Unconditional.

When you find out your time is running out, every second seems to count. You can hear a clock ticking from a mile away. Sleeping through the morning makes you feel guilty because you could be out there living while you can, but instead you just stay in bed. You can never get that morning back.

I remember watching films and reading books where characters are given deadlines. Their time is coming to an end. So they climb out of bed and leave the house in their pyjamas. They cycle to beautiful places with the people they love, they make their stamp on the earth before they can fade away. They make memories, a legacy they can live on through, in other people's minds and hearts. They seem to get all this energy from some locked place you can only access once you've been given a deadline. They release their inhibitions, dispose of their shame, because they only have one life to live and they could lose it at any given minute. Why didn't this happen to me?

When I got my letter through the door, I was in bed, my bare torso barely covered by the thin duvet. I was sleeping, presuming in my peaceful state that Holly was still sleeping beside me, wrapped in velvet dreams. I presumed we'd be sleeping like this, undisturbed, for the whole morning and part of the afternoon. Little did I know the curtains would be ripped open by Holly herself, spilling light onto my pillow and forcing a groan from my chapped lips. My eyes fluttered, failing to open completely, and I squinted at her fragile silhouette against the pale light. She didn't say anything, and I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was looking at me. I knew something was wrong.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up, the duvet tumbling off me as an envelope fell into my lap. I glanced from the envelope back to her, my eyes narrowed, but she still refused to speak. I ripped the top off of it, her silence troubling me, and unfolded the contents.

Fictional characters tend to come to terms with deadlines very quickly. It's as if they expect them. Of course, I knew mine was coming, at least, I expected it would. But I seemed to be missing the part in my brain that releases that bit of positive energy, that motivation to go outside and start living the last two months of my life. Instead I felt my bedroom quake. I felt the foundations of my entire world crack and crumble, and my heart gave this horrible jolt that felt like I'd been punched in the chest. I felt the little peace and tranquility that had stuck with me after sleep slip away. Suddenly the ticking of the clock above my bedroom door rang loud and clear in my head. I felt what was left of my life slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. But that wasn't the worst part. Along with that, I felt Holly's safety slip.

I should probably clarify something: I wasn't dying. I didn't have a disease and the letter wasn't a death threat. But when you're only 21 years old, with three quarters of your life spread out in front of you, a letter summoning you to court and the possibility of jail time tends to darken your horizons a little bit. Even if like me you're only facing two or three years, it's still a chunk of your life. It's time you won't get back.

And if you're me, it's more than enough time for the girl you love to be taken back by her abusive, psychopathic ex boyfriend. It's enough time for her to disappear from your life completely before she even has time to visit you in prison.

What was I supposed to tell her? How could I explain I'd been found out? I couldn't lie to her.
But I didn't even need to say anything. She knew, just by the look on my face. Of course this was going to happen.

As she approached the bed I swallowed a lump in my throat. She didn't say anything; she just climbed into my lap and pulled me close. Her soft, slender fingers stroked the back of my neck and her silky hair caressed my cheek and I felt a little comfort. I could easily spend my last two months of concrete freedom like this, hiding my face in her hair, her hands running up and down my bare back. I'd kiss the scars on her skin and drink in her beauty, revising every single line of her face to draw all over the walls of my jail cell when I'm ripped away from her.

But she pulled away from me, even though I was trembling with fear, and looked right into my frightened blue eyes and smiled. She kissed my forehead, and then my nose, as if I was a small child, before bringing her lips down to mine and wiping most of the problems from the walls of my mind. She could make me forget almost every thing wrong with my life, but there was no avoiding the deadline. The dread of losing her, of losing these small moments, could not be wiped away by a kiss. They couldn't be wiped away by anything. They would loom there until the court date, and maybe afterwards.

She picked up the letter with gentle fingers and swept her beautiful green gaze across it, biting her lip as she read. I hid my face in her hair once more; I couldn't bear to see my fear mirrored on her delicate features. I felt her exhale against me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You know," she said softly, stroking my neck, "if you end up going to jail I'm going to have to set some fires so you're not alone."

I laughed, I couldn't help it. Her words of comfort were never what you'd expect. She always knew how to make a situation better. She didn't know men and women were normally separated in prison. She didn't know she wouldn't be allowed to see me. But just the thought, the sweetest sentiment, it helped. It made me smile. I didn't have the heart to tell her how it was. I just told her I was scared and she held me.

People facing deadlines, whether they're diseases or court summons or anything else, they're not any braver than you or me. They feel fear, like anyone else. They can feel the deadline lurking around them at all times. They're aware their lives could be torn away at any minute. I guess that's why they try to do all that crazy stuff with the people they love. They're compensating for the massive overpowering fear that's everywhere. It's like a black tidal wave, looming over you, threatening to land on you at any given moment. And I guess when that happens you have to smile through it, because smiling is better than the alternative. They're not unafriad. Fear lurks everywhere. Because facing death or jail or any type of punishment is terrifying, and anyone who says otherwise is just better at lying than the next person.