Part 1/4
...
Requested by:
@kuramaslover123
*TW*
• Cancer
• Giving up on life
...
Alrighty guys, we're in for a whirlwind few days here because the specific request was that you basically go from wanting to die to getting better with the boys help. So happy endings all around, I can't pull a John Green 😂
(or can I? *wiggles eyebrows*)
Calum:
White building, white halls, white rooms, white paper gowns. The blinding sterilized environment of the hospital seemed like your new world, and your little white room was your home.
Life in the pediatric cancer ward was rarely one of joy, and usually one of loss. The ward constantly saw new children coming in, and the older ones leaving, but it was just as likely for someone to leave in a box than it was any other way. Your old roommate and best friend, Frankie, had only died a week or so ago, so you hadn't yet gotten a new roommate. The only thing worse than dying was dying alone, and that's what you were doing now that you lived alone. You knew subconsciously that the grief caused by death of one of the only people who truly understood you was partially the reason as to why you were feeling so hopeless. But you also knew that life felt less like you were living it, and a whole lot more like you were barely surviving.
The dirty word that people didn't like to utter around you was, "leukemia." No, they said that you were a, "fighter," that you were, "tough," and, "brave."
Really all you felt was tired. You were tired of being poked and prodded, radiated until your hair fell out, and tired of your miserable existence.
You hadn't told anyone of your inner hopelessness because then you'd be sent to the psyche ward, or more accurately, the psyche ward would be sent to you. You didn't want a therapist, you wanted to see Frankie again, wherever she was.
You knew that ultimately, living or dying from your disease was your choice, once you give up on yourself is when things all go downhill. If you can go against your natural need to survive, and truly want to die, it'll happen. Cancer always picks off the weakest first, whether physically or mentally. It was such a vicious cycle because it's the cancer treatments make you physically weakened and the mental wear and tear that goes along with dying that makes you weak. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.
You had been sticking around because the moral boost from your family and friends had kept you going. But Frankie had been your best, and only, friend for so long because you never left your little white room. The two of you would sit and just talk. She had lung cancer and you had leukemia, both being sick meant that you could look past the others deteriorated state, see who the other was. Frankie was a hopeless romantic who loved Liam Hemsworth and wanted to be an oncologist when she grew up. You really thought that she of all people would make it. She had a fiery spirit and she never let go of her will to live, she wanted it so bad. You could see it in her eyes even when she couldn't breathe on her own, she was determined to beat it. But she didn't.
You remembered when her battle came to an end.
...
You watched as your best friend wheezed on the other side of the room. It wouldn't be long now.
A group of people stood around her, holding her hand as she gasped and wheezed. Her doctor, Dr. Grimm, was hovering around in the background. You watched as her mother smoothed back her daughters hair, for possibly the last time, as she smiled down at her baby.
"It's okay Francesca," she held back her own tears, everything about cancer was about being strong. Up until now it was Frankie who had to hold it all together for her families sake, and now they had to return the favor.
Frankie turned her head, a gesture that you knew would've required great effort for her, so that she could look at you.
Suddenly eight sets of eyes were all on you. Frankie, her parents, her grandmother, her three sisters, and the doctor.
You knew what she wanted, and you had to blink back your own tears as you addressed her mother.
"Francesca wants me to tell you that she prefers Frankie," you informed her mother. Satisfied, Frankie mustered up her strength and turned her head back around.
"I'm sorry baby," her Mum leaned forward to kiss the top of her head.
You watched your friends vital signs with a feeling of complete dread. They were dropping steadily, she had only a few more minutes.
She couldn't talk, so she had to speak with her emotions. You saw the tears pricking up in the corners of her own eyes as she took in the little crowd of people waiting with her. They were the last faces that she'd ever see. Soon Francesca Muller would be no more.
"No, sweet pea don't cry," her father spoke soothingly. He was prepared, they all were, far more prepared than you. You didn't know how a person was ready to watch their child die, well at least not then. "Soon you'll be free, you won't hurt anymore," he comforted her.
You knew that everyone hurt when they watched Frankie's slow deterioration. She'd been in the hospital longer than you, but you'd seen her beforehand. She used to pole vault, she had a muscular frame and thick healthy hair. Those pictures were long gone. Now she couldn't breathe, her hair was gone, and her body had been reduced to near skin and bones. You knew that she had been through a long and hard-fought battle. She was now a part of the statistic of those who lost.
Frankie stopped crying. You knew that that was the real sign that she was done. Once she stopped crying, you knew that she was no longer afraid to die. As her eyes dried up, her lungs finally gave away, she passed out, and was quickly gone. Just like that, you were back to being alone.
...
Now you knew how people prepared for another's death. They simply have to watch them live miserably. You saw it with Frankie, when she couldn't breathe on her own anymore and she was constantly coughing and wheezing. She wasn't happy, her treatments gave her more time, but they cost her everything else. Ultimately, it was seeing someone suffer, and then allowing yourself to suffer along with them that made you willing to let them go.
You were dangerously close to that point. Problem was, nobody seemed ready to help let you go. Especially now that Frankie was gone, your family took it upon themselves to be with you as often as possible.
Their hopeful faces were a blessing and a curse. You weren't dying alone anymore, but you were still dying. They wanted you to live, to get better. Mali would bring you gossip magazines and crossword puzzles, she'd read to you while you were nearly delirious from the drug cocktail you were on. Your parents would often spend the night, holding your hand, perched at your bedside, keeping watch all night. They tried valiantly to make you live, to love you into remission, but it couldn't happen.
But it was Calum and the boys that truly took it upon themselves to make you better. They did so in the most effective way they possibly could, giving you things to live for. They worked to try and fill in the gaping hole left by Frankie. But that wound was still very raw, and it felt like they were trying to replace her which only cut deeper.
"Hey Y/N!" Calum smiled, filing in with the boys. They all sat down on various seats around the room like they owned the place.
"Hi guys," you said with as much enthusiasm as you could muster, it wasn't much. You were just too sad, too far gone.
"We brought movies!" Luke squealed, he held up various plastic DVD cases in his hands. "Let's see, we've got The Bee Movie, Airplanes, The Force Awakens, and Goosebumps," he held them up one at a time to show you before setting them back down on his lap.
Everyone looked over at you expectantly, clearly wanting you to choose a movie for bonding time.
"...goosebumps," you said finally, readjusting a pillow so that you could sit a little more comfortably.
"Okay," Luke sighed at your lack of enthusiasm and tossed the case to Ashton.
The drummer sent you a look of sympathy as he opened the case to remove the disk.
"Wait," Calum said, Ashton, along with everyone else, froze to see what Calum wanted. "Go close the door Michael," he motioned for his friend closest to the door to pull it shut. He then looked over to you, "Y/N, talk to me."
You were taken aback by the desperation on his face. He looked distressed at how done you seemed.
"Talk about what?" You asked, looking around the room.
"I'm not going to ask you if you're okay, because I know that you watched your best friend die, but I want to make sure that you aren't thinking about doing the same thing," your brother moved up so that he was sitting near your waist. Close enough to you to grab your hand for comfort.
"I'm always thinking about dying, it's an inevitable part of living," you squeezed his hand, "especially living in a cancer ward."
"Yeah but, you haven't given up hope yet right?" Ashton asked, putting the DVD case down on the top of the DVD player.
You didn't answer, instead you clenched your jaw and stared at your blanket covered feet. You weren't sure if you were being realistic when you anticipated your own death or morbid, but your hope was running low.
"Y/N, look at me," Calum said softly.
You looked up to see tough brown eyes, he wasn't looking at you nicely, or sympathetically, he was all business.
"You aren't allowed to die from this, do you hear me?" He demanded.
You furrowed your eyebrows, who did he think he was? Ordering you around like he knew what you were going through.
"You can beat this and I'm not letting you give up," he finished.
"None of us are," Michael nodded.
...
The amount of visits that your brother and friends racked up had to be a new record. They must have spent more time with you than anyone else.
Their mission was to give you a future worth living for. Each had their own way of forcing you to look forward.
Ashton would sit and talk with you about what you wanted to do, to be, and where you wanted to go. He was a planner, and his questions required you to look far into the future and what you saw yourself as doing if you made it that far. Long-term hope.
Luke would bring you surprises each week, little gifts that you could look forward to. A stuffed koala that had his voice recorded singing Y/F/5SOS/Song, balloons, a visit from Lenny. Short term week to week hope.
Michael would bring his PS4, hook it up to your rooms TV, and then play games with you. The two of you would travel through distant worlds or parallel Earths, fighting aliens, zombies, and each other. The adrenaline rush and concentration made you remember what it felt like to be normal. He made you live in the moment.
Calum was the ultimate reminder of everything you had ever been and could hope to be. Calum who protected you before and after you were diagnosed. The two of you would sit and recount stories of your childhood, occasionally watching a movie or showing each other your favorite parts of the internet. He was a constant through your entire life. He reminded you of what it was like before you had leukemia, what your life had been and could be. He gave you the hope of a new beginning.
...
Somehow, those four dorks found a way to make you pull yourself together. With a newfound hope, a will to continue, your treatments worked better than previously imagined.
You achieved the unachievable, remission. You were cancer free, at least for the moment, but it was all you needed for now, you had hope for your future.
Your family and friends came to your room like Frankie's had so many months ago, this time it wasn't to help you let go, it was to welcome you home. For the first time in a long time, your white life burst into color.
Thanks for reading, commenting, and voting!
So it turns out that a normal YA novel has like 90,000 words. I bet I've written at least 90,000 words on here, which means you guys are reading a novels worth of fanfiction 😂