Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 18 ~ Part 1

This chapter is in two parts, but they're both one chapter. It's just such a long chapter that I turned it into two parts!

School is back, so I can't update as frequently but I'll do it as much as I can. This story is just getting good and fun to write so I want to write more.

Again, thank you for the votes!

Unedited.

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Two weeks later, we're in the car, driving towards James' house. It had taken a lot of arguing but I'd won in the end on many things. Despite both their protests about going into the city that where we're going. I eye my oxygen machine sitting in the car next to me—it's obnoxious and obvious but I have no other choice but to bring it. I can only hope I won't have to walk around with it on, though I'm not sure it'll happen. I've only been to the city once when I was younger and the walks to get to places had been long. I'd have two working lungs then so I didn't trust my chances today.

               "What's the address again?" dad asks from the front seat.

               Opening my phone I read it out to him, waiting for the nod before I put it away. I haven't dressed up—at least not by my standards—but I did put some effort into deciding what I was wearing. It's not like he'll care anyway. We met in a hospital waiting room after I'd just woken up from a coma; I doubted I'd looked great then. Running a hand over my silk blue and pink skirt and then my black shirt, I can't help but stare at my white converse. I wasn't going to budge on them, no matter how many times mum had told me to change them—

               "You look great honey, stop worrying. Nothing is wrong . . . except the shoes. Do you want to change them? I brought a spare pair with me."

               "Great timing," I mutter, rolling my eyes. All I get in response is confusion and I shake my head. "Never mind. I'm fine with the shoes I have on. I'm going to be walking, I'm not wearing six inch heels."

               "She has a point," dad adds staring at the shoes in the reflection, "and I like them."

               I smile at him. "Thank you. Someone agrees. What if we were going for a run? What would I do then?"

               "You can't—" mum breaks off, shaking her head. I know what she's thinking. What she doesn't want to say aloud. You can't run because you have cancer.

               Changing the conversation, before it turns sad, I say, "You'll like him, dad."

                He frowns, scanning the street signs. I have no idea where we're going but when I'd read the address out to dad he'd acted like he knew. "So . . . how deaf is deaf?"

               "He can't hear, dad. At all. He can lip read but I don't know how well. He can feel things which I don't get, but he's completely deaf."

               "Where's his hearing aid?"

               I shrug, staring at the houses as we pass them. It's boring but it's something to keep my entertained. "I haven't asked. It's not my business."

               "He knows about you," mum says with a frown.

               I nod, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. It had taken for ever to get my hair to sit like I'd wanted it to, and when that hadn't worked I'd just left it down. "That's because I told him. He didn't interrogate me to find out."