The Wasted Days.

I fell back onto my bed, just staring up at the cracked ceiling. It had always been broken like that, just like me. I’d been screwed up way before I found out about the cancer. The worst part about this whole dilemma could probably be my attitude towards it.

In the beginning, I could refer to it as a lucky break.

I mean, I loved my best friend who was dating my other best friend which left me alone most of the time thanks to my absent, workaholic parents. I was already broken and bruised on the inside. I was screwed up more than I’d ever let on, even now.

Now, I find myself in a bit over my head and I can feel my guilty conscience pushing at me. It keeps telling me to go back to that hospital and demand treatment. It keeps telling me how unfair this was to everyone else. It was like suicide, which is something I’d always scoffed at.

Now that I was a dead girl walking, people seemed to care, though. That felt so good and so bad at the same time and I just always seemed to be filled with these unexplainable feelings. These feelings I wanted to keep to myself.

I wasn’t going back there.

I didn’t ever want to go back there.

I almost laughed as I realized that that was actually possible.

I could feel Jared looming. He was just standing there staring at me, I could see his confused expression out of the corner of my eye. “So?” He asked quietly, I could tell he didn’t want to push me, but I could also tell that him not knowing what was going on in my head was hurting him more than telling him would.

I didn’t want everyone else to hurt.

Only me.

“Think about it.” I muttered, patting the space next to me on the bed.

I felt him falling back onto my bed and the bed shifted. “Trust me, that’s all I’ve done.” His tone was saturated in bitterness, making me flinch. I turned my head to face him and saw that he was just staring up, much as I had been.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, making him look at me. “I really am. Think as if you were me, though.” I sighed, I’ve never been good at explaining what I mean. I could have a whole speech written out in my head, but upon having to deliver it I tend to feel it needs revision, then having a speech doesn’t matter because it ends up being some crappy, improvised rant. I always felt like a prattling retard. “I mean,” I tried to say something, but my voice decided to stop working. “Man, this is hard.” I whispered, staring back at the huge crack in the ceiling.

“You don’t have to.” He whispered, probably trying to cover the layers of pain that I heard anyway.

“Yeah. I do.” I nodded then pointed to giant break in my ceiling. “See that?” I asked, glancing over to see him nodding and looking back at me, curiously. “Imagine that’s you.” I thought about it for a second. “No, the whole ceiling is you and that crack is how you feel on the inside.” I nodded to myself, frowning. “What would you do?”

He was silent for a long time. “I’d still take the treatment. There are people out there to help you, Salem.” He rolled so that he was facing my fully, with his head propped up on his fist. “I want to help you.” He whispered, making me look at him, finally, in those blue eyes of his.

“Listen,” I tried again, needing him to understand. Now it was something that I needed to do in order to feel even remotely right. I rolled to mirror his pose. “The way I see it, it would just be a waste.” Jared tried to open his mouth, he was going to disagree, but I didn’t let him. “Just listen, okay?” He closed his mouth. “There’s a very good chance that the treatment wouldn’t work for me and then even if it does I could relapse and die anyway. It’d be this huge waste of money and time. Plus,” I paused, rolling to face the ceiling again, “I’m afraid.” It was barely a whisper.

“Afraid of what?” His voice was soft as he slid an arm around my shoulders. I held still as he moved us so we were laying on the bed the right way, me facing the windows. He wrapped one hand around my waist and left the other around my shoulders, making it so that my head was against his chest and his chin was setting lightly on top of my head.

“I don’t know. It would hurt, you know? And I’m afraid about going through all of that and then it not doing anything or…” Before I knew it I was sobbing.

Why do I keep crying like this?

It was almost infuriating how little control I now had over myself.

“Sh…” His breath moved my hair a little, making me laugh a little. “What’s so funny?” He asked, chuckling, I only shook my head. “You’re weird.” He laughed.

“I know.”

Nobody spoke, the silence was becoming deafening. I couldn’t think of anything to say though, I wanted to keep it light, but nothing seemed to fit. Words didn’t seem right in my mouth, like a screwed up puzzle piece that was slipped into the wrong box. The piece would never fit right and the puzzle would never be completed.

Was I one of those dysfunctional puzzles that I always seemed to get when I was younger?

“I’m so screwed up.” I whispered, laughing a little and crying a little at the same time.

“No you aren’t.” He whispered into my hair again. I moved my arms until they were aligned with his and I could entwine our fingers.

“So, you understand?” I asked and my heart began to float. Just the possibility of him actually understanding me could make my heart jump into my throat and tears well at my eyes. Nobody understood me.

“Not really.” He admitted, always so honest and good. That was Jared. My heart still fell a little, though. “But I think I might, just a little.” His arms tightened around me and butterflies circled inside of me and I think it may have been my most favorite moment ever.

So simple. All I needed was his arms to feel whole.