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Prologue
“So that’s it, then?”
“Erin, I’m sorry.” Doctor Martin looks at me, the sadness in his eyes only fuelling my anger. “There are options we can explore to make you comfortable, and maybe buy you some more time—”
“What about surgery?” I say. I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it again. There’s something about hearing that you’re dying that makes everything else irrelevant. The only things that matter in this moment are him, and me, and the words that are coming out of his mouth.
“Surgery isn’t an option,” he says. “The tumour is too complex to even consider touching. Even if we could manage to remove it without killing you, there is no way we could get it all, and the chances of damage are so high that . . .” He hesitates, his dark eyes clouded with sympathy.
My jaw clenches as I will myself not to cry.
“I’m the best in the country and even I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“If it’s going to kill me anyway…” My voice breaks as his expression doesn’t change. It finally hits me that I have no other options. This thing has finally gotten me. It’s won. “How long do I have?”
“There are things we can do to make you comfortable, and they may even prolong—” He stops and glances away, embarrassed. He can’t even say it, but it doesn’t matter because I know what he’s talking about.
“How long?” I repeat, keeping my tone level.
“A few months. Maybe six. With some more chemotherapy, maybe a year.”
Wow. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around everything he’s telling me. Are the extra few months worth how crappy the treatment is going to make me feel? I shudder, thinking about how I was during my last rounds of chemo. Nothing is worth that pain.
“I have to go.” I jump up and throw my bag over my shoulder. I shove my shaking hands deep into my pockets, willing myself not to cry in front of him.
He gives me that sympathetic look again, which makes me want to punch him. Empathy and support are rare in a surgeon, but they’re so not what I need right now.
“Can I call someone for you? You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you certainly shouldn’t be driving.”
“My mother is waiting downstairs,” I lie.
He nods, studying my face closely, like he can tell that I’m lying. “Come see me in a week, when you’ve had time to process all of this. I’ll have Mandy call you to make a time.”
I simply nod and sprint from the room. A week could be a quarter of the rest of my life gone. I reach the elevators and hit the floor down button four times in an attempt to make it work faster. It doesn’t, and by the time the doors open, I board the car with four other people. Can they tell? Do they look at me and see a young woman who is dying? I eye myself in the mirrored wall, looking for any signs that other people can tell. My long blond hair is tied loosely back in a ponytail, covering the fact that it’s dry from all the radiation I had before surgery. I study my face. I look tired, but that could be from a night of heavy partying. I could stand to gain a few pounds, but nothing about me screams “death.” I look as healthy as the next person. How is it possible that I probably won’t live to see my twenty-fifth birthday?
The doors open and I step out. It feels surreal, like I have no idea what to do. I can’t just go on about my day normally, as if I haven’t just been informed that I am going to die. Everything seems pointless now. Why bother going back to work and pretending to care about everyone else’s problems? I can’t go home. Either Calli or my parents will call, wanting to hear how my appointment went. I can’t tell them yet because I’m not ready to admit that it’s over. My whole life has been consumed by this fucking disease, and now it’s won.
I feel helpless, lost and alone, and there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to fix it.
Sinking down onto my knees, I try to block the cold gust of wind as it hits my bare arms. It’s still dark—at a guess, I’d say around five in the morning—and the roar of the river is so powerful that I can barely hear myself think. I’ve been sitting in this same spot since yesterday afternoon, since I left the hospital. I came down here to think and now I can’t move. I’m stranded. I haven’t even been to the toilet, which tells me I’m probably dehydrated. I’ll add it to the list.
This place holds so many happy memories. We used to come here and camp when I was a kid—before my illness took over our lives. I stare across at the old oak tree that towers over the river, my heart sinking. Things were so much easier back then. I felt safe and loved, and no matter what the situation, I knew everything would be fine because my parents would protect me. But they can’t protect me from this. They can’t save me. Nobody can.
I lean forward so I’m hanging over the rock face. A fresh gust of wind hits me and my body rocks forward, making my heart race. For a brief second, I consider something that has never, ever even crossed my mind. The drop below isn’t much—not enough to kill me—but the fast-flowing current will finish off the job. Especially considering I can’t swim.
This can all be over in a second. My heart races as I bite my lip, the searing pain comforting. Could I do it? Because once I jump, that’s it. There’s no turning back.
Two days ago, I never would’ve thought I’d be capable of this. I’d prepared myself for positive news, that my cancer was in remission. I went into that appointment thinking everything was going to be fine.
I should be feeling relieved. I should be crying tears of happiness that my cancer is in remission—but instead I sit here, feeling empty, scared, and hopeless.
Yesterday at least I had a fighting chance. Today I have nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up, stretching my long legs out beneath me. My cream-coloured sleeveless shirt flaps in the wind. My hair, now tangled and wet, sways around my shoulders. I push it from my eyes and clench my fists at my sides as I step towards the edge of the embankment.
My toes curl over the edge, digging into the soil as I summon up all my courage. This is it. I’ll close my eyes and jump, and then this whole nightmare will be over.
“Little cold to be out for a morning stroll, isn’t it?”
I jump, my heart lurching into my throat. I spin around, losing my balance as I tumble into the water. Gasping, my lungs burn as I take in water. The freezing temperature is unbearable. My body is numb and I feel myself weakening. Just as I’m about to
let go, strong arms wrap tightly around my waist and yank me to the surface.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His voice is soft, yet commanding in my ear.
Tears roll down my cheeks, because I couldn’t even get killing myself right. I’m limp in his arms as he hoists me back onto the safety of dry land.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He cradles my face in his hands, searching my eyes for answers.
I stare back at him and nod dumbly, knowing that if I speak, I’ll say something stupid.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Are you drunk? Stoned?”
I shake my head. I’m angry that I’m still alive and yet I’m grateful that he saved me.
“Come here,” he mutters, wrapping me in his arms.
I flinch against his touch, something he notices.
His expression softens. “Let’s get you dry.”
