Last night, I fell asleep at Jude’s house. We finally stopped hugging, and he told me that he’d sleep on the ground. He said that he was too much of a gentleman to let me sleep on the bed with or without me, and I told him that his words were crap. He laughed and hugged me again but then grabbed a pillow and fell asleep on the ground.
He woke me up five minutes ago by yanking the covers off my body and telling me that he needed to take me home.
Once we were in the car and on the way home, I decided it was time that was talked about what happened at the hospital, but when I brought it up, he told me to be quiet and not ruin things. This is basically what the conversation was like:
Me: “Jude, can we talk?”
Jude: “About what?”
Me: “What happened at the hospital?”
Jude: “I’m not talking about that.”
Me: “But—“
Jude: “I’m not talking about that.”
Me: “Jude—“
Jude: “I said I’m not talking about that. End of conversation.”
And that was that. Now the silence in this car is deafening and it’s worse than it has ever been before. I know that last night was our single moment and that there will never be another one like it, but it’s still nice to dream, right?
About five minutes into the car ride, I begin to feel light headed, but I don’t tell Jude that. He’ll either freak out or tell me to cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it. The feeling goes away for a few moments, but it quickly returns with a stronger vengeance than previously.
It’s only a few more minutes, I repeat in my head over and over again until I can focus on other things rather than the raging headache I’m having. Only a few more minutes. Then I’ll be home. Just a few more minutes.
The pain begins at my stomach and works its way up into my head, and I swear that I could stab myself in the eye right now and the pain of that would be less than the infuriating migraine that I’m getting.
So when we finally arrive at my house, I jump out of the car, not even bothering to tell Jude bye. I rush up to my room and fall on the bed, clenching my head between my hands. Maybe all I need is a nap. Then I’ll feel better. And so I go to sleep.
“Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t really care.”
“You’re her mother.”
“It’s your job to care, now. Not mine.”
“You never cared.”
“It was never my problem.”
“Just go call the freaking hospital while I deal with her.”
“Whatever.”
The voices pound against my head, and I just want them to shut up. I can figure out that it’s my mother and my dad, but I really don’t care who they are right now. The migraine that won’t go away is the only thing I’m worried about right now.
And slowly, I slip back into sleep.
“Guys, give her some space.”
When I wake up this time, I’m surrounded by just about everyone I can think of. Luke, Steven, my dad, Dr. Caldwell, and even Linda, whom I haven’t seen in the longest of time.
“She’s up!” Luke, of all people, exclaims.
The force of his voice reverberates against my skull, and I want to punch him for causing so much pain to my head.
“Inside voices, guys,” Dr. Caldwell says in his ‘inside voice’. I resist the urge to laugh at his choice of words.
Luke mumbles some incoherent words and then turns around to sit in one of the chairs near my hospital bed. I believe he said, “Only Paisley would give up on Christmas day.”
Everyone in the hospital room back off and give me breathing room, and it’s then that I feel the weight of the tubes in my nose that are feeding me oxygen like a baby. Slightly freaked out at first, I try to pull them out, but Dr. Caldwell rushes over and shushes me, telling me that things are going to be alright and that the tubes are necessary. He says that they won’t cause me any hurt, and I believe him.
Steven and Luke are seated in the chairs near the bed while my father and Linda are standing off to the side with worried expressions on their faces. Honestly, I never thought that I’d see Linda again, because I believed that we weren’t meant to be friends in the first place, but I guess she does care. She’s here, isn’t she?
“Is she going to be alright?” Dad asked Dr. Caldwell.
Dr. Caldwell nods his head. “Everything seems to be in check. If you guys would like to go home for Christmas, by all means, Paisley’s in good hands.”
Steven shakes his head, Luke is silent, and Dad politely says no and tells Dr. Caldwell that I’m his family and that he’s going to spend Christmas with his family.
“Well, isn’t that just sweet?” Dr. Caldwell comments with a smile on his face.
“I got nothing better to do,” Luke adds in.
“My mom’s already dead,” Steven says in a tight voice, “and Paisley’s my best friend.”
I suck in a breath at what Steven says, but I don’t say anything about it. Is that what he considers us? Best friends? After everything I’ve put him through and everything he’s put me through, we’re still best friends?
Dr. Caldwell nods his head again, tells his Merry Christmas, and then excuses himself, saying that he has other patients that he needs to attend to. Linda follows him out of the room.
It’s awkward at first, having everybody in my life recently surrounding me with concerned faces, probably worried that I’m going to pass out or die on them all of a sudden. Who knows? I just might.
“What are all of you doing here?” I croak out.
Luke rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot, Paisley.”
“Don’t have to be so blunt, do you?” Steven mutters.
“Shut up, you pansy.” Luke looks over at me. “Anyway, what I was saying before that dipshit interrupted me, we’re here for you obviously. When I heard from Jude that you passed out I—“
“Wait,” I cut off Luke. “Jude told you that I was in the hospital?” Then it hits me—hard—that Jude isn’t here. He’s the only person (other than Karla) that isn’t here for me. Jude. The one person that I actually would want to be here with me isn’t.
“Well, yeah…”
“Where is he then?”
“Um,” Luke says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t know? He just called me a few hours ago and told me that I needed to come down here because you were sick or something like that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And who told Jude that I was sick?”
He jabs his finger toward Steven, and Steven admits that it was him who told Jude. I thought that Jude would at least have the decency to visit me in the hospital when I’m dying. Even if he’s mad at me, he could at least show up and make sure that I’m okay and not dead yet. Then again, he doesn’t know that I have cancer, because I still haven’t told him. Damn me.
Not surprisingly, Dad is still standing in the corner of the hospital room, looking at me with those sad eyes that I wish I could gouge out of his eyes. By now, I’ve accepting that I’m going to die, and I just wish that he would too. I know he’s been trying ever since I was diagnosed with cancer to make things better between us, but I shut him out for one of those months, and I regret that.
But what I don’t regret is hanging out with Jude. Does he regret hanging out with me? Things between us just seemed to play out on their own, and they were the best three months of my life. Or at least what’s left of my life.
For a couple hours, I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep. At some point, I heard Luke and Steven say goodbye and tell me that they were going to go grab some lunch and come back later. That much I remember. But nothing else, really. I think my dad left the room to go have a conversation with Dr. Caldwell, most likely about my chances of survival.
“Paisley,” Dr. Caldwell says, waking me up completely from my sleep.
When I’m fully awake and situated up against the hospital pillow, I notice that my dad and Dr. Caldwell are both standing at the side of my bed with solemn faces. What the heck? “Yeah…?”
“We need to ask for your opinion on something,” Dad says seriously. “Promise to not get angry with us. Remember that we just want what’s best for you and your health.”
I don’t understand. “Okay.”
Dr. Caldwell sighs dramatically. “Well, we were thinking about this treatment—“
“No.”
“Please hear us out, Pais,” Dad says gently. “It’s not a bad treatment. We just want to make sure that you have the highest chance of survival.”
“No,” I say, not wanting to give in. “I don’t want to prolong my life if I’m supposed to die. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Treatment will only make my life longer when I should be dead.”
“That’s not true,” Dad says, probably growing frustrated with my persistence. “You deserve to live longer, and that’s all that Dr. Caldwell and myself want for you. Don’t you see that you’re loved?”
I groan. Feeling unloved isn’t the issue here.
And here comes Dr. Caldwell with his doctor-y talk that will most likely convince me to go along with whatever they’re planning. “It’s a bone marrow transplant, Paisley. That’s all.”
“It still makes me live longer.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “but it’s going to make you healthier. You don’t have to die in a few days. That’s not necessary. You can live longer. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to live longer?”
I sigh. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Your friend Jude,” Dad says. “Don’t you want to live and hang out with him more?”
“Yes—but—I mean—what?—that’s not natural!” I splutter, unable to find the right words to describe my true feelings with the duo. “It’s not—I mean—living longer isn’t how it was done before! People died! Shouldn’t I die too?!”
“I don’t want you to die though,” Dad counters. “I want you to live as long as you can. I don’t see why you don’t want that either.”
I’m at loss for words.
Dr. Caldwell cuts in, making things seem simpler even though it’s not. “It’s a transplant Paisley; it won’t be easy. But it’s well worth it.”
“Whose?” I ask.
He smiles at me kindly. “Your father.”
I nod, understanding. “Alright.”
“You’ll do it?” Dad asks hopefully. A certain light enters his eyes—hope, I believe it’s called. Everybody wants hope, right?
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll do the treatment. But this is it. If my body rejects the bone marrow, I’m not having any more treatments. It’s over. I’ll die before you do anything else to my body.”
After Dr. Caldwell and Dad shared a smile and left the room, I was left to my thoughts. That is until Luke walked into the room with a McDonald’s bag in hand.
“I come bearing gifts!” he exclaims, lifting the bag and a drink in the air.
“You brought me a cheeseburger?” I ask excitedly.
He grins at me. “I sure did, Paisley baby.”
“You’re the best,” I say to Luke as he tosses the bag into my lap. As soon as I catch it, I open it up and let the aroma of fresh McDonald’s fill the room and make my sense go wild. I really do love McDonald’s. “Hospital food is gross.”
Chuckling, Luke says, “I can imagine.”
“Oh hush,” I say, “and let me eat all this food you bought me.” It turns out that Luke bought me a double cheeseburger, a large fry, and two apple packages. It shocks me that Luke knows what I usually get. So I ask him.
Luke shrugs. “I texted Jude.”
I silently chew on my cheeseburger, then, “Did he say if he was coming to see me or not?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Sorry.”
I shrug, pretending not to care, when in reality, I care a whole lot. Jude knows that I’m in the hospital—possibly dying—and he doesn’t come to see if I’m okay or not. Yeah, that one hurts right in the chest. Or the heart. Same difference.
“Hey, look, he’ll stop by when he’s got time, okay?” Luke tries to reassure me.
I don’t say anything and keep on eating my delicious food. Luke is patiently watching and waiting for me to be finished, and he’s impatient to say the least.
“Are you almost done? I want to talk to you.”
The way he says “I want to talk to you” doesn’t sound threatening or scary in the least. Most people would begin to get scared when one said “I want—or need—to talk to you”, but the way Luke says it just makes it seem like a harmless conversation even if it’s anything but.
Finally, I polish off the last of the fries, and Luke offers me a drink of his soda. I slurp down the rest of the drink, grinning sheepishly when I hand the cup back to him. I didn’t mean to drink all of it.
Luke looks down at the cup and shakes it slightly. “I s’pose you were hungry, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fine. I wasn’t planning on drinking it anyway,” he says. He takes my bag and puts both the cup and the bag in the trash can next to the chairs.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“No biggie. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Jude.”
Jude. Jude. Jude. Jude. Everybody wants to talk about Jude. I want to think about Jude and talk about him; Luke wants to talk about my; my dad wants to talk about him; heck, I’m pretty sure Steven even wants to talk about him.
“Go on,” I say.
Luke appears to be uncomfortable, but if he is, he doesn’t say anything. “I don’t mean to be blunt,” he starts to say, “but it seems like you’ve grown a stronger attachment to Jude than you had the last time I talked with you.”
Cue the blush. “I suppose so.”
“You suppose so?” He raises his eyebrows incredulously.
“Yeah. I mean, I like him. A lot. But… I mean…” I fumble for the right words to say. I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing to Luke and then have Luke go and spill the beans to Jude that I have a crush on him. “He’s nice…”
Luke scoffs unattractively. “Jude? Nice? And what planet, my dear, do you live on?”
“Earth,” I say indignantly. “It just so happens that I do think that Jude is a nice person. When he wants to be. I mean, he’s still a jerk and all—“
“That’s more like it,” Luke says. “Jude is an asshole. End of story.”
I sigh. “You’ve got a point.”
“I always have a point, you know.”
The steady beeping of the oxygen machine hooked up to my nose is the only sound in the room, not including our methodic breathing. I realize that I’m living the last few moments of my life in melancholy. Isn’t that primarily the exact thing that I wanted to avoid? At least I’m not dying alone.
“It’s Christmas, you know,” I say all of a sudden.
Luke looks at me with a confused expression on his face. “Yeah, so what?”
I shrug. “Don’t you have family? Shouldn’t you be spending Christmas with your family instead of a dying girl?”
“But a dying girl is so much more entertaining that an alive family!” Luke exclaims.
I roll my eyes. “But seriously. I’m dying, and you barely know me. Why would you want to spend your Christmas say with me?”
And maybe this is why Jude isn’t here today. Because it’s Christmas, and he’d rather spend it with his mom. I keep telling myself that this is the reason behind his absence, but deep inside I know that I’m merely lying to spare my feelings. If Jude really wanted to visit me and make sure I was okay, he would do it. Even if it was Christmas morning, which it is. Long story short: Jude isn’t coming.
“Oh Paisley,” Luke says, heaving a long sigh, “I know more about you than you can even imagine.”
Shortly after our conversation, Luke left the room, telling me that maybe he should after all stop by his mother’s house and tell her Merry Christmas and all that good stuff. He must really love his mother. Now Steven’s paying his visits to me before the bone marrow transplant, and I swear it feels like everybody’s spending as much time with me as possible just because of the small chance that I may die during the transplant.
“Paisley,” he says as he enters the room, “how are you doing?” He takes a seat in one of the chairs.
“I’m good,” I tell him truthfully. “I mean, I can’t believe that I’m actually going through with this treatment shiz, but other than that, things are pretty good.”
Steven sighs. “Can we do something serious here for a minute? I just want to give you what I think you deserve.”
“Uh,” I say, not knowing what’s coming next, “okay?”
“Thanks. I just want to have a mini funeral for my mom.”
This takes me my surprise, and I’m sure my shock is evident if my facial expressions are any indicators in my emotions. Steven wants us to have a mini funeral for his mom? Why? Because I might not make it through this treatment or even this cancer? If that happens, will I miss the actual funeral?
“It’s just…you know…I don’t really trust any other clowns to share this moment with me.”
I laugh sympathetically, if that’s even possible. “I understand what you mean, but a mini funeral? What would this mini funeral even be like?”
Steven shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d say a few words, then you’d say a few words, and then we’ll…pray?”
“Hmm,” I say, pondering over the fact if this will be beneficial or not. Then I think, eh why not, and say, “It sounds wonderful, Steven. I’m sure Karla would love this.”
Steven smiles, bows his head, and begins by saying, “Mom, if you’re listening to this, I want to thank you. I want to thank you for everything you did to influence my life, and for everything that you did to help Paisley through his difficult times. You were such a role model to me—and Paisley too—and I thought that this mini funeral would suit your fancy.
“I just really miss you, and things aren’t really the same around the house without you. I mean, sure you weren’t there while you were in the hospital, but at least then I thought that you were coming home. But now you’re never gonna come home and…and…and…”
Steven sort of chokes up and can’t say anymore, but we both know that it was a pretty darn good speech. My turn. “Mrs. Marshall—or Karla, as you liked me to call you—I just want you to know that everything Steven said was true. You were such a role model to us—and you still are—and we just want to thank you for that. My life was so much brighter once I got to talk to you more often, and I just really miss you.
“You were like a mother to me, and I don’t think I can fully begin to comprehend the term of ‘gone’. Are you really gone or are you just in a better place? I feel like you’re in a better place, and that’s all I need to have a little peace. But still. Steven and I both miss you so terribly much, and we wish that you didn’t have to go like that.”
Somehow, Steven knows that I’m done. By the looks of it, he’s calmed down, and he’s able to finish off Karla’s mini funeral with a prayer. “Dear God, my mom was a firm believer in heaven and hell, and I’m glad for that. I believe, because of my mom, that she’s in heaven right now. She was a good person, and good people go to heaven. I want you to watch over her and make sure that she’s safe, because I love her, and if anything were to happen to her again, I would die.”
And at the same time, we both say, “Amen.”
When Steven looks back up at me with a ghost of a smile on his face, I know that things are starting to feel right with him again. “Thank you,” he tells me. “So much. I’m serious. I couldn’t have done that without you. I know it’s not like attending the real funeral, but…”
I laugh. “I know, Steven. I know why you wanted to do this, and it’s alright. I liked it.”
“Okay,” he says softly. “Hey, I just want you to know that I’ll be here for you.”
“Okay.”
“Just like… If the transplant is a success—no, when the transplant is a success—I’ll be there for you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good luck, Paisley,” Steven says, standing up. He’s already halfway to the door when he looks back behind him and tells me, “Don’t give up just yet, okay? Keep fighting. Promise me that, okay? Promise me.”
I say a small ‘I promise’ but he’s already too far out of the room to hear me. That’s okay though. I heard me promise, and that’s all that really counts.
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Hey, guys! I just thought that I'd cut in and say THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS STORY. I never thought that it'd get this popular (and it actually isn't even that popular...), and I can only hope that you guys will stick around to read my other stories too (:
Chapter 24 is actually going to be the last chapter. That's the next chapter, by the way. Then the epilogue. Therefore, I'll upload the last chapter and the epilogue this week.
I'll be uploading my NaNo story tomorrow, because Lindsay begged me to.
It's zombies, by the way.