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Chapter 1: 

Chosen as an Angel 

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Wednesday afternoon consisted of Support Group. Run by breast-cancer survivor TJ Pedrick, we, people with cancer and even those in remission would gather in the penthouse built above the coffee shop on Black Lives Matter Plz Street and just talk about treatment, remission, and whatnot. However, there was a routine for Support Group every week. 

When I went there on Wednesday, I grabbed a Dixie cup filled with cold lemonade and sat on a comfy couch next to a 24-year-old woman with a bald head, waist-high bell bottoms, and a tight-fitting crop top that accentuated the one boob she had left. As she glanced at me, giving a slight wave of her hand. 

"Pilar," I said with a sigh. 

Pilar opened her mouth to say something, but the LED light clock turned to 2:15. TJ sat atop a coffee table in the middle of the penthouse, engulfing the room with energy like Robin William in Good Morning, Vietnam. You could hear the floorboards vibrating from TJ's voice. We all focused on her as she began the Support Group session, recounting her cancer history. 

After TJ shared her story, we would introduce ourselves just for the sake of a possible newcomer being in our midst. It followed a structure. Name. Age. Diagnosis. And, of course, we had to mention our overall well-being. So, when it was my turn, I rose from the couch, raised my Dixie cup into the air as if giving a toast, and recited what I said every Wednesday: Aisling Jones. Twenty-five. In remission for Ewing sarcoma. Three years. I'm doing great. 

In response, the whole room would chorus, "We're here for you, Aisling," and I'd finish off my cup of lemonade before sinking back on the comfy couch. 

This time was different: TJ cleared her throat and shot me a look before I could even attempt to sit down. "Aisling." She said my name as if to warn me of the repercussions of avoiding the full experience of Support Group. 

I adjusted my posture, my heart heavy against my chest, for the entire room stared at me. "Yeah?" I breathed and handed her my now-empty Dixie cup. 

TJ nodded and let out in her rousing voice, "How has Ciqala supported you through your journey?" 

My heart thundered in its cage. "How has my partner supported me throughout my journey?" I said, playing with the collar of my blouse. When I hung my head, searching for words, I noticed how the neckline curled around the bottom of my throat. 

Memories of my scant interaction with Ciqala this week flashed through my brain. 

Monday

Me: Are you working late tonight?

Ciqala: Yeah. You know Este. Work, work, work.

Me: Do you want me to stay up and have dinner fresh?

Ciqala: Nah.

Tuesday

Ciqala: I'll be home late again tonight. You know Este.

Me: Yeah. Work, work, work. Go get 'em, babe.

Wednesday

Me: Are you and Este seeing each other? You've seemed to avoid me these last few weeks, so I'm just wondering.

Ciqala: Can we talk about this tonight, Aisling?

Me: No. I deserve an answer now.

Ciqala: Patience is a virtue, Aisling. Isn't that what your faith says?

Me: My faith also decrees that a man is nothing without honesty.

Ciqala: Good thing I don't believe in that shit.

Back in Support Group, with the memories burning in the back of my brain, I forced a smile onto my face. "He supports me unconditionally"—a lie to keep the group's stability. I found little enjoyment in lying, but when I did lie, I had a damn good reason.

"Thank you," TJ chimed, still exuding her Good Morning, Vietnam energy.

So, I sat back on the couch, relaxing into the cushioning, and Pilar shot up to her feet.

Pillar seemed focused on the woman, who I guess was new to Support Group, due to my inability to recognize her and the fact that she stood on the other side of the room diagonal from TJ as if she were trying to hide.

She had silky acorn-brown hair and seemed fixated on Pilar. The sticker against her chest read her name: Ayita Lisenbe.

Meanwhile, Pilar said, "On behalf of Support Group, I'd like to welcome our newest member, Ayita Lisenbe."

TJ whirled around on the coffee table to face the new member. The energy in the room began to stir as if in a cauldron. When the cauldron's contents peaked, we erupted with cacophonous greets.

After a minute of chaos, TJ's hand shot into the air, and all commotion went quiet.

I let out a sigh and thought, Good. Then, I returned to Pilar, who was speaking. "As you may know, I'm Pilar Sanchez, age twenty-four. When I came to the States, I discovered I had a cancerous tumor in my left breast. I've been in remission for over a year and finally found someone."

My attention drifted to Ayita, who smiled, her cheeks turning as bright as a rose, and my mind halted on one word: Together. I sucked on my lips. How could they be together and I not have known?

However, when Ayita batted her eyes upon seeming to notice me, I brushed my cheek and returned to Pilar. Again. Pilar was still speaking. "I'm in love with Ayita Lisenbe, my girlfriend."

Instead of the usual response to Pilar—We're here for you, Pilar—we all gave soft applause to the declaration; seeing a couple at Support Group was a rarity. Almost unheard of. I pursed my lips while lightly patting my palm. It was a first for me, I guess.

My hand shot into the air, and TJ nodded at me.

"So, Pilar," I inquired with a subtle smirk, "are you and Ayita already living together?"

At the question, Ayita straightened her posture in her mahogany chair next to a couch facing the couch I sat on. On that couch, twin brothers Remy and Rory, in matching white polos, pressed their Dixie cups together. That's where the resemblance stopped. Rory was a biker boy with a moped and bright blue leather jacket, while Remy was nerd chic, clad in bell bottoms, rectangular frames against his eyes, and suspenders.

"You owe me ten dollars," Rory, the one with slicked-back, black hair that probably was greasy as shit, said to his twin brother. "I told you that Aisling would ask that." Rory met my widening eyes. "Oh, shit."

"Oh shit, indeed." Remy jabbed Rory in the upper arm. "We—"

"If you two fools are done," I cut them off, and their sheepish grins faded like dust in the wind. Well, Remy's did. Rory, however, kept his filterless mouth running with a smirk.

"If I'm a fool," Rory sang, and I could see the wheels turning in his blistering brown eyes, "I'm a fool for you, girl." He finished with a wink. A wink. A fucking wink.

I could sum Rory like this: mentally unstable with brain cancer. So, I couldn't blame him for hitting on me so casually, as if we were a couple.

"Yeah," was all I said before Remy dragged Rory into one of the penthouse rooms, an amber vial labeled with an exotic name in his hand. Believe it or not, I considered the twins to be friends of mine, and Rory hitting on me was normal.

After what felt like forever, TJ broke the silence by clearing her throat. "Ayita, I'm so sorry. Rory and Remy have issues...." She fumbled with sounds until she trailed off into oblivion.

Meanwhile, I stole a glance at Pilar. Her eyes burned into mine as if she could set me aflame with a single look, not a match. At the same time, her jaw seemed clenched as if to say, How could you? Not because of Remy and Rory, but because I posed such a personal question in Support Group.

I rolled my lips against my teeth before mouthing, I'm sorry. And I was. I honestly was sorry about inquiring if the couple lived together. Despite the urge swelling like a pool of warmth in my stomach, yearning to know the intimate details of their lives together, I at least tried to suppress it.

Pilar turned her attention back to Ayita, with no actual sign of forgiveness towards me.

Ayita stood up from a chair. "I'm Ayita Lisenbe," she said, scanning the room. "I'm nineteen. The doctors diagnosed me in March with chronic myelogenous leukemia, a cancer of white blood cells. Because of that, I met Pilar, who I give my heart to because I'm in love with her with every fiber of my existence. Honestly, I'm the happiest I've ever been in a while, and that's weird to say since I'm, well, you know, dying."

"We're here for you, Ayita," we all chorused, except for Pilar. When I glanced at Pilar, she was mouthing something to Ayita, most likely an I love you.

"Ayita," TJ said vigorously, her Good Morning, Vietnam voice shining through, then the energy began to soften. "You wouldn't mind answering Aisling's question earlier, would you?"

"No," Ayita said, glancing to the side as Remy and Rory sat back down on the couch facing Pillar and me, "I don't mind." Her eyes darted in my direction. "Pilar and I have been living together for a good month." She pursed her lips as her gaze deepened against mine. A shudder shot through my spine as I took in her icy-blue eyes that wanted to cut through me like a knife. "Any other questions?"

I shook my head, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. Meanwhile, the weight of the penthouse seemed to shift when Rory announced, "I'm sorry for making a scene." He seemed like the guy I met in the eighth grade. "Tamsen came out in the end."

"Tamsen?" Ayita echoed, narrowing the lids of her eyes into a squint. Her eyes darted through the room, begging for an answer from anyone. I looked at Remy, whose eyelids had widened, and I mouthed, Fess up.

"Ayita—"

"Remy, right?" Ayita cut in before Remy could tell her what Rory meant by Tamsen came out. "You're the one who had cancer in the balls?"

Remy's cheeks seemed to rouge as he stiffened. He played with the straps of his black suspenders while stammering. "Yup. That's me. Remy Ross. Ball cancer survivor." He shook his head and rose to his feet, turning in Ayita's direction as he said, "You're new here, so let me make sure you understand why I'm here. Rory's personality cycles throughout the day, and we can only do so much to help him stabilize."

"Oh." Ayita dragged that last sound into the open for a few seconds. She sounded like a popular high school student; I couldn't tell if it was in a good or bad way. However, only time would spell the answer out. "So, you name his recurring personalities?"

"He names the recurring personalities," Remy corrected, clicking his tongue. Honestly, it was kind of annoying whenever he did it. But I guess it was what made Remy Remy. Without it, he wouldn't be the guy I knew and, well, liked. "Does that clear everything up?"

Ayita chuckled. "Basically." After a moment, the two both sat down.

After clearing her throat, TJ asked, "Can we finish this session on a positive note?"

In response, we all nodded and rose to our feet. I glanced to the side at the time on the clock. 2:55. After the closing prayer, we would be able to mingle until 3:15, when TJ ushered us out of her penthouse, and we would either leave or take the mingling down in the coffee shop.

"Join hands with those next to you," TJ instructed, and so we did.

To my right, I wrapped my hand around a girl named Trix's hand. At the top of her right cheek rested a small brown mole. Hi, she mouthed while meeting my eyes for a moment. After a brief smile to Trix, my attention darted to Pilar, who had already closed her eyes. Her hand waited for my fingers to interlock with hers. When the warmth of her palm seeped against mine, my soul settled in my chest, and the prayer sounded throughout the room.

Lord, have mercy on our souls.

Guide us through this day;

Through trials and tribulations;

Through good and evil,

Guide us to safety.

For this, we put our faith in You.

"Amen," TJ said, her voice as light as a bird's feather. I could feel God all around me. Lifting the lid of my eye, I caught a slight glimpse of lights flickering. I realized God was present, so I shut my eyes and prayed for mercy.

I hung my head as I ended my prayer, just in time to mutter with the others in an echo of TJ's parting word, "Amen." We all opened our eyes and exchanged flickering gazes, and I knew we all had felt God's presence.

"Go mingle," TJ said, her voice rumbling through the living room. Vigor pierced through the atmosphere.

Suddenly, my ringtone carried to my ears, humming against my hip. Everyone stared at me, and the world seemed to cave in. Judgment spiraled in their eyes. I was supposed to have my phone on silent or turned off even: it rid the atmosphere of distractions. I sighed and pointed at the winding stairs leading to the penthouse's second floor. "I'll be upstairs."

The next thing I knew, I clambered up the winding staircase, but I could still feel heat beating against my back, everyone's judgment towards me echoing in my head. Rude. Rude. Rude. Upon reaching the second floor—a narrow hallway lined with two doors on each side separated in intervals—I steered into the bedroom on the left at the end of the hall.

The room was bathed in a dull palette of hues from the scant light pouring into the room. But when I slipped my head under the curtain to get a glimpse outside, the murky shades painting the streets of the US capital seemed less appealing, depressing even. Then, I saw a white bolt of lightning strike the road, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. My throat tightened as the outside became smeared hues.

I swear, I saw his face in the growing fog. Sad, light green eyes and a deep frown ingrained themselves in my brain, and my heart was pounding. Nononono. Stay with me. Pushing the sheer, beige, paneled curtains off me, I clapped once, and bright color filled the room. I left the door open a crack and plopped onto the bed, bouncing as the mattress adjusted to the weight I exerted.

When the bed finally settled, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There were two notifications; the most recent notification came in two minutes before now: 1 Voicemail. I clicked on the bubble and put in my passcode. For a moment, the screen was white until, in small red letters, I saw my boyfriend's name: Ciqala Hensley.

I clicked on his name, and while an average person would gag, cry, or get angry at what the voicemail consisted of, I allowed the truth to surround me. Ciqala's deep voice was distant but still coherent. "Waßteçidake, Este Arias," he said. I pursed my lips as a duet of moans emitted from my phone.

As the moaning continued, a fact settled into my bones: Ciqala loved Este Arias, not me. Whatever Ciqala and I had was over. And weirdly enough, I was okay with it.

I was about to call Ciqala so I could request my stuff be sent to Aunt Maura's penthouse in Virginia when, suddenly, the door flew against the white wall, and Rory burst inside. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the suddenness.

"Rory, wh—"

Before I could ask him what was happening, Rory cut me off, pressing a finger against my lips. "Aisling, I love you." 

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Hola, bonjour/bonsoir, aloha, whatever you desire for a greeting, 

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. 

I personally want to say thank you if you made it to the end of this chapter. I know discussing cancer, let alone reading about it, is difficult. From experience, all I can say is that it sucks. I haven't had cancer personally, but I've seen people suffer from it. 

This is not my usual romance. Honestly, I'm more of a speculative-fiction writer who focuses heavily on relationships, but if you see anything you like, be sure to point it out in the comments. 

Anyways, I want to hear from you, the readers. So far, which character piqued your interest? 

All feedback is welcome and accepted. 

The next update will be on January 6th, 2023

Until then -

X Rue