Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“Last December,” Mom supplies.
Dr. Sanchez nods before plucking papers from the back of my file and studying them closely, and I can only assume these are a copy of my latest results, though we were told everything was good, no cause for alarm. “Alright, so everything looks as it should on these results, but since you aren’t feeling well, I’m happy to bring forward your scheduled test,” she tells me. “Though I’m sure you’ve done your homework and are aware that a relapse after ten years of remission is quite rare, it’s not unheard of.”
I nod. I spent the whole night reading all about it.
“When did you start noticing these symptoms?” she asks.
I give her the whole rundown, the same way I’d done with Mom and Dad this morning, and she takes in every little detail like a sponge.
“Right, okay,” she says. “So, these symptoms could be signs of a number of different things. I think we need to do a complete blood count, just so we can narrow this down a little. In the meantime, we’ll get started on your bone marrow aspiration. How does that sound?”
“Terrifying,” I tell her honestly.
“I know, but let’s get some results back before we start fretting. This could be a simple case of anemia, or it could be something a little more serious.”
Mom nods, listening to everything the doctor has to say before spouting a million questions I would never have thought to ask, but I suppose this is what happens when you’ve already been through this once before.
They chat for a few minutes, and Mom is already asking about plans of action, but Dr. Sanchez is reluctant to go into too much detail before we get my results.
“Alright,” Dr. Sanchez finally says. “Let’s get you in my exam room and we’ll do a thorough check-up, draw some blood, and get moving on your bone marrow aspiration.”
With that, we all stand, and as Dad pulls me into his side, holding me tight, we make our way into Dr. Sanchez’s exam room, hoping like hell that our lives aren’t about to crumble into a million irreparable pieces.
40
Noah
She’s acting weird.
I first noticed it last weekend after she hurt her hip. She said she slipped and fell into the bathroom sink, but I know the exact way her voice shifts when she lies and the way she glances away, unable to meet my stare. But I let it pass, figuring she’ll tell me when she is ready.
But then she was off the rest of the weekend. Saturday she was mostly alright, but she kept drifting off like something else was holding her attention, and then Sunday rolled around, and she was like a stranger. She was frazzled, unable to concentrate, and couldn’t get a sentence out without forgetting what she was trying to say.
Her mind was somewhere else, and when she faked a yawn . . .
I’m still trying to convince myself that she wasn’t trying to kick me out. That’s not how we’ve ever done it. If she’s tired or wanted some space, she’s always been able to tell me. But is that it? Has she gotten so accustomed to me being away that she doesn’t need me around like she used to?
I’ve tried to give her space this week, testing the theory, only calling every now and then, not flooding her with texts, and a few times she’s avoided my calls and responded to messages with nothing more than a lousy one-word reply. The times I’ve actually gotten through and spoken to her on the phone, I’ve told her about my day while listening with a gaping hole in my chest as she gave me silence in return.
Something is up, and I need to know what.
If she’s hurting or something is happening at school, I want to know. Or if she’s finally realized that she’s too good for me and is ready to call it quits . . . Fuck. It would kill me, but I love her too much to hold on to her if she’s not happy. I want her to fly free, to be happy and filled with love, and if I’m hindering that, then I’ll let her go, but it’ll be the hardest thing I’ll ever do.
It’s Thursday afternoon, just after lunch, and despite my business class starting in twenty minutes, I find myself flying down the highway to get to her. It’s the longest fucking drive of my life, but I make it just in time, pulling into East View High’s student parking lot just minutes before the bell sounds.
I pull up right behind Zoey’s Range Rover, get out of my Camaro, and lean against the hood as I wait, never having felt this uneasy in my life. Just the thought that she could be done with me is fucking me up.