Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 19 ~ Part 1

Again, this is split into two parts because . . . I actually don't know this time. It just is.

Writing at four in the morning is what this is. Sometimes cats can be soooo annoying. I swear, she was out to get me until I fed her :(

Unedited.

I'm thinking of changing the titles of each chapters to A year before . . . Four months before . . . etc. I'd love to hear opinions on it! . . .

. . . Before WHAT? *ominous voice* :0

I'm so lame . . . xD

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"Alyson, need help?"

               I smile gratefully at Jordon, still trying to wrestle my way out of the car. "Yes please." Without my oxygen machine it'd be easy, but I don't have a choice. I can't leave it in the car, and just hope everything will work out okay. Keeping the tubes in at the same time is near impossible. Once I'm out of the car I can just wheel it around, but lifting it is a different story all together.

               He smiles at me, dimples showing. "No problem."

               As Jordon crawls into the backseat, dwarfing me in the small area, I look at James, standing just outside the car door. He's frowning, concerned eyes staring at me. Smile, I mouth.

               Despite the obvious confusion on his face, he does so. I study it—as morbid as it sounds. Same smile, only he doesn't have dimples. He stops smiling, mouthing, Why?

               Dimples, I say back.

               He raises an eyebrow, staring at me oddly, before throwing his head back. His laugh—though it's silent—is something I fill in the gaps on. In my head, it sounds like his brothers: deep and loud. Shaking his head, he grins broadly. One of a kind, he mouths, and I can't help but grin back.

               "Enough you two. I wasn't joking when I said I have things to do. Stop smiling at each other and help me here. Alyson, can you step out and I'll pass it to you," Jordon orders, with a hand on my shoulder.

               I see James' hands move out of the corner of my eye, smirking at his brother. Jordon signs back, winking at me. I frown, looking between them. I've missed something, I know it. "What?" I ask, my voice too high.

               Both brothers just shake their heads, staring at each other. A silent conversation passes between them—this one without sign involved. I'm just left confused, wondering what they're saying to each other. Letting it go, I step out of the car, stretching my arms. The car ride was cramped.

               A part of me is still emotionally exhausted, thanks to all the tears I'd cried. But I feel . . . lighter, somehow. I'd confessed something, said the words to someone else. In the aftermath, it feels like a weights been lifted off of my shoulders. No one knows about the attempted suicides, aside from mum and dad. I haven't had the nerve to tell anyone. They wouldn't understand—suicide is selfish, but when you have reasons for attempting it, the last thing you're thinking about is everyone else. James understands it like no one else can. He has a reason to hate himself, unlike other people who break up with a boyfriend and decide their world has ended. Yes, best of all, the cancer that continues to spread, is the last thing on my mind. I'm in the city, for the first—and probably last—time in my life. Enjoying myself is the only thing I plan on doing.

               Scanning around me, I watch the people walk by. They stare, pointedly at the tubes in my nose, before glancing away quickly. Some pretend to ignore what they see, others look sympathetic and some people just look uncomfortable at the sight of them. They don't have to say their thoughts aloud; I know exactly what they're thinking: what's wrong withher? I roll my eyes; there's nothing I can do. I'm not the one to blame for having cancer, I didn't ask for it. If they knew I only had one working lung would they change their opinion? I wonder.