TRAPPED

27

Celine

Cancer hurts.

     Maybe it's because I know I have it now that I recognise all the pain that seems to soar throughout my entire body. I don't know why everything hurts. I thought it'd only be my chest, like it has been for the past few days.

     I burrow myself deeper beneath my covers.

•

I wake up to see my grandmother organising stuff on my desk. I furrow my eyebrows.

I wrap my arms around myself and sit up, eyes bleary. They narrow into a glare. "Stop touching my things." I say, voice broken.

"I'm just—"

I grab my photo frame out of her hands. "Don't. Touch. My. Things!"

She sets the other things down. "Celine—"

"Get out," I exclaim, hating the way my voice sounds so.. uneven. "I don't like you."

Her frown deepens.

"Is your hearing aid not working? Fuck. Off!"

The door opens, and my dad walks in. "What's going on?"

"Tell her to get out!" I shout. "Did you not learn in your a hundred years of living to not touch other people's stuff?"

"Celine," my dad says softly, "it's okay. She was just trying to help."

     "I don't care!" I exclaim. "Don't. Touch. My. Things. With. Your. Wrinkly. Hands!"

     My dad says my name again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. My grandmother sighs and leaves.

     "Sweetheart," my dad says, "let's get you back into bed, yeah?"

I walk away from him, his arm slipping away, and grab the photo frames and clumsily try to organise them amidst the rest of the things cluttering my desk. I bite my nails nervously before setting half of it on the chair. My dad keeps saying my name, but the sound of his voice is like background music to the things fluttering around in my brain.

     After a few moments that seem to stretch on forever, he gently takes my hand and pulls me back to look at him.

     "Baby, we can sort this out later." He says.

     "I want to do it now." I reply, grabbing my hands back. "And if you have a problem with that, you can fuck off."

His eyebrows raise in surprise. "Okay." He says after a moment, voice quiet. "Do you want me to help you?"

I shake my head.

"Do you want me to leave?"

I think for a moment before shaking my head once again. His eyes soften as he sits down in the desk chair.

He pulls his phone out, types a quick message and then shoves it back into his pocket. He doesn't say anything as I shakily try to organise all my things. I put some stuff on the floor, and halfway through I find myself exhausted.