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As she stared befuddled at the white wall in front of her and tried to review her hasty decisions from the morning, she begun to feel the tension and anxiety build up. Before the panic could eat her alive, she managed to catch up on subtle breathing exercises to help her relax. And Just as she'd regained her steady heart beat by breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, she could hear the familiar continual tap of a heel against the floor and her pulse rate shot up once again, upon realizing what was nearing. They'd gone round the small semi-circle. She would have to give an account of her experience living with her new condition.
She would be lying if she claimed to understand her presence at the meeting. She hadn't been forced, or coerced in any way, but she'd come never the less. She'd driven the distance in her matte black BMW M3. She'd chosen a seat at the very back corner and hidden her glum features behind her phone screen.
"I see we have a new face among us, can you please tell us your name and a little bit about your struggle?" Rachel Kingsley asked, her voice as soothing as trickles of water against hard dry rocks. Christina shook her head, knowing well enough she was doing nothing more than buying time. "We promise this is a safe environment, we understand you." There were eyes beckoning her to rise to her Giuseppe Zanotti heel clad feet. Perhaps she'd hoped that considering her discomfort and unfamiliarity with the system, they would overlook her presence. Kind of hard to do since her head alone glimmered underneath the lighting of the room. She'd tried not to notice the fact that she was the only one who'd gone the extra-mile of shaving her head. But she'd had her reasons, all of which had become blurred.
With limbs as heavy as concrete, and lips twice in weight, Christina compelled herself and let the words pour from her MAC Walk of Shame red lips. "I'm Christina Gresham..." A slow chill rode her spine. There were mumbles, welcoming mutters from those around her, the groan of zombies forced to adapt. "And I just found out I have leukemia." The mutters erupted again, a mantra of rehearsed welcomes.
She'd caught a few stutters, many from the voices that still lingered in the meeting room, and many who'd used her name. Her unease had setup camp, it didn't seem like it was going anywhere anytime soon, much like her situation, it was there to stay.
"Bold choice with the hair." The lady by her side complemented the moment Christina Gresham had returned to her seat. She seemed in her late forties, plump to say the least with skin as pale as milk. "Tried it once, my husband loved it, only lasted a while though, never thought it'll grow back with the chemo drugs, but it's been years and I can't even remember what it's been like to loose my hair."
"You have leukemia too?" Christina found herself asking, sincerely pleased to hear the perspective of someone who'd made her decision, someone who'd gone through what she was wrangling with. The woman shook her head.
"Breast cancer." Her lips broadened in an easy smile. "Already had a double Mastectomy, didn't help at all against these stubborn cells, but we're in this battle till the end, aren't we?" Christina was silent for the longest time, dazed, lost.
Michel had missed out on the chance to live with his disease.
There were opportunities, many of which he could have easily adapted to. Many of which Christina Gresham was hopeful that she would adapt to.
"Yeah, I guess we are."
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To New York's Attorney | Completed
Mystery / Thriller"Was his DNA on the weapon?" Silence. "It's his gun right? He'd pulled the trigger right? Was Terrence Gresham's DNA on the weapon?" He ran a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you're right, maybe we shouldn't think about Monday, but remember o...
