15. Friday.

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2016/02/19 Friday

I'm sorry about saying that I hated all of you yesterday, even if I really fucking meant it at the time. I really appreciate this: you guys reading my blog; because I don't know whether I'd keep writing posts if you weren't. Especially since I flipped my shit at Dr Nestor, I don't know what I would possibly do or who I could possibly talk to if I hadn't started this blog.

Yesterday I woke up and I was just really fucking angry and today is the exact same thing: I woke up and it felt like it'd been screaming in my sleep but I hope that I hadn't been because Gerard really fucking needed his sleep. Even though I was angry, I was still slightly excited for the chance to see Pete today and whether he would possibly look any more sick.

I didn't know – I still don't know – what we're going to do about the Huntington's. What strategy are we going to take? Are we going to try our best to pretend it doesn't exist or are we going to acknowledge it in every conversation? Because I was sure there was no in between.

I didn't know which emotion I was feeling more – anger (for no apparent reason except that maybe I, a 17 year old boy, am having my period), excitement (at the chance to see Pete today) or fear (because I'm afraid of what I'll see when I look at Pete today.)

Mr Bowie came today and he didn't say anything but I think he could tell my mind was slightly more preoccupied with my best friend dying because he gave me less homework than he usually would have on a Friday. We did some maths and studied some chemistry and went over my history and even though he said I'd write an exam, I didn't.

In fact, when I left, I looked at the worksheets and activities he'd given me and I was pretty sure I could do them in a couple of seconds and even though I didn't want to, I tried my best to finish them before Frank came to take me to group. I would have preferred to read The Boy in Striped Pajamas but every time I looked at it, all I could think about was the pink highlighted quote right in the back.

'You're my best friend, Shmuel,' he said 'My best friend for life'. Shmuel may well have opened his mouth to say something back, but Bruno never heard it because at that moment there was a loud gasp from all the marchers who had filled the room as the door at the front was suddenly closed and loud metallic sound rang through from the outside.

And I didn't even have to open the book on the last page to read the quote to write that bit out. Because I knew it off by heart.

I was excited to go to group because I hadn't seen Hayley and Ryan in 2 weeks and I couldn't wait to see Pete again to make sure that he was alright or that he wasn't dying. Because if I was perfectly honest with myself, the real reason I wanted to see him was to see whether he'd begun shaking yet. I wanted to see how much longer he'd have to go before he died.

But I also wanted to kiss him again even if I knew that I shouldn't on account of the fact that best friends for life weren't supposed to kiss and Bruno would never kiss Shmuel. I knew that it was a general rule that I shouldn't kiss Pete and, even though I was never really good at following rules, I would probably chicken out before I did anything anyway.

I tried not to think about Pete or Ryan or Hayley all day so that I could focus on the lesson Mr Bowie was giving me even though I couldn't really help it. Even while I did my chemistry homework I tried not to think about Pete and failed miserably. Instead, when I'd eventually given up the cause, I stared at my worksheets and thought about what I'd say to Pete and what he'd say to me and whether he'd look like he'd been crying.

I wondered whether he'd been sleeping at all and whether he'd been skipping meals at all. In fact, I wondered whether he'd lie to me and tell me he was okay or whether he'd tell me how he was really feeling which, I admit, could be okay. I wondered for an eternity and just when I was about to decided that I didn't care, I stopped myself.

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