Terminal

There was a time where he called her Princess, 'his own happy ending'. She could practically hear him whispering gently into her ear as he held her to his chest; protecting her from the outside world. He was her lifeline, her anchor, the hand that kept her head above water. She used to write him the lengthiest of emails when he left, spending longer on the phone with him that she did with any of her boyfriends over the years.

She'd rocket to the airport to meet him, hours before he was due and stand next to the cafe with her lukewarm coffee as she waited for the plane to land impatiently. Then as the gate opened she would search for him almost frantically, causing her cheeks to stain light pink with embarrassment when he'd come strolling out, alongside two of his brothers. It was the way his eyes flickered across the room - seeking for her petite form amongst the busy crowds of the Californian airport. The way as his eyes locked on hers and his face would light up with that grin that would make her swoon every time.

He was her constant, her forever and always. The kind of best friend you could only dream about or find in movies. Oh, and the movies, they explained every bit of how she felt for him. They detailed and explored every inquiry that she'd ever made about their relationship, or rather lack thereof. They would paint the pictures of why she let so many guys close to her heart -- guys she knew would break it the instant she let her guard down. She'd long since decided it was worth it however, because he'd come and watch over her after wards; taking her in his arms, stroking her head lightly as the tears fell almost tauntingly down her cheeks and he'd wipe each of them away, reassuring her for every droplet that fell.

His phone would ring soon after, as she'd hiccup into his chest, her breathing pattern steadying to a comforting rhythm that would lull her slowly to sleep, her eyelids drooping. He'd move her from atop of his lap gently and instinctively she'd wake, as he tip-toed silently around the room. After collecting his cell from side-table, she'd see the words 'Liz' printed on the screen and then would come the heart break, she'd suddenly find herself fighting the urge to run home and lock herself in her bedroom, incarcerating herself in a tomb of duvet armor or fall into a comatose hibernation, where the reality of him living his life without her did not dwell.

She wouldn't though, she would stay tuning in on his hushed toned conversing with his girlfriend as he'd maneuver himself around the desk, slipping just as silently from his bedroom out onto the balcony. She would succumb to the loneliness of the empty room. As its interior -- illuminated only by the lamp in the far corner -- suddenly felt more sinister and foreboding than it did therapeutic, as if the life of the room walked out with him.

His shadow would play upon the wall across from her, her back turned to the scene playing out on the rather Shakespearean-esque balcony. She'd fight back the tears as she focused on the silhouette moving animatedly around the wall as he paced outside. His soft laugh made her heart stop as she realized how beneficial they were for each other. It was easier too, they both understood the difficulties of being together and they were okay with that.

That was what hurt the most, the unbearable pain that coupled with the realization that Elizabeth Jennings was better for him that she ever could be.

It didn't matter much though, as she sat and wrote his letter. It seemed like a rather cliche thing to do and she knew under scrutiny, she would not deny that it was. It was rather cowardice in which the way she planned to tell him, however she had no time heart warming get together. She would write this letter, put a stamp on it and leave it on her desk. If anyone ever saw fit to mail it, he would get it. If not, he wouldn't. She didn't want to think about how he would react to it, if his eyes ever breached the envelope. She was sure that was why she was doing it this way.

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Joseph,
I'm not too sure on how to start this, in fact honestly I'm not sure how I'm going to write any of what I'm writing now. I never planned to be thrown into this situation, I thought God would give me more time than he has, I didn't think that was unreasonable to assume. I guess I guessed wrong, huh? I'm pretty sure you'd be getting kicks out of how uncertain I am right now, that is if you were here. I wish they made postcards for this occasion, its not much of an occasion though, is it? What do you reckon Joe; should I get all prettied up for heaven? I obviously am as sarcastic and moan-y as you said I get when I'm angry; I'm sorry for hitting you now, way back then.

You've always been there for me, always. I never got a chance to thank you for it. For how often you put up with me sobbing about how pathetic my life is and how secretly jealous I am of you. It kind of sucks that I've got to go, I was really looking forward to touring with you and the guys. I'm going to miss everyone. This is where this letter hits its point; y'know why I'm not on the phone to you, or why I'm not harking your P.A to get you for me. The reason it had be all semi-formal -- the point. You're an amazing guy; honest, hilarious, cute,famous and we have some pretty sweet memories together: The time you climbed that tree to get kite in fifth grade, when you and I ate so many Haribo we were sick, the time we made your mom 'breakfast in bed' for mother's day. I'm laughing thinking about it, but see, somewhere amongst all this happening I fell in love with you. I feel like such a bitch for writing this on paper and giving it to you, when quite possibly I'm somewhere you can't call me and tell me so, tell me your telling my mom I swore like I even care any, somewhere you won't be able to do your whole 'I'm a nice guy so I'll apologies profusely for something that is beyond my control' routine. I'm sorry for that. In fact, I'm sorry for this all. I thought this whole thing was bad for me, but I know its harder for you all. The ones I'm leaving behind.

The last point I needed to make in this letter... You, Nick and Kevin are the three most successful guys your age right now, seriously and despite your dashing Jonas looks, its because of your astounding music. You three have so much talent, its literally unbelievable; seriously. I want you to keep going with it, keeping living that dream. I never got a chance to live mine, so as selfish as it is, I'm asking you to do it for me, to make every single last one of your dreams come true Joe. Whether its climbing Mount. Everest, or running naked through the white house. I need you to know that when I die, I'll be safe, I'll be happy and I'll be watching you. Your my best friend and you promised me that was life, well Joe, I lied. Its for life and death. Keep on dreaming Joseph. I love you.

Madeline.

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It was when she folded the letter -- with her neat and deliberate folds; half's; then thirds -- that the tears began to fall, and as she fumbled with it, fighting the sobs to try and jam it perfectly into the Manila covering, that it was plucked from her hands and left strewn on the desk, as she was pulled once more, for the last time into his lap. He held her to his chest, not letting her move as she fought against him, trying to escape his grip on her and after a minute of thrashing around ungracefully she surrendered, collapsing into his hold sobbing throatily into his shoulder.

He tried to shush her to no avail, she sobbed and then cried, ending in sobs again, on and off for over an hour before finally she relented, spluttering slightly. "Your mom told me" He choked slightly, "Why didn't you tell me?" She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with tears.

"Joe, I only found out last week. I didn't know how to-" She sighed, "How am I supposed to tell you? How's this Joe; I'm only seventeen but somehow I've got cancer and in six months, I'm going to die. Does that suit you, huh?!" She demanded, the tears falling once more down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Princess. Y'know I didn't mean it like that" A silence followed shortly and she laid her head on his shoulder, both of them lost in thoughts. Soon she felt something on her bare arms, exposed by her t-shirt. Tears. She looked up to see them falling down his face, with a delicate grace she was sure only he could muster. She clung tightly to him, holding on for dear life. "I don't want you to die, Maddi. I can't let you die; you're my best friend, I-" He trailed off hopelessly, his eyes were narrowed warningly. "Damn it, Princess, if we're so freakin' advanced why are people still dieing like this? How is it right for a kid to die?"

"The same way its okay for the elderly to die, Joe." Her voice was scratchy and cracked mid-sentence. "No-ones going to live in this world forever, I wouldn't even want to. There's too much pain, too much suffering. It hurts thinking about it, y'know." He said nothing, just nodded solemnly.

"I'm going to the hospital tomorrow, Joe." She bit her lip, nervously, "I'm not sure I want you to come, I mean-" Sigh. "I don't want you to watch me die."

"Your my best friend Maddi. I'll be there and if I have to blow the place up, I swear to you; I will" She felt his gaze burning into the top of her head, she resisted looking up, knowing she'd give in to him if she caught his eyes.

"Joe, please!" Her voice was desperate. He said nothing. She moved from his embrace, standing shakily at the desk. She slotted the letter into the envelope and turned around, facing him. "This is for you, I uh, I want you to read it when I- When I die"

Her finish was shaky, but he said nothing. He took the unmarked Manila envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket, picking up the denim clothing and pulling her in for a hug. "I'll see you next week" He assured her, kissing the top of her head and leaving the room.

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Three times a week he ventured to the hospital to see her; not much a hospital but a facility they locked the terminally ill in. She knew she would rather be at home, but she didn't have heart to tell her parents. They had no idea what to do in the situation, and putting her in the facility seemed like the most active form of 'supporting her'.

Her conversations with him were awkward and stilted; it was with everyone. She could barely look anyone in the eye, she felt like death itself and she couldn't bare the emotion captured in their eyes. It wasn't sympathy they offered but pity. She could never handle pity, she hated feeling unable and dependent, and that feeling had intensified itself due to being stuck in the hospital. It manifested itself. all rising to the top where she'd snap at everyone. She apologized immediately after wards, terrified of dieing whilst 'fighting' with someone, the thought made her physically sick.

With each passing day she felt death get closer, some days she's even wished it would just end already. Then she wore a mask of guilt, feeling bad for wanting to die when the many people that often visited her wanted nothing more than her to live.

The third morning Joe came to see her, she knew it was the day. She couldn't keep herself from crying the whole time. They talked for hours, her family joining in occasionally barely able to keep up with the personal language of the two. She lay down for a moment and rested her eyes, this was nothing new in itself, since coming to the hospital she slept a lot. Joe somehow felt it though and his face mirrored hers. He gripped her hand tightly, and as she closed her eyes he leaned over and whispered into her ear.

"I have to tell you before you go." Her eyes flickered open slightly, begging to keep herself awake. "I read your letter early" She felt consciousness start to slip away, she closed her eyes. Her chest rising shallowly.

She smiled at him, lost of all energy. "I love you too" He whispered.