The previous chapter was the prologue. I accidentally missed writing it.
This story isn't edited so I apologise in advance for any mistakes.
______________________________________
"Alyson, remember to go and see the nurse. She has your oxygen-"
I cut my mum off before she can finish the sentence. Everyday it's the same thing: remember to see the nurse. It infuriates me, having heard the same exact words every time I'd been dropped off to school. Sure, it was pure fact that I needed the machine to breathe but I didn't like being reminded that I had cancer. Cancer meant you were dying, and I didn't want to be dying.
Mum sighs, a sound I'd heard to often to count. "Alyson, I know you hate hearing it, but I need to know that you go and see the nurse. I need to hear that your breathing is fine." She starts to get choked up, something I hate. A sad parent was only another reminder of my impeding death. "I know I can be overbearing but I have to be. It would kill me inside if something were to happen to you-" A tear falLe from mum's eye and it's wiped away hastily, in the hope I haven't noticed. But I had noticed and it hurt me physically to see it there, worse than when I couldn't breathe.
Reaching over, I put my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. I try my best to smile, but I know it doesn't work. "It's okay, mum. I know you worry. But you don't have to. I always see the nurse whenever it starts to get tough to breathe."
She looks at me, unshed tears in her eyes. I dread seeing them fall. "You're so brave and I hate it. I hate it."
I squeeze her hand, leaning into her side. "I have to be brave. I don't have a choice." It's the truth, no matter how bad it sucks.
"I know." A tear falls and my heart starts to ache. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to cry. You don't cry, yet I do-"
"I know mum," I say, cutting her off. I know what she's about to say: I'm sorry I cry. I'm sorry I'm a bad mother. You're so brave and I'm not.
She looks at the mirror and I know what she sees: red-rimmed eyes. Her hand squeezes mine, her voice strong. "Okay, you need to get to school. I can't have you in the car or I'll never stop crying. Go, so I don't burst into tears and never let you go."
Her words are blunt, but that's what the cancer has caused. When you were dying there was no use pretending you weren't. I don't delude myself and I don't allow my parents to either. Her words are fact-if I didn't leave she'd burst into tears. I hate to see the cancer impact my mum. She still doesn't know how to deal with it. She got emotional and when she couldn't handle being emotional she got detached. It was the easiest way for her to cope, even if she wasn't coping well.
Knowing that if I tried to hug her, she'd cry, I squeeze her hand instead. "I love you. I'll be fine today."
She doesn't look at me when she says, "I love you too. Now go."
I can tell she's trying not to cry. The minute I leave the car, she'll be sobbing. I want to comfort her but it will only make it worse.
Without saying anything else I leave the car. I avoid looking at her as I shut the door, knowing that she's already crying.
I scan the courtyard in front of me, abuzz with activity. Friends surround each other, talking and yelling. I've been at this high school for my whole high school life, just watching others and observing. I don't get close to people, I don't try to socialise. What was the point when I was going to die? It was better to be on my own. It's not as if I have no friends-I did. But I don't have close friends. Do I want to have a best friend that I can share all my secrets with? Yes. Do I want to hurt someone because I was selfish enough to get close to them? No.
A few eyes meet mine, as I walk to the front doors of the school. Most ignore me. Was it that I screamed dying girl? Or was it because I wasn't likeable? I'd long ago given up on finding out why I was avoided by most.
By the time I reach the doors, I'm sweating, after only a few metres of walking. That was cancer for you. It makes everything harder than it has to be. Breathing has already become a struggle. When I was younger I had been able to run like any other child. Now I can't. My lungs...well lung...can't handle it. As soon as my right lung had started to fail me, even breathing had become hard. Even after too many operations to count, eventually it had just decided it wasn't worth the effort and stopped working. So, lucky me, since I had one lung that worked. It makes breathing twice as hard.
"Ally!" I hear from behind me.
I turn, red hair entering my sights. Rachel, with her flaming hair, is beautiful. She's tiny in every way and too pretty to believe. I'm jealous of her. Jealous of how gorgeous she is. I'm jealous that she doesn't have cancer, and the fact that she has nothing holding her back from her future. I hate to feel that way but I can't help it.
I smile at her, as I try to even my breathing so it's not so laboured. Doctors frown upon me attending school for this exact reason. One lung can't handle the constant movement I do at school. Still, I don't listen to them. Cancer doesn't mean everything stops mattering. I refuse to quit school just because I'm dying. I'm not dead yet so I'm not acting like it. I'll act like a normal teenager until I physically can't.
"Hey," I say, my voice giving nothing away about my internal struggles.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yes," I lie, as it becomes easier to breathe. The pressure on my lungs won't ease until I get more oxygen and I know I have to go to the nurse's office soon to use the machine.
She smiles, believing the answer. "I was just worried because you're a little pale. Just checking to make sure you're not dying on me."
The joke hurts but she doesn't know it. Friends joke about that all the time and I'm just the unlucky one who makes the joke true. The only people who know of the cancer are my family. I don't want to burden more people with the knowledge. If any of my friends found out, I'd never be treated the same again. People pity you when they know you won't be around much longer-which I won't, since my other lung will soon give up the fight too. I want to be normal teenager with petty issues, even if it is all a lie. School gives me that.
I plaster a smile on my face, pretending that the joke hadn't hurt. "I'm fine. How are you?"
I hate asking the question but it keeps my relationship safe. Best friends don't have to ask the question, people who you aren't close with do. My relationship with Rachel is a good one but it's fake. I feel bad for lying to her but I have to. She's slept over my house before-the only person. While she'd been there, we'd played the happy family. I'd managed to hide the fact that I'd had to use a breathing machine every few hours from her. I hadn't been the girl with cancer and my family hadn't been one whose daughter had cancer.
"Good," she says, looping her arm through mine. "Now, c'mon, we have to find the others."
When she tugs my arm my throat closes up and it gets harder to breathe but I say nothing, hiding the reaction. I make an excuse so she slows down as she pulls me along.
"How have you been?" she asks.
"Good," I say. It's all I can say-I'm too breathless to say anymore.
"What did you do on the weekend?"
"Nothing," I say. It's the truth. Weekends had become my days of rest, orders of my parents. I'd made a deal with them: if I do nothing on the weekend that they don't approve, I can attend school. I hate it sometimes but I know they're just worried about me.
"Well that sucks. How about you sleep over at my house next weekend to make up for it?"
She sounds so convinced that I feel bad for her. There is no way that I'll be sleeping over at her house. There is too many risks involved. For one, I'd have to bring my machine which isn't small. It was a must. Without it it's very likely my breathing could fail me. And Rachel doesn't know about the cancer, so how would I explain it? Then there's the fact that my parents aren't trusting of other parents. There's too things that could go wrong. If I were to suddenly struggle breathing, they'd have no idea what to do. They don't truth anyone else with my safety if they're not a doctor.
I don't tell her any of this. "Sure, I'll ask them about it," I say, forcing a smile. "I'm sure they'll say yes."
She smiles at me triumphantly. "Good, you need a life. I only ever see you at school."
No one has a life when they have cancer, I think sourly. I can have friends but I can't do anything with them. I can't go to the shops without my oxygen machine. I can't go to parties-not that I want to. I can't do anything that involves a lot of movement.
By this point, we're at the library front doors. I'm breathless, my heart is pounding. I'm sweating. I can only hope that Rachel hasn't noticed. If she does, she gives nothing away to suggest it.
I stop, forcing Rachel to stop as well. She looks at me questioningly but I just smile. Now that I'm not moving I can breathe easier.
Minutes later, I have my breathing under control. I have to visit the nurse soon but I'm putting it off.
"What was that about? Are you okay?"
"My feet hurt," I lie.
She nods sympathetically. "I hate that. It'll get better, trust me."
I want to shake my head and say, "No, it won't. The cancer will only spread and get worse," but she's not talking about that. She's a teenager that can take irrelevant things for granted, unlike me.
Instead I say, "I hope so."
She opens the library door, smiling at me. "C'mon everyone's in there."
If I go in there I know that I won't have time to see the nurse before the bell rings. "I have to go and do something first, but I'll catch up with you."
She smiles at me, as if she thinks I'm doing something I shouldn't. She's told me before that she can keep a secret and she won't tell anyone that I'm sneaking around to see my boyfriend. I want to laugh every time I hear it because no guy wants to be with me. I'm not ugly, but I'm not remarkable. Standing next to Rachel, I'm barely memorable. I'd never had a boyfriend and I'd never have one for long. No guy wants to be with the dying girl.
Before I can leave she hugs me, telling me to have fun.
Breathing through a tube isn't fun, I think as I walk away. I'd much rather be with my non existent boyfriend.
The walk to the nurses office takes longer than it should but I don't want walk fast. I have no reason to pretend that I can breathe properly when I'm on my own.
I knock on the door. It opens a second after I knock. Anna-I'd long ago stopped thinking of her as Nurse Anna-smiles at me gently. Over the years we've bonded. She's grown attached to me and often tells me how much she misses me. In the whole school, she's one of the few people who know about the cancer. None of the teachers are aware, only knowing that I have a medical problem and I can't do anything strenuous.
"Hey, Alyson, come on in." Gently taking me arm, she ushers me into the room, nearly lifting me onto the hospital bed. She always treats me like I'm delicate and even though I appreciate it, it annoys me sometimes.
"Hi, Anna," I say.
She turns. "I'm just getting your machine, hold on for a second."
When it's brought to me, I put the tubes in and breathe. I don't have to try to breathe when they're in, it just happens and I don't have to concentrate.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don't grab it and look, knowing it's probably Rachel asking where I am.
"Do you want me to get that for you?" Anna asks eyes on my pocket.
I nod and she grabs it. Her eyebrows raise and I know what she's asking. I nod again.
"It's from your mum," she says. "She wants you to know you have to see your therapist this afternoon."
I force a smile, dreading this afternoon now that I know that. I hate having a therapist because I don't need one. I have to go see her though so it's not in my hands.
Ignorance really is bliss, I think, as the machine breathes for me. The pressure on my lungs has completely eased, but I know it's a matter of time before I have to come back here today.