A World No Longer Heliocentric

12: Bella

Looking into the mirror one last time, I apply a little more mascara and highlights on my cheekbones. My face looks more alive with makeup, having color in my cheeks and not red circles under my eyes. Willow stands behind me, her hands on my shoulders dramatically. Her eyes draw down my dress through the mirror, beaming.

"Now look at you," she says like an emotional mom. "My best friend. You look hot. Hotter than usual, I mean." I roll my eyes but smile. My dress is strapless and stays to my skin but is not too tight that I can't move around. I'm wearing a jean jacket with fur on the inside and ankle boots. My skin feels like it's on fire, the adrenaline fading and my nerves on overdrive. Shaking out my arms, I take my jacket off, needing room to breathe.

"I need to go outside," I tell Willow, feeling flames touch my skin. "I need air." She springs into action, taking my hand and bringing me outside on the front porch. He'd be here in "fifteen minutes or less" (his exact words from the text a few minutes ago). Despite getting my treatment yesterday, I feel energetic, like I just drank coffee. My hands shake as I bring them to run through my hair. Someone electrocuted me and even my fingers and toes are constantly moving.

"Breathe," Willow says, rubbing her hand on my back. "This is not cancer, Bells. It's just you. Breathe." I relax with each exhale, releasing a fraction of the anxiety but a fraction of relief beats all of the anxiety. Somehow, it would be more comforting if this was my disease.

"No," I corrected her. "It's worse than that."

"What could possibly be worse than cancer?" she asks, laughing. She was allowed to laugh. Usually, people aren't in these situations, but she was the expectation, the only exception.

"Dating," I chuckled. "Dating's worse." she watches my face, probably trying to see if I'm joking at all. When she realizes that I'm dead serious, she laughs. Just then, the sound of a car's engine makes me jump as we get blinded by the headlights of Liam's jeep.

"Hey," he says. "You look great." He looks like he needs to talk, something occupying his mind. But I couldn't concentrate until we got out of the driveway.

"Thanks," I say, waving goodbye to Willow who's giggling and heading back into my house. "How was your visit with your mom?"

"Horrible," he says, and just like that, the knot of tension on him unravels. "I gave her an ultimatum, take her meds or I would leave." This reminded me of my dad, trying to make a decision for me. But I refrain from saying anything. "Anyways, are you feeling okay after the cold therapy yesterday?"

"I slept for twelve hours because I was so tired," I reply. "So yeah, I'm feeling okay." We're going to a restaurant downtown, the kind where even the appetizers are 30 bucks each. I tried to tell him that we didn't have to go there, but he insisted. I knew he was too proud to admit that he couldn't afford this place and I also knew that it wasn't my place to say it for him. So I let him pull into the parking lot, where an older guy takes Liam's keys and parks the car for him. I'm wearing a short dress so I don't need to worry about tripping on it.

Leading me into the restaurant by my back, Liam leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant where he holds out my chair for me. My heart hammers in my chest as I sit down, feeling giddy. Is this happening to me right now? It doesn't feel real.

Liam orders the ribs and I get salmon, with a side of homemade chips for the table. I refused to get an appetizer even though Liam tries to get one for me. Both of us finish our food quickly, me because I haven't had the appetite to eat all day. He probably hasn't had the time to eat.

We talked for another two hours after that. When everyone started leaving, a waiter came over to inform us that we, unfortunately, had to leave too. They were closing. I check my phone, for any messages and see one from my father telling me to get home right away.

"We need to leave," I say quickly. "I'm sorry, it's just my dad texted me to get home and he wouldn't if something wasn't really wrong." Springing into action, he grabs his jacket, following me out of the restaurant. Once we're outside, he slips his jacket on my shoulders even though he's shivering. What could he possibly be texting me about? The car is toasty and warm as we drive home, the heater on the highest level. Liam tries to talk to me to occupy my mind.

It's been two months since he asked me out, so we grew comfortable with each other. I relied on him all the time now, texting him during class, meeting him for lunch every day, him driving me home and lingering at my house for an hour or two until my dad gets home from work. We were together all the time, and because of him, people knew me by something other than the sick girl. I found myself happier with him, feeling confident and complete.

For the first time in a long time, I haven't had breakdowns. I haven't curled in a ball since he slept over two months ago. Willow noticed my new attitude too. A few weeks ago, she pulled me into the bathroom before class.

"What have you done with my best friend?" she grinned. "I just heard that you entered the essay contest. Is that true?"

"Yeah," I smiled back. "No more stories in my head. I started writing them down last week." She shook her head in disbelief. She was right to because I never wrote a single story before. But I finished the one I started in therapy about the girl swimming to the island.

Dragging herself across the sand, she looks up at the sky, the sun baking the saltwater on her skin. Closing her eyes, she prayed that she landed on the right island. A shadow forms over her head and opening her eyes, she looks at the woman standing over her. Suddenly, all her memories come racing back to her, holding onto the wheels of her dad's speedboat as she sits in his lap, a whooping scream destroying her throat but she didn't care. Her mom's voice in the kitchen as she slides a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries and cinnamon. Her twin sister Kelly's handshake.

"Lily," her mom says, smiling. Lily. Her name was Lily.

"Isabella," Mom says, standing on the porch, a foreign smile on her face. My name is Isabella. That's my name.