Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
50
Zoey
My whole life, I’ve looked forward to my eighteenth birthday. I’ve always seen it as a rite of passage into adulthood, that I’ll suddenly have all the answers to life’s big questions and know exactly what path I’m supposed to take. If I knew this was in store for me, perhaps I wouldn’t have looked forward to it so much.
It’s barely seven in the morning, and I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with Allie snuggled right up beside me on my pillow, her soothing purrs right in my ear. Today is a good day . . . Well, mostly. Every other day this week, I’ve woken up feeling miserable, more tired than when I went to bed, but today, I’m feeling alright.
There’s energy pulsing through my veins and a sense of accomplishment booming in my chest, though I don’t really understand that. Perhaps it’s because I’ve made it to my eighteenth birthday, and a small part of me was starting to wonder if I would.
There are still another few weeks before I’m due to start radiation therapy, but honestly, I can feel myself starting to decline. It’s as though someone put me at the top of a snowy mountain, shoved a sled under my ass, and pushed me before I was ready. Only, instead of steering myself peacefully down the mountain, I hit a bump, and now I’m tumbling out of control, heading toward a ferocious crash landing.
I’m terrified that I’m not going to have the strength to get through the radiation therapy. I spend most days in bed with the occasional visit downstairs, but damn . . . the trek down the eighteen steps is exhausting. To be completely honest, everything is exhausting. I’ve never felt so flat in my life. I’m lethargic all the time, and the dizzy spells . . . shit. They’re horrendous, but as long as I’m not stuck in that treatment center getting intense chemotherapy, then I consider it a good time.
Hazel comes to chill with me every afternoon when she gets home from school. She finds a movie, brings popcorn, and then goes ahead and talks the whole way through it, but I love every second of it. I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if I always fall asleep before the end. Hope is the same. She comes over as much as she can, sometimes even during her lunch hour when she should be at school, and I appreciate it more than she could ever know. Both of them give me something to look forward to each day, and it’s that kind of excitement that’s keeping me strong.
As for Noah, he’s doing everything he can. Most nights he sleeps right here beside me then makes the trip back to campus when he has exams or assessments that can’t be avoided. Sometimes I wonder if he’s just as exhausted as I am. This disease is putting so much strain on him. He’s doing everything he can to be here with me, to give me what I need, but despite his encouraging smile, I know he’s dying inside.
He’s ready to break, and I hate that I’m the one doing this to him.
I think he can see that I’m not getting any better, and just like mine, his hope is beginning to fade. There have been multiple times when I’ve woken in the night to a cold bed, only to find him out in the yard, barely hanging on. Seeing him like that is killing me faster than this cancer ever could.
If I lose this battle and my heart stops beating . . . I don’t know how Noah is going to survive it. He broke when we lost Linc, and then to lose me too . . . shit. Every day, the mere thought of it sends me into a sheer panic.
Allie wakes next to me and instantly rubs her head into my cheek when my phone rings on my bedside table. Reaching over, I scoop it up and smile to myself, seeing Noah’s name across the screen. Then hitting accept before it rings out, I quickly bring it to my ear.
“Good morning,” I say, my smile lingering on my lips.
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” he says, his tone so deep that it sends goosebumps sailing over my skin.
I snuggle deeper into my bed, pulling my blankets right up to my chin as Allie scooches even closer. “No, I was already up.”
“Good, in that case, get your ass out of bed and open your window.”
“Huh?” I grumble. The idea of climbing out of bed doesn’t sit well with me right now. “My window?”
“You heard me, Zo,” he rumbles. “Walk that fine ass of yours across your room and open your window.”
Curiosity gnaws at me, and I reluctantly throw my blankets back before gripping the bedside table to help steady me as I get to my feet. Then the second I’m stable, I cut across my room to the window and peer out before breaking into a laugh.