When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

“Hey, John.” I greeted, large smile on my face. Sometimes I wondered if anyone saw through it.

“Hey, Riley, are you alright?” John asked, walking the rest of the way to greet me. He's all sweaty, literally just walking off the stage.

I shrug one shoulder, “I guess.” I give. “I mean....I haven't talked to you in a while, which makes me a little bummed.” I flirted, realizing that it's what I've been doing with John this whole time.

John just smiled at my attempt, and nods. “Now that you're actually here to talk to, I don't remember what I was going to say.” He chuckled, wiping a towel across his forehead. I give him another smile, this one completely genuine.

“I'm sorry I keep blowing you off. Weird things keep happening. Last night Jack and Holland totally macked outside the bus.” I started but continued before John could say anything. But I knew he knew, by now, practically everyone knew. There were a lot of witnesses. “But I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I completely freaked out on you, and I didn't even tell you why. I guess I'm just a little...insecure about my panic attacks.” I admitted. “I don't like people knowing about the things that make me....”

“Human?” John filled in. My mouth tilted slightly, but then fell back down.

“Weak.” I corrected, looking up at him.

“Why would you say that? You're not weak.” He tried.

“Every night I wake from the same dream. I'm standing in this crowded room, everyone is surrounding me without really seeing me. I keep shouting 'I'm not afraid. I swear I'm not afraid.' and you know what?” I pause, looking at the look on John's face, telling me to go on. “No one listens to me.”

Even though I don't want them to, my eyes fill with tears. “And I wake up knowing it's a lie. But, still, I try to convince myself that I can do this. That I can go through everyday with the same weight, the same chip on my shoulder.”

“What are you afraid of?” John whispered, listening to me.

“Not knowing.” I whispered. Not telling him the complete truth, sure, but it was part of it. “Of not having a plan. Of...living.”

“Living?”

“Because I know one day, I'll have to give it all up.” I quickly wipe a stray tear from my eyelid. “And all the people I'll have to leave behind...”

“You shouldn't be afraid of that...life happens whether you're a part of it or not...I look at it this way...you're alive, right? So, why don't just...be a part of something?”

It took a while for me to get what he was talking about. “I...” I took a gulp of air before my phone sounded from my pocket. It was probably Ross, saying that I was going to miss bus call. Yeah, bus in twenty minutes. “I have to go, John.” I excused, starting towards the buses, “I'll talk to you later, though, I promise.” I waved, rushing off.

I know I didn't have to go right then, but I just couldn't open up to John.

After getting back on the bus, I crawled into my bunk with the book that I was reading. I like reading, really, it's one of my favorite things to do. It enriches your mind, of course, but it also lets you escape for a minute what you're dealing with in life.

Cancer? No problem, read a good book with a happy ending and it will all go away.

Only, the book that I had picked was quite depressing. It was called, “If I Stay' about a teenaged girl who gets in a car accident with her parents and little brother. They all die, and she's pretty much in a coma at the hospital. But the whole book it written while she is having an 'out of body experience'.

It just made me think about all the things I would do differently in my life, and all the things I regret not saying, not doing...I guess this book is where my weird mood was coming from.

I closed the book after a couple hours, not able to concentrate any longer. It was quiet on the bus sans Elina and Dalton in the back room playing video games, and I figured everyone else was asleep. I slipped out of my bunk, going to the bathroom.

Light on, facing the mirror, I slipped off my hoodie. Taking a deep breath, I tugged my tanktop over my head and unhook my bra. With the pile of cloth on the floor, I stared at myself in the mirror.

A thin white and barely noticeable scar ran along the side of my left breast, but I would always seek it out automatically. It was ugly, grotesque. I couldn't stand to look at it any longer. I felt around for the lump, the tumor, my fingers going to it immediately.

My stomach dropped, along with my hands.

I hadn't checked in a while, and though it wasn't by much, I could still feel that it had gotten bigger. On a mammogram, they probably wouldn't have detected a difference in size, but I did. I felt it. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I wiped them furiously away.

I wanted to break something, I wanted to destroy.

All my efforts were for nothing, I didn't have a chance when it came to getting over this. And, how could I? Cancer doesn't just magically go away without extensive therapy and medication. It just isn't how it works.

Swallowing my rage, sorrow, and hate, I put my clothes back on, and went back to the front of the bus and sat at the table. I stared at the table, hands folded in my lap. The tears were coming, and all I was left with was...

Nothing.

I had nothing to hold on to at this point. Not even hope. Hope left me a while ago. I am afraid of it, I haven't accepted this fate one bit.

I sat at the table motionless until the sun rose and we were at the next venue. Birds chirping brought me from my mind. I looked out the window, slipping on my shoes after a pair of sweatpants.

Running always cleared my head, and right not I needed my mind clear the most. I let my muscles start to ache, soothing my mind. I circled the block a couple times.

Sweat trickled down my neck and hairline. “Hey there, pretty little thing.” I heard John come. The need to tell someone came from nowhere as he kept pace with me though I was still running hard.

“Hey, John.” I said to him, completely breathless.

“You okay?” He said, probably noticing my heated cheeks. “How long have you been running?”

“A while.” I hadn't kept track, but due to my screaming muscles and lungs, it had been at least an hour.

“Is that healthy?” He asked, making a joke judging by his smile and chuckle.

I stopped, his words striking a cord in me. Something snapped. “I've done everything you're supposed to in order to prevent it. I exercise, I eat right, I don't drink, do drugs, smoke...nothing...so why?” Tears stung the back of my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, puzzled and worried about my sudden about-to-be-meltdown.

“I look healthy, don't I? I look normal and happy?”

“Of course. You may be a little skinny, but you eat proper.”

“But I'm not!” I practically screeched. “I'm not...I'm not strong, I'm not a fighter like they all told me. I'm a stupid coward who can't face the facts.” I started to pull at my hair. John took my hands and held them. “I'm sick, John.” I whispered, looking at the ground.

“Well, I can make you some soup, put you on bed rest and you'll be up and at 'em in no time at all.” He said cheerfully, trying to lighten my mood, but also confused as to why I was acting like this over just a little cold.

Tears slipped from my eyes at his misunderstanding, splashing the pavement. “It's not that easy, John. I'm sicker than that. It's something...” I paused at the word, the reality of it hitting me again. “When I was thirteen, I started losing weight rapidly, getting tired, my left arm swelled up and sores appeared on it. My parents took me to a doctor. Fearing the worst, they took all kind of test. I was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer shortly after.”

At my words, John dropped my hands, stumbling back. “No-n-no...you—you're perfect.” He stuttered. I couldn't look at him, instead I kept my eyes focused on the ground, and trudged on.

“They found the other tumor on the base of my neck. I had two surgeries in the next two weeks. One was to cut out as much as they could of the tumor in my left breast without taking the whole thing off—which wasn't much—and the other was to get the one off my neck before it grew onto my brain. I was thirteen, John.” I reminded him. “I am now almost eighteen.” I paused, swallowing. “Cancer isn't curable.”

And I hoped he got the point so I didn't actually have to say it flat-out. He didn't say anything, and I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. More of my tears hit the pavement.

“At that age, I went through losing my hair, losing my friends, losing my health. The only thing I gained from it all was a stronger family, Elina, and eventually You First.” I tried holding back my sobs, feeling my shoulders shake. “And now I'm going to lose it all again, only this time it'll take more out of me.” I sobbed, unable to contain it.

“You can't be serious.” John spoke up finally, I looked up at him. “You won't lose anything...your--” He stopped, face strained as he couldn't form the word.

“Cancer.” I said for him, “My cancer.” I owned it, it was mine. My burden alone. I couldn't bother anyone with this. Except, apparently, John.

“It won't take away Elina, Calvin, Holland, RJ, Dalton, or Ross. They'll all stay with you while you're treated. I will, too.”

“They don't know I even had it in the first place.” I admitted, ashamed.

A strangled sound came from John's throat. “They don't know?” He asked incredulously. “All this time, you've been battling this...alone?” He asked, I nodded slowly, turning my attention back to the ground. “Don't you think...you should...tell them?”

“No, they can't know.”

“You could die!” John exclaimed, desperate.

“They have so much to deal with already. Even if I don't know all the details, we all have our own demons to battle. Our band has more problems than most. Erin's suicide, Calvin and RJ's mother, Dalton and Ross' family...they don't need anything else on their minds. I just want them all to enjoy themselves.”

“So, that's it? You're just going to let yourself get sicker and sicker and then just up and die without giving them an explanation?” He had every right to be angry with me, but I never thought he'd actually sounds so angry. But, I stood there and took it nonetheless.

“Die?” I questioned, “That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? We all die.”

“But you don't have to, Riley! Not yet! You're only seventeen for Christ's sake!” He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me slightly.

“What else do I have to live for? I can't see anything but chemotherapy and doctors in my future if I tell anyone.”

“Me! You have me! Your band, your dreams of being onstage!”

I was touched that he included himself in there, I really was. “I can have all that, if I don't tell.”

“But only for how long? Three years? Three months?” John spat back.

“At least I'll die happy.” I stated, “They can't know...”

“Then why'd you tell me?” He roared, “I don't want to know that you're basically killing yourself.”

“It's the cancer that's killing me!” I was angry now, too. He had no right to accuse me of that. I knew what people went through while dealing with suicide. It was awful.

“But by not reacting to it, it's the same thing!” John shook me some more, and more tears flowed down my cheeks. “Why? Why? Why am I allowed to know? Why do I have to deal with this?”

“So, it's a burden to you? I'm a burden? Something you have to deal with?” My voice was rising, more tears flowing. “I told you because, out of everyone you're the one I couldn't stand lying to! And do you know how messed up that is when I've hardly know you? I can tell you but I can't even tell my own best friends? How I thought you'd understand more than the people I've known for more than three years?” I ranted, looking anywhere but his face.

“I was wrong, apparently, you don't understand. Not even a little.” My voice shook as I stepped away from him. “I was wrong because all this is just causing problems for you, isn't it?”

When I looked at John again, my heart broke some more. There were tears rolling down his cheeks. “No...” He choked out. “No, Riley. You're not a burden, a problem, an inconvenience, or anything like that.” His voice wavered and cracked. “You're the perfect, strong, sweet girl I met at a shady club in Phoenix. “ He explained, pulling me into a tight hug.

Normally, I would've pushed him away. That is, it it weren't John. All I wanted was to pull him closer. He cried into my hair as I began to sob quietly into his chest. “I'm scared.” My small voice trembled, muffled by his chest. I don't even know if he heard me.

But, his grip tightened and I knew he had, “I am, too.” He whispered softly.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, but the circle of John's arm comforted me like no others arms ever had. I needed this moment just to cry it all out. “John.” I started.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “Yeah, Ri?”

“Do you like me?”

“Yeah.”

“As more than just a friend?” I elaborated.

It took him a moment, but he finally answered, 'Yes.”

“But there's a chance I might not make it.” I trailed off.

I didn't think it possible, but his grip tightened yet again around me. “Don't tell me that.” He pleaded. “I don't want to know, I don't--”

“I've accepted it somewhat, already. I mean...what choice do I have? But I'm only saying this so you get it.”

“Get what?” John asked.

“You don't have to stay with me, John. You deserve someone healthy. Someone who won't possibly die on you.”

His hand curled into a fist on the back of my head, his chest gave a quick heave, almost like a sob. “Sweet, sweet girl...” He began. “You've accepted something people twice your age couldn't...and now you're asking me to accept it, too. But I can't.”

I tried to pull away, but he held me tight. I gave up, dropping my arms from around him. I knew where this was going. “John--”

“But, I can't let you go, either. Riley, I'll be there for you.”

My surprise just brought more tears to my eyes. I tucked my chilled arms between us, trembling. “John...” I said again, voice weak. My fist tightened around his shirt. “John, thank you.” I cried out softly, before losing my voice to more body shaking sobs.

He gently disengaged himself from me, taking my face in his large hands. With his thumbs, he wiped my tears even though they were soon replaced with more.

He placed a kiss on my forehead, an electrical current was shot through my skull and down my body. His lips stayed there until my brain was fried and my tears had stopped.

I stared at him; he gazed back. And, suddenly, our lips met. Heat rushed up, and his arms encircled me, hands resting on my shoulder blades. I sank into him, bringing my hands to his neck, my thumbs stroking his jaw.

As our lips moved together slowly, sweetly, my heart started to try and burst from my chest. His hands slid up to knot in my hair, and I found mine doing the same, bringing me closer to him.

Even gentler than before, he pulled away. I didn't want him to, but I followed his lead, my heart still pumping rapidly and my cheeks now flushed.

“John?” His name had always been like candy to my lips. I loved saying it, I loved the way my lips formed around it. It's amazing what one syllable will do to you. His fingers traced my lips softly as I said it and his eyes looked into mine with almost a disbelief of some kind, but the biggest emotion I saw played out in his deep pools of color? Love.

A kind of love I hadn't seen directed at me before. It made me feel....special.

“Hmmm?” He mumbled when I didn't continue with whatever I had been saying before.

“I forgot.” I laughed, the action coming from nowhere. That's how I knew it was real. John laughed with me, pulling me back into his embrace.

“You ready to go back?” He asked after a while. I nodded, though I didn't want to leave this warmth.

“Yeah, it will be like World War III if I missed sound check again. I don't want to be first for the rest of tour.”

As we walked, he grabbed my hand, tangling our fingers together. I gave his hand an accepting squeeze. “Why don't you like being first?” He asked.

“It's...” I sighed, not knowing how I should put this because otherwise it was just confusing. “When I play, I'm free....and...well let's just say I don't like sound check at all because it ends too soon. I just want to feel free.” I explained.

“I noticed that you're different when you play...” John began thoughtfully. “What do you think about when you do?”

I gave him a toothy smile. “That's the point. I don't think. Like I said, I'm free from all the trivial things in my life.”

“Cancer is a little more than trivial.” John pointed out. Honestly, I was surprised he was so comfortable with saying the word. I know that I couldn't say is for about two years after I was diagnosed. In any case, it was weird hearing it said out loud by someone other than my family.

“It doesn't matter what we die from, John...it's what we do while we're alive that matters. I tell myself that...maybe, if I'm good enough, my cancer will go away. It's completely selfish to look at it that way, but recently I've been thinking...”

“Yeah?” He urged me to go on.

“I've been thinking that...I don't want to go without some impression being made. I want to help people. I want to save lives.” I shrugged.

“Then, why did you become a musician? Why not a doctor? They are much more effective.” He joked somewhat.

I cracked a tiny smile, but then continued to be serious, “When I was home during the first few months of my treatment, my brother taught me to play bass. It was then I discovered something...I don't know...bigger than myself or anything I've ever been through. When I was playing, senseless notes or random songs, I pretended that I wasn't sick, and I wasn't...”

“What?”

“I wasn't dying.” I said quietly. “Is it okay to be this scared, John?” I whispered, feeling myself start to cry again. And we were almost to the venue...this could be a problem.

“Hey...don't even think it's not okay. You should be terrified, Riley. Not a lot of people go through what you're going through, especially not so young.”

“I'm pretty sure a lot of people get breast cancer, John.” I looked up, trying to will my tears to stop again.

“But you're going through it virtually alone.” He answered, stopping. “I'm here for you, Riley.” John reassured, placing his hand on the side of my face. “I won't leave you.”

“You haven't tried to convince me to get help...” I pointed out, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I wish you would, Riley, but I won't make you. I can't imagine what it was like...and I won't force you to go through it again. But, I will pray every day that you change your mind.” He rested his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. I followed his actions, taking the moment to just relax and let my fear and pain slip away.

When I finally opened my eyes, I found John's eye had opened. I don't know how long he had been staring, and just as I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, my phone rang from my pocket. I got a text from Ross. “I really have to get in there now, John.” I whispered, looking at into his beautiful hazel eyes. Sometimes they looked straight green, other times they looked more brown than green. It was hard to tell exactly what color his eyes were sometimes, and I always loved looking at them.

They were...reassuring, I guess.

That maybe, just like his eyes, things could change.

I took his hand back into my own and continued on into the venue, waiting for the slew of comments that would come from people seeing us holding hands. Specifically, my band mates, and John's. I didn't care, John was officially mine and...

I felt happy about that. Truly, not that fake crap I've been showing people lately.

When we got back to the venue, we were surprised to find that a tour meeting was taking place, so no one even noticed when we slipped in just as Ross was saying, “Last night, we got everyone's costumes, and they are as follows:”

And then he listed them. I looked at John, envisioning his has Zack Fair from Final Fantasty VII. Not that I played much video games, but Elina always told me that Zack was the 'hunky SOLDIER dude' Not that I really thought a video game character could be sexy, but maybe on John it wouldn't be so bad.

“An Angel, huh?” John said, then looked at me and found my staring at him. “What?” He asked, eyebrows pulled together.

“I'm trying to picture you cosplaying.” I answered truthfully, “I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

“Blame your band mates.”

“They are who they are, I can't change them.” I shrugged. So far, again, no one noticed we were holding hands, even after they all disbanded.

“But, an Angel fits you.” John nodded.

“Really? How so?” I asked, releasing his hand to pull my jacket closer, feeling a little cold.

“I don't know, it just...does.” He smiled. “And why does your band get to chose, but we're at the mercy of video game addicts?” He pointed out, following me as I went backstage to wait for my turn to do my sound check.

I shrugged, “Don't ask me me how these things work. I just said I wanted to be an angel...by the way, I think Calvin and Elina were Dalton's idea. No way would Elina want to dress up as Catwoman.” I laughed, enjoying the inside joke.