Living With Animals

Chapter 29

Claire's P.O.V.
Same Day as Last Chapter
****************

"So are you ever going to tell me what happened to your back?" Jaocb asks, as we sit cuddled on my bed watching Outer Banks.

"When I'm ready, maybe."

"Fine. I won't pressure you."

"Dinner!" My mother calls up the stairs. I can hear her loud, heavy footsteps up the stairs.

"Coming mom!" I yell downstairs.

I get up, shuddering from the brush of cold air, and jog down the stairs to the kitchen table, to find Bronnor, Connor, Laken, Spencer, Drew, and Hudson, all sitting at the kitchen table.

"Good to see you, Claire. Glad I got a hug," Laken claims, sarcasm striking. I fill him off and by father scolds me.

"I'm sorry I had better things to do," I retort to Laken.

"Like what?"

"Like see my bestfriend, duh." I point to Jacob and Spencer laughs at the expression on Lakens face at my comment.

"Well I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that so that I am not offended and don't cry." He puts one hand on his chest and the other wipes a fake tear. I shake my head at him, and sit down.

"So how are you feeling?" Isabelle asks out fo spontaneity.

"Good actually. I'm feeling better than I was."

"Well that's good."

"It is."

"Have you been able tos tart softball or dance yet?"

"Not quite. Getting close though, hopefully."

"Wonderful!"

"Yeah." The rest of dinner is mainly silent, besides our parents talking politics, taxes, and all that other bullshit.

After an hour or so, Jacob and I walk back to my room laying down, and before I know it, I'm out like a light.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~
Claire's P.O.V
2:47 AM
~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~
I wake up as my phone rings my room empty, so I assume Jacob must have gone to room.

The number is unknown, but seems recognizable, so I answer and sure enough( the sound of Dr. Mayes' voice comes up.

"Is this Claira Johnson?" I

"This is she," I croak.

"Your test results are back." Test results. Test results to see how I was doing.

"Okay? Was it necessary to call me this early in the morning?"

"Yes, actually it was."

"Okay. Sorry for being impolite but it's early and i'm kind of crabby."

"Claira. The chemo therapy was working."

"What do you mean was?"

"Now that it's moved to your CNS, it's not working. You're goign to need a stem-cell transplant." I stand there shocked at the wrods, dropping my phone then catching it.

"O-okay. How much is it?"

"It's going to be around 130,000." Shit.

"And whats the survival rate?"

"Anywhere from 43-62%." This time I really do drop my phone. And as I bend down to grab it, I sink tot he floor and just sit there.

"O-okay, t-thank you," I stutter through tears, hanging up the phone.