Dear Peter,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for a number of things. For what happened to Charlie, for leaving you when you needed me the most, and for not telling you any of this until now.

Each day, it became more and more difficult to hide the truth from you. I was dying, and I didn't know how to tell you. Can you blame me? I knew that I had to tell you at some point, and I was going to. Then the accident happened.

It was You and I standing outside a small ice cream shop after one of our interviews, which were just a formality now. We had our backs pressed against the cold surface of your car as we relished in the exquisite night.

"So, how long have you been writing?" You asked, your focus on the ice cream cone in your hands. Now, every time we were together, I wanted to enjoy every second of it. I didn't know how much time I had left with you. All I knew was that I needed to make the most of it.

"Ever since I can remember," I admitted. My throat ached in pain as the words left my mouth. It was difficult for me to even talk those days. The treatment for my cancer almost made me feel even sicker. I felt nauseous after everything I ate, and even moving a muscle seemed to be too exhausting.

A thought then occurred to me and I turned to my right to face you.

"You should read my book."

"Really? I didn't know you actually wrote a book," You replied. It sounded like you were kind of impressed. "I don't know, I'm not much of a reader. Maybe one day."

No, no, no. I didn't know how to tell you that we couldn't save anything for 'one day' anymore. My future was so uncertain, and I couldn't keep hiding this from you.

"Peter," I whispered, staring at the ice cream in my hands. The cone was stale and the ice cream began to melt, spilling off of the edges and onto the ground.

That night, we talked and talked about our lives. Each day, I learned something new about you. And now that you had opened up to me, I knew more about your parents, about Daisy, and about you. The you that I'd wanted to know all along.

"Yeah?" You turned to me, your nose stained with vanilla ice cream. I laughed at the sight, bringing my thumb up to brush it off. You chuckled and then frowned when your gaze fell onto my hands, your eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"Lucy," you took a napkin and wrapped it around my hands, "Why aren't you eating? Have you been feeling alright? You look weak." Your hand then moved to my forehead, checking my temperature.

The compassion in your voice and eyes made me weak in my knees. How was I supposed to say this, Peter? What was the easiest way to tell you that I had maybe a year left to live? Would you want to spend that year with me, or get closure now when you had the chance?

"Actually," I sighed, trying to suppress my tears, "There's something you need to know."

I was trying to be strong, I promise. It was just difficult knowing that what I was about to tell you would hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I took your hand in mine, leading us over to a bench nearby. Once we sat down, you finally looked towards me, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"Are you alright?" You asked, your voice shaky. Your hands flew to my cheeks as you cupped my face, searching my eyes for an answer. I bit my lip to refrain from crying, and when my lips parted to speak, your phone began to ring. It was the second time. The first time was a few minutes earlier and you decided to ignore it because it was an unknown number, and this time it was the same number calling.

"You should get that," I whispered, my lips curling into a feeble smile. I looked away, sneakily wiping away a single tear that had escaped.

"Hello?" You answered, "Yes, this is Peter Grayson."

My eyes were on your face as you listened intently to what the woman on the line was saying. Her words were careful, slow, but not loud enough for me to make out what she was telling you.

"I'll be right there," You mumbled into the phone before the call ended. Your expression was frozen. Every ounce of color drained from your face and you clutched the device to your ear, even though the call had already been disconnected.

"Peter, what happened?" I asked tentatively, placing my hand onto your shoulder. It felt like the slightest touch could make you shatter into pieces. Your eyes were filled with horror and a million other things when they met mine, making my blood run cold.

Something was wrong.

"Charlie and Zoya..." You gulped, your eyes glossing over with tears that were so foreign. I felt my heart begin to race, my stomach churning with nerves, "It's bad."

When Charlie fell into a coma, the world fell silent, the clouds wept for days, the sun remained hidden in its sorrows, and even the flowers no longer danced with the wind.

When Charlie fell into a coma, we each lost a part of ourselves we have yet to recover.

I can recall the night as if it really was yesterday.

The phone call from the hospital.

We had been so foolishly lost in each other's worlds, not realizing that the one we shared was falling apart. When we got to the hospital, none of it felt real.

Zoya was okay, compared to Charlie. She had a broken arm and small wounds from where glass had ripped through her skin. Charlie... he should have died that night. The doctors didn't know what kept his heart beating. He suffered from numerous injuries from head to toe, yet his heart continued to beat and his brain kept his body functioning.

He's like that now. His body is alive, but he isn't. It's been two years now that he's been on life support. I used to visit him every month, Peter, but then it just became hard. He always looks like he's just sleeping and he could wake up at any moment. That's what kills me. The fact that you wait and wait for that moment but it never comes.

Whenever I go with Zoya, I see a chair on the other side of his bed with your jacket and a blanket draped over it. You're there often, the doctors tell me. But you don't know that I visit, do you? I tell them to keep my visits confidential.

I'm here now. By his side. In New York City. I wonder what you're doing right now. The fact that we're so close yet so far apart isn't easy for me to handle. It's like I can feel your presence. I'm drawn to you.

He seems peaceful, his eyes closed as his chest rises and falls quietly, the steady beeping of the machines seeming to be the only noise that's filling the grim room. We didn't know how much color Charlie brought into the world until it became dull.

I know that we should have hope, but it feels like we've already lost him. It feels like we're being cruel by forcing his body to stay alive, but we have to. We can't let him go because doing so would be letting a part of ourselves die with him.

I'm not going to sit here and write about that night at the hospital. About how none of us knew how to console each other. We wanted to speak, but no words came out. The truth was that reality was taunting us--it was daring us to say something. But we couldn't. There were no words to explain the excruciating pain all of us endured.

The doctors tried and tried but they could not wake him up. His injuries should have been fatal. Peter, I know that I always call you the fighter, but Charlie is the real fighter. He's still breathing. Each day I awake, I pray that one day he can open his eyes and I can see him smile one more time. I just want to hear one more stupid joke leave his mouth, see him paint another picture, watch him light up any room he walks into.

I didn't know how much I loved Charlie until that night. Neither did Zoya.

To this day, she says one thing:

"It should've been me."

Zoya was the one sitting on the side of the car that the tractor trailer made impact with, not Charlie. He saved her. If it weren't for him, she would be the one in this bed in front of me right now. Or worse.

After that night at the hospital, you would think that you and I grew even closer. That's not what happened. You refused to speak, to eat, to do anything but keep training. You were more focused than ever. Your eyes--they were back to being guarded, and you were hurting in so many ways. So you shut everyone out. You shut me out. To the point where you wouldn't answer my calls or texts.

I couldn't just let you drown in your sorrows. We were all hurting, Peter, and we needed each other. You refused to let yourself feel your emotions, because you knew that it would destroy you.

So I went to Daisy.

"How is he?" I asked, my eyes cast onto the wilting flowers on the dining table. I was getting sicker day by day, but I didn't care. All that was ever on my mind was Charlie.

Daisy sighed and leaned back into her chair. Her eyes were supported by heavy bags and it seemed as if she'd aged years since I last saw her. It was weird how circumstances had changed.

"I wish I could tell you. He's not speaking to anyone. He's always at the arena. He won't let anyone help him."

It had taken so long for me to break down your walls, but it took a matter of seconds for you to shut the world out again.

"Daisy, I have to tell you something."

Her worried brown eyes shot up to meet mine.

"I'm sick."

The two words left my lips with such ease, it was sickening. I'd accepted it. With Charlie almost gone, everything seemed dull. We had all locked ourselves away into our own worlds, not wanting to face reality. I told her about my cancer and about everything that the doctors had said.

"Oh, Lucy," She wrapped her arms around me tightly, her touch delicate as tears fell from her eyes, "I'm so, so sorry."

I didn't know what to say. Whenever someone said they were sorry about my illness, I felt guilty. Why were they sorry? They hadn't done anything wrong. I didn't need sympathy; all I wanted to hear was that it was going to be okay. All I wanted was for someone to lie to me.

"Peter doesn't know...?" She asked once she was able to compose herself. Her hand was still on top of mine as it rested on the wooden table.

I shook my head.

Silence ensued, and Daisy's expression hardened.

"You can't tell him."

Her voice was barely audible. She seemed ashamed of what she was about to say as she avoided my gaze.

I straightened up, shaking my head in confusion.

"I... I don't understand."

What was she implying?

"After what happened with Charlie... he can't lose you, too," she whispered, "He loves you, Lucy. He doesn't know this yet, but he does."

My heart was pounding. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but my mind was a jumbled up, numb mess.

"I can't just keep this from him until..."

I didn't want to finish that sentence. Finally, her eyes met mine. They were filled with grief, glinting with regret.

"That's why you have to leave."

I don't blame Daisy. I need you to know that. She's your sister, Peter. She was looking out for you.

"I don't understand."

My voice was small.

"If you leave, he won't find out. He can move on with his life."

My thoughts were silent.

"Please," Daisy was now crying, "If you care about him, you'll leave."

I cared about you more than anything.

I nodded, warm tears rolling down my cheeks. Without saying anything to Daisy, I walked out of the house, feeling numb in every part of my body and mind.

She was right.

(A/N)

Okay, I'm going to be honest with you guys. My original plan was that Charlie died from the accident... buuuuut because I'm in love with him and can't let him go quite yet, I changed my mind. So you'll see what happens. I'm still trying to decide, honestly.

Thanks for reading as always. This book his 6k reads today! So thank you SO SO MUCH! Loveeee you all don't forget to VOTE ;)

Dedicated to @spicemeup for the wonderful cover!