I love you, Mr. Cumberbatch

Chapter 8- It's Bad News

It was late November. Trees were bare and colourless. A light frost coated the grass and crunched underfoot as I walked into school. A few weeks had passed since "the kiss" as I refer to it.

Mr. Cumberbatch and I no longer spend time with each other. But I can feel his extraordinary eyes on me when he thinks I don't notice. And I watch him, too, when I think he can't see me. and I miss him. I miss him so much.

He looks... sad. But a peaceful kind of sad. The kind of sad that people don't want to feel. But they know it's the right thing, so they feel it anyway.

I hate to see him like this. It breaks my heart. And I know it breaks his, when he sees me with Finn. But it's okay, because I made it clear to Finn that I wasn't into him and he handled it pretty well. We're just friends. And that's the right thing to be, I think.

Today, I have Mr. Cumberbatch third period. I walk into the classroom quietly, as always, and sit at my desk.

"I managed to mark your books over the weekend, class," Benedict's voice echoes throughout the classroom, "please respond to my comments." He hands out the books.

I open mine, flicking through the pages, reading his writing. I run my thumb over his words, feeling how the pen has dented the paper.

I love knowing that he touched that part of the paper, and wrote especially those words for me. I don't know why, I just do.

Just as I shut my book, a note flutters out. I snatch it off the desk and read it.

On the paper is written:

I would like to talk to you, please. Meet me in front of the north tower at 1:30.

with love,

Benedict x

I scrunch the paper up in my fist and stuff it in my pocket, looking up at Benedict. He catches my eye, and I nod, telling him I'll be there. He gives me a half smile and turns away.

So, in my lunch break, I make my way to the grounds that surrounds my school, and I see him standing there, leaning against a brick wall.

He's wearing a white shirt with a checked blue jacket and trousers. He looks perfect.

I walk up to him. "Hello." I breathe.

"Hello." He smiles nervously, "...How are you?"

"I'm good... How are you." I glance around, wondering why he asked me to come here. He looks sad again.

"I'm okay. Uh, would you like to walk with me?" He gestures out onto the green fields. I nod and so we begin to walk. He seems very deep in thought.

After minutes of silence, I begin to get irritated. What the hell was the point in this? "Look!" I say sharply in an angry tone, "Why exactly did you want to talk to me about? Because frankly, this is just awkward and an utter waste of both my time and yours-"

"I'm ill." He just says. I stop and stare at him, my angry melting instantly into concern.

He then slowly sits down on a bench. I join him tentatively.

I open my mouth to speak when he begins to talk to me.

"I-I went to the hospital about two weeks ago. They wanted to run a-a scan just to check everything was fine since my surgery. Then, they spotted something-an abnormality so they sent it away to get it checked-" he pauses, and glances at me.

"Th-the results came back a few days ago. I've-" he takes a shaky, deep breath "-I have got cancer. In my lungs. Left lung." he tries to say everything calmly, but I can hear the emotion in his voice.

"How bad is it?" I whisper timidly. I really didn't want to know the answer.

"Stage 3." He clears his throat, "I have 11 months. Maybe more, depending on how I respond to the treatment."

We sit there on the bench for about two minutes, letting those last words fully sink in. Then I sniff loudly, unable to stop myself, and a tear rolls down my cheek.

And another. And then a tidal wave rushes down my face, and I look over at him. He is staring straight ahead, but when he looks at me his lips start trembling, and he too begins to cry.

I realise how selfish I'm being after a while. Bawling my eyes out is not going to help him. Right now he needs support. And love.

So I cradle his beautiful face in my hands and tell him, gritting my teeth, "This is not the end of your life. Not just yet. You, my darling, will live until you are eighty. Ninety, even."

"I'm dying, Diana. Look at me, I'm dying." He sobs, his voice hoarse.

"We are all dying, Benedict. Every single one of us. Every single minute we crawl closer to death. It's just that some die quicker. But you are not one of those people. I won't let you slip away." I look into his eyes, using all the willpower I have to hold in my tears. I say firmly, "I won't let you die."

But even I know that there is only so much I can do.

*****AUTHORS NOTE*****

I just want to say, I know cancer may be a hard subject for some of you, because 1 in 3 people will have it at some point in their lifetime, and so many will have someone in their life who suffers. Believe me, I understand.

And I also want to state that I am no medical expert, since I am 13 years old but I have read a couple of books focusing on the illness (eg. My Sisters Keeper, The fault in Our Stars) so though I know very little, I do have some sort of idea of what goes on.

So please, don't murder me in the comments if I get something medically incorrect, because I am doing the best I can to make this seem realistic.

Thank you and enjoy. And please tell me what you think in the comments, and vote!