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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Saturday, February 18
One Week Later
Grant seemingly has a mini-stroke as I tell him about Blake's obsession with cars and the collection he has compiled over the years.
"He has how many convertibles?"
"I just don't understand where all the money is coming from," He runs his hand through a thick head of hair.
I immediately grow insecure and become aware of my exposed head. It's been four days since we shaved all my hair off, and I can't help but miss its way of making me feel feminine.
Grant notices because he pulls his hand from his curly blonde hair and lies his arms across his chest.
"He has a very successful business," I blurt, unsure how to answer. It's not like I can tell him that his father runs a multimillion-dollar drug mafia.
He'd go ballistic.
"You could do that too," I say to comfort Grant, who has built-up anger towards the fact that he broke things off with Blake so early.
"Yeah, I guess," He fumbles with the remote while searching through the channels on the TV while scrunching his eyebrows in focus.
"When was the last time you went to class?" I question as I sit up in my bed after checking the time.
It's one o'clock in the afternoon; he should be in school, I think to myself.
"Last week," He starts, "But all of my teachers have been sending me the work, and I turn it in before the due date."
"You don't have to worry about that; Brynne"
I shake my head.
"Don't you want to experience your senior year?" I bluntly ask.
His shoulders slump backward into the hospital-grade chair, and he puffs up his chest.
"It's not all that special," He compromises, but I can see in his eyes that he doesn't believe what is coming out of his mouth.
As a senior, he should be partying his ass off and taking girls out on dates, not staying in the hospital 24/7 with his terminally ill sister.
I think, in a way, he blames my condition on himself. He's convinced that if he never acted up with the drugs and alcohol, I would have never left home. Then I could have gotten the treatment I needed earlier, and all would be well.
But I know that's not the case. I was sick before I ran off with Blake on that spur-of-the-moment trip. I was also sick before Grant decided to go through his rebel phase. Sometimes I'm glad it was short-lived, but sometimes I wish he would be more carefree.
His focus shifts to some home restoration show on the TV, and I stare off into space, thinking about life, until I hear a sudden knock at the door.
"Miss Foster?" A familiar voice haunts me. Dr. Khan steps into the room with an iPad in hand.
