Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Quinn walks me back to the waiting room. Before we round the corner, he tells me he has a surprise for me.
“What is it?”
He points and when my surprise comes into focus, I lose it. My sister rushes toward me, with her arms out wide, waiting to hug me. “Peyton,” her name comes out softly. “Oh, God, Peyton, I’m so scared.”
“We’ve got you, Elle. We’re here.” Her hand strokes my hair. “It’s okay,” she tells me while I cry into her shoulder. The next thing I know, we’re cocooned by Quinn. He’s protecting his sisters. Something he’s done from the moment we met him.
14
BEN
When I wake, the quietness in my room is unnerving. Where is everyone? And why does my head hurt? I want to rub my temple but my arm hurts. I adjust slightly and find a tube coming out of my bicep. That’s right, I forgot they were going to insert a catheter to make my chemo sessions easier. It’s a nice reminder of why I’m here.
Cancer.
I turn my head slightly and see Elle sitting in what looks like an extremely uncomfortable chair, with her eyes closed. I study her for a minute as the sunlight pours into the room and shines on her. She’s always been my beacon of light, even when I don’t want her to be. She could’ve given up so easily, and maybe she would’ve if I didn’t have cancer.
In an attempt to clear my throat quietly, I end up waking her. Within seconds, she’s at my side, peppering me with questions. Do I need the nurse? Does anything hurt? How do I feel? Elle runs her hand over my hair and smiles at me.
“The doctor said everything went really well.”
“Do I still have my balls?”
“Always the jokester,” she says. Elle doesn’t need to answer my question because I already know the answer. They’re gone because they’re trying to kill me. “Your scar is pretty small. Not sure it can even be considered a scar.”
“So, nothing like Peyton’s?”
Elle shakes her head. “Nope, she still beats us all with the gnarly scars.” I know Elle’s joking. We all hate Peyton’s scars, but she’s embraced them. I suppose you have to when you’ve been through what she has.
“Damn, I bet she’s going to be pissed.”
“No doubt,” Elle says. “She’s here, along with Noah and Quinn, and your friend John. They’re in the waiting room. They’ve been here the entire time.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after seven.”
“Damn, I missed dinner. I was really hoping for some of that green Jell-O.”
Elle laughs and runs her hand through my hair again. This time her fingers linger on my cheek until she leans in. I expect her to kiss me, to take advantage of my vulnerable state because she knows I won’t tell her no, but she rests her head on my chest instead.
“As much as I want to monopolize your time, it’d be unfair of me. Your mom and Brad want to see you. Are you ready for visitors?”
It takes me a minute to nod. I don’t really want to see anyone. What I want to do is rollover onto my side and ignore the world—including Elle. Not that she’d let me though. I have a feeling she’s going to be up in my face no matter what. She isn’t going to take no for an answer, no matter what I say to her.
She leaves the room, and the nurse comes in, followed by the urologist and oncologist. The doctors go over the next steps in my recovery, although it’s not really recovery since I’m going to start chemo and will suffer the side effects. But the good news is, the doctor says they got the entire tumor. I sort of feel like that’s his job and if he didn’t get the entire thing, he shouldn’t be a surgeon. Instead of saying what’s on my mind though, I thank him and turn my head to look out the window. I don’t want to talk to them anymore. They don’t get it, despite them saying “I know what you’re going through” or “I know how you feel.” Do they really though? Have they been through this or are they just saying what they’re taught in medical school?
Empathy sucks.
So does sympathy.
The door to my room opens and the smell of my mother’s perfume takes over my senses. I close my eyes and feel her climb onto my bed. I wince when she jostles me, and she instantly starts crying.
“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
For what?
“How are you feeling?” Brad asks.
I shrug. I’m pretty drugged up at the moment so the only feelings I have are the thoughts in my brain projecting to my emotions. I’m fucking pissed, and angry, but I don’t tell him this. If I were him, I’d start feeling my balls on a daily basis. I know they say cancer isn’t hereditary, but what do they know?