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He smiles as his kisses me again, and I know that however this night ends, I’m screwed. Because I am going to fall head over heels for this boy.
1
Charlotte
As a little girl, I always dreamed of meeting Prince Charming, falling in love, and living a real-life fairy tale. But no one warns you about what can happen after you check the first two boxes.
What happens when life gets in the way of your happily ever after? What happens to all the plans you made? Do they live on with someone else, or are they gone forever?
I want answers because I think my biggest fear is about to come true, and I need to find some way to cope.
“Can you repeat that, please?” My voice is a mere whisper as shock rocks my body back and forth in this uncomfortable plastic chair.
I must have completely heard her wrong. I know what I think she said, and with every fiber of my being, I pray to let it not be true. Blood pounds in my ears, her words a haunting echo in my mind. It doesn’t matter how hard I plead and beg. My prayers go unanswered.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. The tests didn’t have the results we hoped for. It was determined that the cells are cancerous and have spread to nine of your lymph nodes. You have been diagnosed with Stage 3C breast cancer. There are treatment options, and I want to discuss them with you so that we can get started as soon as possible,” Dr. Benson says.
The room around me spins, and my vision goes blurry. She has to be wrong. The tests have to be incorrect. There’s no way this is real.
As if it’s even a possible explanation, I question if she’s playing a prank on me. Obviously, the chances of that are low, but part of me hopes that maybe she thinks this is funny. But the concern and seriousness in her eyes kill all the hope I have left.
My heart starts to race, and my breathing quickens with each passing second.
I pinch my arm—hard. I need to wake up from this nightmare. I try again, pinching myself hard enough to bruise. But the nightmare only continues.
This can’t be happening right now.
It was only a couple of weeks ago that I went in for a routine checkup, and now, I’m sitting in an oncologist’s office, about to lose my goddamn mind. It was just supposed to be a stupid checkup. That’s it. My doctor was going to do an annual examination, like they always do, give me shots that I need, and tell me to go on my way. I supposed they did all of that. It just didn’t end there.
I feel like no one prepares for that appointment to go poorly. Maybe it’s because it becomes so routine and normal throughout the years. But not this time. At the exam, the doctor finds a lump on my breast, and then it’s like everything around me starts falling apart.
Old feelings that I sealed in a bulletproof box inside of my heart are beginning to fire themselves against the walls I worked so hard to build, creating little cracks. It had taken a long time to trap them in there, and I never wanted to feel this again. The emptiness of absolute dread. Feeling like I have no say in my fate. Defeat isn’t a strong enough word to encompass the way I feel right now. I feel like I’m staring Death in the face and waiting for him to either walk away or drag me with him.
I convinced myself a long time ago that this would never happen to me. I did all the right things. I’ve stayed active and fit. I’ve limited my drinking, aside from a handful of times a year. I’ve never smoked or done any drugs. I have always taken my vitamins. I did everything I physically could to make this very moment impossible. And it was all for fucking NOTHING!
I want to SCREAM.
Images of my mom lying in that dreaded hospital bed flash in my mind. My beautiful and strong mother fought this battle before—this exact one. She is the source of my cautious behavior all these years.
I watched her wage a war against cancer. She gave it everything she had. Each day seemed harder on her than the last, and although she tried to hide it behind shaky smiles, my dad and I both knew how much pain and discomfort she was in. That feeling, being unable to help the one you love when they need it most, is torture. It’s like a wall exists between you and them, and no matter how much you try to tear it down, you never can reach the other side and pull them back to you.
I wanted to do that so desperately for my mom. I wanted to trade my life for hers or take her pain as my own even though I know she would never want that. Even after she accepted that fighting was no longer an option, I never stopped, not until her last breath.
It was equally detrimental, seeing my dad watch the love of his life disintegrate before him. He had never been a very emotional man, but that changed the minute she was diagnosed. He cried every day leading up to her passing, and it seemed like he never stopped afterward.
My dad wasn’t the same after she died. He was distant, always moving through life without any passion. I truly believe his happiness died with her. He lost his spark the day we lost my mom, and he’s never gotten that back. He doesn’t laugh or smile. I can barely even remember what his laugh sounded like.
This is going to kill him, and I have to deliver the deadly blow. I can’t even think about that right now. I won’t be able to do that to him. I won’t be the final nail in his coffin.
The doctor’s lips move, but I don’t hear anything.
My hand fists my shirt, and I realize I’m hyperventilating, clutching my chest.
What the hell? When did this start?
“Deep breaths.”
That’s what the doctor said, I realize, my brain finally registering it. I force myself to inhale deeply and fill my lungs slowly.
