Chapter's song: Coldplay - The Scientist  

The sky was painted in crystal-blue. The sun was shining warm rays of light that danced with the shadows of the thick foliage from the trees around us. A diverse combination of colors displayed in front of me. Green and splashes of yellow in different shades. The car hummed as my eyes filled with tears.

My chest tightened as I fought the incessant urge to cry. I hated crying. I always did. Now, it seemed like it was the only thing I did.

My father was dead silent as he drove the car. His eyes were glued to the front and no words came out of his mouth. The air was too thick. Filled with sorrow and guilt.

It all came down to me.

I had been too weak. Too coward.

There was no excuse for my behavior. None.

I just didn't know how to deal with everything. I never did.

Mom was the courageous one. She was always upfront when she had a problem. She was outspoken and wasn't afraid to speak her mind. But she was gone now.

Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes. A trembling breath left my lips as my chest tightened with full force.

I would never hear her voice anymore. Or her loud laugh. She wouldn't make me jump whenever she sneezed as loud as ever.

My heart ached. I missed her. So much.

The worst part is that I had taken her for granted.

She was diagnosed with cancer almost three years ago. She had a rare type of cancer: multiple myeloma. It's a type of cancer that affects the white blood cells. Meaning that your immune system is pretty much shut down. Then, it moves to the bone marrow. Your bones are as fragile as a glass vase. You can't carry much weight; you can break a leg or an arm with the lightest blow on your body.

Her disease was pretty advanced when the doctors found out about it. Nonetheless, she lived for three years despite the ups and downs of the disease.

When she was first diagnosed, she hit a low point. In the span of a few months, she had lost the ability to walk. Her whole body was weak from the chemotherapies. But after a blood transfusion, she started to recover. In less than a year, she was able to walk again and have a rather normal life. There was always the shadow of the disease, though. She couldn't drive anymore and Dad had to hire a nurse to help her on a daily basis.

However, eight months ago, the cancer returned in full force. Chemotherapies and blood transfusions weren't enough this time. Her condition worsened. She had to try a new treatment and even though the doctor advised her to take it at the hospital, she wouldn't have it. She despised hospitals. Plus, she was stubborn as hell. Even the doctor couldn't argue with her.

Ever since she was diagnosed, in between chemotherapies, visits to the doctor and blood transfusions, my life changed radically. Her pain became my own ache. It was raw and unbearable. And to be honest, I didn't know how to handle it.

I tried, though. I didn't want my parents to see me heartbroken. I had to be strong. They had enough in their hands. But it was so hard. Especially since Mom and I had sort of a complicated relationship to begin with.

The traits that we shared where only physical. The dark wavy hair and the fair complexion was about it. We didn't even have the same eye color. Mine where blue, like my father's, and hers where dark chocolate.

To be honest, we didn't have a lot in common, either. We were really different. I was the artsy, shy girl that came after Dad; Mom was outspoken, bubbly and over-friendly. Traits that I would always feel as being nosy and judgmental.

I knew she always wanted the best for me but she kept asking for more. To excel at everything. To be different. To be like her.

Still, she was my mom. I loved her even though I didn't understand her most of the time. But my heart shattered with hers as she went through the different treatments. It brought so much pain to see her like that. To know that there was nothing I could do. No way that I could ease her worriedness, her agony.

Masking my ache was the worst. Especially to my friends. Because they wouldn't stop asking questions. The questions brought out the pain and I couldn't handle it. Not at school.

I stopped hanging out with them. Instead, I befriended other people. People that wouldn't know me. That I could pretend to be someone different. They were the kind of friends that are not really your friends but everyone craves to have them. The kind of friends who don't really care enough to ask you about your life, your home, your family. The ones who go to parties and act like they own the world. They have fun, they laugh, they go out, they forget about everything.

In the haze of this newfound friendship, I learned that nobody cared. That nobody asked. That I could leave the pain at home. The anguish, the sorrow, the sadness. And I could go to school and act like everything was ok. Like there was no ache consuming my heart. That I hadn't cried myself to sleep. And that my heart didn't break as Mom had to endure through another painful treatment again.

It was easier to keep going masking every true feeling than to actually let the sorrow consume me. Because for a few hours of the day, I would stop feeling so much.

However, it got to the point where I forgot who I really was.

Mom wasn't happy when she found out that I wasn't answering my best-friend's calls. Anne had been my friend since kindergarten. She was absolutely furious with me. But how could I talk to Anne? How could I tell her that I was in so much pain? I wanted it to stop. I didn't like to cry or be sad. It was much easier whenever I was with Marissa and her clique. They didn't ask questions. They just wanted to have fun.

Mom was adamant to make me see that I was different. To make me call my friends again. Especially Anne. We fought about it. A lot.

It felt easier to be mad at her than to be sad for her. I was so wrong...

A tear rolled down my cheek as memories of the day she passed away flashed through my mind. Her condition had worsened and deep down of me I knew she wasn't going to live much longer. Her hair was scarce and her once chubby complexion was now reduced to a mass of fragile bones. She was pale. Too pale. Also, she needed the blood transfusions more and more. That's when the doctor proposed the new treatment. He warned us that it could be too harsh but it was our only hope.

Two days after she started the treatment, Dad woke me up at dawn. I knew at once that something was really wrong. He was crying as he was holding up the phone next to his ear and talking to someone on the other line. He sounded desperate as he gestured for me to go to Mom.

Completely shocked at everything that was going on, I jumped out of bed and ran to their room. Mom's eyes were open and I could see her chest moving but when I talked to her and grabbed her hand, it felt lightweight. There was no force, no life in it.

The paramedics showed up and I was pushed to the side as they tried to help Mom out. I remember their voices as they talked to each other while taking out all their equipment and started to press down on Mom's chest. But all I could see where her eyes.

They looked empty.

Her death was called in and the paramedics started to put their equipment away. I wanted to tell them that she couldn't be. That they needed to keep going. But my voice was caught up in my throat and no sound could be made.

My chest felt so tight that it hurt. Everything felt blurry as I felt Dad's warm hand encase mine. His blue eyes were red and blotchy and so deeply sad when he asked me to say goodbye to her. I heard him walk away as I stood frozen in front of the bed.

All the pain and sadness that I had been keeping at bay came crashing back to me. My heart ached in a sorrow that's hard to describe. I felt this emptiness inside of me. So deep, so raw. With a tight chest, I walked around the bed to kneel in front of Mom's face.

She looked so peaceful. Too peaceful.

My breathing was ragged as I tried to find my voice to tell her something. There were so many things that I wanted to tell her. That I should have said before.

All I could think was that I was so deeply sorry. That I loved her and that this couldn't be it. That she couldn't be gone.

"I'm so sorry Mom" my voice broke on each word. The large lump on my chest tightened as I whispered crying, "God, I'm so sorry."

Tears blurred my vision as remembered grabbing her hand. It wasn't warm anymore. She was gone. And I didn't know that to do with myself.

Guilt and sorrow washed over me. The same I felt that day. I was ashamed of myself. I despised my life, who I had become. But mostly, because I had made the worst decision ever.

My heart throbbed as I remembered the need to make it stop. Emptiness encased me. I felt broken. Like a complete failure. Like I was never good enough for her. The ache was too deep. So deep that it made me a coward. I had the scars on my wrists to prove it. And the last two months hadn't been easier.

I reproached myself for trying to hurt myself. But mostly, because I hurt Dad, too.

He had lost his wife and I had increased his sorrow by trying to end my life. Mom's best friend had found me that awful night. Marie was like an aunt to me and she was my father's lifeline when Mom passed away.

When I left the hospital, Dad sent me to a psychiatric institution for troubled teens like myself. It pained him to do so. The sorrow etched in his eyes when he said it to me was proof enough. He didn't know how to deal with my depression since he was filled with grief, too.

Nevertheless, he came to see me every weekend. His visits were awkward and too silent on both parts; but Dr. Simmons, my psychiatrist, explained were that we both needed time to grieve and forgive. But Dad never gave up on me. Despite of everything.

Summer passed in between group and individual therapies., Dr. Simmons, was positive that if I came back home, I would heal faster. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

My life had been completely shallow for the last two years. I had no real friends. No one cared for me because I didn't let anyone get closer to me. Shame and guilt were still etched in my heart. I felt like I had failed everyone around me.

Including myself.

He was the reason that I accepted coming home. I couldn't fail him again. I had to struggle to keep going, even if I didn't feel like fighting anymore. I owed it to him. To her.

Therapy was a must at this stage. I had to go twice a week with a colleague that Dr. Simmons had referred us to. He said that I should be back to my normal life as soon as possible stressing out how the start of senior year would be ideal. He didn't want me to miss one day of school.

To be honest, I dreaded going back. My stomach churned as my thoughts drifted to school. I didn't want to be the person I had pretended to be but there was a blurred line to who I actually was.

Nobody knew where I had been. When family friends asked about my whereabouts, Dad would just say that I had spent the summer with his sister down in Colorado. I had never asked him about it but I think he felt ashamed of what I did.

I know I was.

Familiar houses filled my line of vision as the car approached our street. My chest tightened as an overwhelming feeling washed over me. My right hand absentmindedly touched my left wrist. My fingers traced the now too familiar bumpy fleshiness that was left as a scar. It was a habit that I had picked over the last few weeks. Whenever I was nervous, I traced the scars that were left on me. They were a constant reminder of the pain etched in my heart. It was physically intact but I knew there was a large scar that ran deep within me. I could feel the emptiness inside. As if Mom had literally taken a part of me with her.

Our house came in view and my stomach churned. My hands tightened as I felt the last traces of breakfast squirm inside of me. Breathing seemed like a task in itself but I tried to calm myself for my father's benefit, more than my own.

How's the house going to be like? Does it still have her smell? Does it feel different?

"We're here," he trailed as unsure as I felt. My eyes turned to him. Over the last few months he had aged considerably. His blue eyes had a taint of dullness in them. Small wrinkles adorned them and his short hair, usually dirty blonde, was now full of white hairs.

A pang of guilt played on the pit of my stomach.

He just couldn't get a break. He had lost his wife and nearly lost his daughter, too. All in the span of a month. Stupid Cassie.

My hand kept tracing the scars as I looked down. "I'm sorry Dad," I swallowed hard, "for everything." My voice cracked at the last word as tears blurred my vision.

I didn't need to look at him to know he was as tense as me. His hands were gripping the wheel tighter turning his knuckles white. He stayed quiet for a moment looking ahead of us.

After what felt like forever, he cleared his throat and his blue eyes turned to me. "I'm trying to understand everything, Cassie. I'm not there yet, but you are my daughter and I love you." His eyes brimmed with tears as pain flashed through them. "And your Mom loves you too." He turned to the front, gazing at the distance, "we both want the best for you."

The all too familiar feeling of guilt and shame poured down on me as a tears rolled down my cheeks. I bit my lip as I averted my eyes, trying not to sob in front of him. "We'll get better." A tint of hope laced his words. "For her, Cassie. We will work this through because that's what your Mom would have told us to do." His rough calloused hand searched mine and as he touched my hand, I closed my eyes as the tears kept rolling down. I held on to his rough hand for a moment before reopening my eyes. His eyes were pooled with tears and filled with sadness and grief.

The house looked the same since I left. The front porch had one too many potted plants arranged on the sides of the entrance. Mom's eccentric taste was evident as you walked inside. Our home was decorated with a variety of styles. Most of the furniture was country style. A few abstract scattered paintings were seen over the walls. A wide arrange of different orchids finished the look. My heart pounded inside of me as I looked around. Nothing had changed. The brown faded sofas were still on the same place. The TV control was on the dark wooden table on the same spot Mom wanted us to put it so we wouldn't lose it. The plants were watered and one or two were flowering.

It was just as if she were there.

For a moment, I expected her to come walking out of the kitchen, drying her hands on the kitchen towel, smiling that beautiful smile of hers.

Only that it didn't happen.

I breathed out as I swallowed a lump down my throat. Slowly, my feet moved towards the kitchen, Mom's favorite room. She loved cooking and she was really great at it. Every breakfast, lunch or dinner was treated as a feast in this house. We would eat on the dining room using the best china we had. Eating in front of the TV was out of the question. Mom hated that.

All of that changed over the last eight months. Every day it was harder for her to get out of bed. Cooking hadn't been an option at the time. Since I was busy with school and whatnot, Dad managed to get an old neighbor to cook for us. She cooked at her home and brought us different plates of food every other day. I supposed it still worked that way.

Coldness sipped through my bones as I stepped outside the kitchen. My stomach clenched as I blinked fresh tears away. It was clear that it hadn't been used in a long time.

Because Mom was gone.

An overwhelming feeling washed over me as Dad murmured from the door, "Mrs. Ross's been sick for the last few days. We could order some pizza for dinner." To be honest, I wasn't really hungry. I hadn't been hungry in a while. My clothes felt loose.

Dad picked up the phone and started to talk over to Ramone's, Mom's favorite pizza place as he paced to the TV room. With a sunken heart, I paced to my room. My feet slowed down at the middle of the stairs as I eyed my parent's bedroom door. The image of Mom's lifeless body lying on her bed played on my mind. Her slightly open eyes, her cold hands, her pale color. That image would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I didn't realize that my feet had stopped moving and I was frozen on the stairs until Dad's voice said out loud, "looks like today is going to be Chinese," he stopped before the stairs eyeing me warily. "They're out of staff and no one can deliver tonight."

"I'll get it." The words came out of my mouth in a sort of relief. I just wanted to get out of the house. I needed to get a breath of fresh air. Sorrow was too deep right now.

A frown set on my father's face, "but you just got here."

"It's only two blocks away." I stepped down. "I'll be back in less than twenty minutes."

His shoulders tensed and doubt was playing on his face. "Are you all right?"

"I need fresh air," my voice was indeed breathless, "and it's getting a pizza. I can do it." I grabbed the brown jacket that was hanging by the door. "Would you," I paused as I grabbed the doorknob, "can you trust me?" sadness seeped into my words.

Of course he didn't.

I had tried to hurt myself. I'd just came back from a mental institution and I was clearly having a panic attack.

My eyes casted down as I sighed. I let loose of the doorknob as Dad added, "twenty minutes." My eyes immediately searched his. Even if they still looked dubious, Dad was giving me this as a sort of test. He pulled out a fifty dollar's bill and extended it to me. "I want change. And a couple of those garlic-cheese buns."

My hand trembled as I took the bill. "Thank you." My voice quavered.

"Twenty minutes, Cass. I'll catch up with you if you are not back." I nodded thankful to get away from the house for just a little time.

It was barely a five-minute walk. The pizza place was literally two blocks away. I ran as fast as I could to get away from home. It was stupid really. I was walking back home in twenty minutes. But there were so many emotions running through me and I just needed a breath.

In no-time, I found myself in front of the pizza place. Ramone, the Italian fella that owned the place, was friends with my parents. He was talking through the phone and waved me from the counter. I assumed he was talking to Dad as he nodded my way, a small relieved smile playing on his face. The bells chimed in as I stepped inside and a warm wave of air touched my flushed cheeks. I smoothed my hair down as I noticed a large group of people.

Not just any kind of people. Schoolmates. Just my luck.

Ramone's was one of the best pizza places in town, so I was bound to find someone here. Especially since we lived close to Harvard and my school as well. Dad was a lecturer at the university and loved to walk down to his job and I could do the same to school.

"George called!" Ramone shouted with that thick Italian accent of his. "We'll have your pizza ready in no time!" he gestured me to sit in one of the booths and I obediently complied. I could feel my peers glancing at me but I ignored them. I had never been friends with any of them, anyway.

The group was formed mainly by guys. They were all athletic and loved to dress in darker tones. A few had tattoos and one of the girls had a lip ring. If I had to give them a name, they wouldn't be considered emo or dark. They were pretty much the bad-ass clique. Most of them were seen on detention on an everyday basis and they even had this sort of street fight thing going on. But it wasn't a gang, as far as I could tell.

They were definitely not people I had ever crossed with.

The room grew noisy once again as I reached my booth. Curiosity got the best of me as my eyes travelled their way. It was a small party as there were only five of them. Completely ignoring me, they were back to their usual bickering. All but one.

Averting my eyes, I fidgeted on my seat hoping that he'd turn away like the rest of them, but he didn't.

I knew his name. Everyone did. He was kind of a loner at school. But one you didn't want to cross with. Nathan Rivers.

My eyes locked on his for a moment. They were grey. And intense. His stare was serious as he gazed at me. Breaking the eye-contact, I looked away.

Why is he staring at me?

My fingers started to trace the slight scar under my jacket as my left foot started to tap impatiently under the table.

Please turn away. Turn away. Just effing turn away.

"Cassie?" A blonde girl stood in front of me. Surprised but thankful at the disruption, I found one of my old friends staring at me. Meredith was the kind of girl who was pretty without makeup, yet she insisted on wearing tons of it and really tight clothes just to fit in with Marissa and her friends. However, you could tell she was actually nice. If she stopped trying to pretend someone she wasn't. But I couldn't judge her, could I?

"Mer" I bobbed my head, "hi."

Her brown eyes were wide as she assessed me. "Where have you been? It's been months since we all saw you! Wait 'til Marissa knows you're back! She's going to be like, so happy about it!" Her words blurted out of her mouth in less than three seconds. Everyone's eyes were back on us. Meredith voice was kind of squeaky, too. Plus, the fact that she was excitedly gesturing with her hands wasn't helping my case. Before I could utter any word, she eyed me confused, "Are you all right? You look," Like shit? Like a complete slob? Thinner? Uglier? Sad? "different."

Pulling up my sleeve on my left wrist, I breathed out as I shrugged, "I've been better, I guess." My eyes travelled behind her back to the guy who still had his eyes fixed on me. His face was expressionless but his lips were tight and he seemed to be solving a difficult equation. His grey eyes were glued to me. He didn't even care that I was, once again, looking his way. I think Meredith must have said something else because I heard her squeaky voice one more time. For a fleeting moment, his lips tugged up on a small smile. But I must have imagined it all, because a moment later his face was blank as always. It was Meredith's face in front of me, bursting my personal bubble, that brought me back to the conversation.

A gasp left her mouth. "You know about Tom and Marissa." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. One that she seemed to be afraid to mention.

"What?" I asked taken back. Tom was one of my friends. Actually, more than so. We weren't dating, but we sort of kissed from time to time. He was nice but definitely not boyfriend material. I never thought of him like that. "So they're together now?" I looked at her trying to be polite. I really didn't care who dated who.

Meredith closed her eyes and nodded biting her lip as if this whole ordeal pained her. For a moment, I felt bad for her. Maybe she thought that we were all friends. Maybe they were. Maybe I was the one who didn't want to.

Puzzled at her reaction, I shifted on my seat again. "Good for them, I guess."

"Aren't you mad?" I winced at the high tone Meredith used. Sighing, I looked behind her. That Rivers guy was still watching me. He had slightly tilted his head and was observing me curiously.

What the hell? I'm sure he had more important things to do than to hear about Tom and Marissa hooking up.

Bemused at the fact that he was still on me, I turned to the petite blonde in front of me. "I don't care, Meredith. He's not my boyfriend," I breathed out, "he never was."

She didn't seem to get the point as she continued to move her arms. "Yeah, but it's Marissa! Your best-friend!" I frowned at that. She is not my friend. Neither are you.

Meredith looked at me as if I was growing a second head. Completely astonished. Sheesh. Apparently, the fact that Tom was dating Marissa did seem to matter to others since the table on my front view had grown quiet, listening to the conversation. My eyes flicked to them to find Rivers' intent stare. A bit annoyed, I glanced at the blonde in front of me, "they can do whatever they want."

Meredith looked taken aback. "I'm here for you, you know that?" As if that meant anything. I sighed. Can she just leave already?

"I know, Meredith, I know." I trailed as my hand played with the almost empty napkin holder on the table.

Her eyes stayed on me for a moment. "You seemed changed."

My hand froze as I looked up. My chest tightened as I glanced behind her. He was still looking at me. "Things have changed," I murmured before pushing myself and walking to the counter to pick up my order.

And I could feel his unnerving gaze following my every move.

Thank you for reading this. It's the first chapter and it's a full novel, btw :) (with a sequel, yay!) I'll be posting this once or twice a week. 

I wrote this story when I needed to let out everything I felt when my mom passed away, so it's raw, emotional and personal.