Cancer.
It's a curse.
It turns people's lives upside down and ruins their relationships.
Brynne Foster is a perfect example.
After being diagnosed with leukemia at age 17, Brynne's family struggles to accept her decision of refusing chemotherapy...
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"Goddamn it," I whisper underneath my breath. The silence that follows is deafening as Blake works silently at my bedside. He has barely made a sound for the past half-hour. Honestly, It's quite eerie, but at least he is not easily distracted.
"Just one more stitch, and then I'm done with this," His strong voice ceases the silence while he continues concentrating on the deep cut in my thigh.
I swiftly look away, squeamish at the sight of my blood rushing from the wound.
Urgently, I feel the need to vomit, repulsed by the deathly stench filling the room,
How much longer? I think to myself.
"Try and stick through it. Just a couple more seconds," Blake announces as if he read my thoughts. He swiftly moves his fingers in unison, as nimble as a cat. Despite his attempted gentleness, the pain is overwhelming. I purse my lips together and withhold myself from yelling at the top of my lungs. Every ounce of strength I possess is going to keep me awake.
But, my head hurts, and the humidity of this basement doesn't help one bit. Buckets of sweat fall from my face and onto the dirty white sheets of the bed. With all their drug money, can't they at least afford some air conditioning down here?
Sorry.
I shouldn't be so snappy, but I can't help it. This procedure hurts like hell, especially since he didn't offer me any sedatives. That's ironic. We are practically surrounded by drugs down here in his 'mafia base.'
So, Blake's in the mafia,
What else is new?
In all honesty, I did not see this coming. Out of all the explanations that ran through my head as I was being tortured, this was definitely not one of them. I'm trying to understand, I really am, but I can't fathom Blake being a part of something this elaborate. He doesn't seem like the type of person to do drugs, let alone sell them for business. Maybe, I don't know him as well as I thought I did.
My leg twitches uncontrollably as he threads the needle through my skin for the last time. I hold my breath and arch my back in an attempt to hold myself still. He presses his palm into my hip to stretch my skin for better visibility. His cold hands send a rush of chill throughout my entire body.
"Finished," He exclaims as he throws the bloody scalpel on the metal table, causing a loud clank.
I look at the scrappy job on my thigh and wonder if it will leave a scar. But, that's the least of my concerns. As I lay on this hospital bed, a million thoughts run through my head,
What am I going to tell my parents when I get home?
Will Mathias come after me again?
Am I now involved in Blake's mafia?
Where is Grant, and why hasn't he texted me?
A feeling of guilt rushes over me. My family doesn't deserve to be left worrying about my whereabouts. They already have enough on their plates with my cancer.
