click of my bedroom door shatters my thoughts, and I turn to my mother entering and closing the door behind her. My gaze follows her as she moves to the bed and sits on the edge, her feet hardly making a sound.
"Nick," she begins.
"I was out," I mutter, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. "I'm eighteen. I'm practically an adult. I don't need you to baby me anymore."
"Honey, your nights out are becoming too frequent. Your father has noticed."
Dread settles in my chest.
In the beginning, I was always wary about going to St. Andrews without my parents knowing. But the more I go there—the more I crave to see Ollie—the more careless I become and the less I care about my father's bigoted opinions.
I'd already given up my happiness once. I can't do it again.
I won't do it again.
"Mom."
I swivel my chair around to face her. She looks worried, wrapping her hands over each other again until I take them in mine.
"You've got nothing to worry about." I massage her hands with my thumbs and offer a gentle smile. "I'm actually happy. I've...I've found someone."
She tips her head, creases her brow and folds her lips in the way she always does when she's going to gently stomp on my hopes and dreams.
I sit on my bed next to her. "Mom, you remember Hunter, right?"
