I realise I haven't updated 'Waking the fae' in while but I've been into this story so I've been writing this! For anyone waiting for an update (if there is anyone) it'll be soon! 

Anyways, this is unedited, so I can't say there's no mistakes becuase there probably is. 

This reached #682 in teen fiction tonight! Made me happy :)

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The car ride is awkward—at least that’s what it feels like to me. I stare outside, watching the trees go by, the families walk—anything to distract me from the looks dad keeps giving me. I don’t even have to look at him to tell. Thankfully, Rick is unaware of the tension, so focused on his DS. His “accidental slip-up” or so he’d claimed was still plaguing dad’s mind. And he wouldn’t forget any time soon either.

“Alyson?”

I hum noncommittally staring at the family passing by us. Two parents. Two and a half a kids—because babies count as half a child, right? Average, normal family. No issues. No child with a terminal illness. Just a happy family. I can’t help but stare at mum, wishing she could say the same. That she doesn’t have a daughter with less than a year to live.

“Ally.”

Again, I just hum, still staring at the family. There’d been a time—before the cancer diagnosis—where we’d been that family. The family with no issues, no cloud of death hanging over them. Or, namely, me. I hadn’t had a care in the world. Neither had mum or dad. That had been us, before cancer, before heartbreak. Now, it was constantly looming over everyone’s head, in the background of everyone’s thought. And I knew this because that was me—though I tried to pretend it wasn’t real some of the time.

“Ally.”

With a sigh I force myself to look away from outside. “Yes?” I ask, searching for mum’s eyes in the mirror. They’re cloudy, swirling with sadness. Different from what they normally are: empty. Or, in the odd moments, full of affection and happiness. The smile she forces, doesn’t meet her eyes.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

Mum rolls her eyes. “Yes, dinner. You know, the thing you eat at night?”

“Ha. Ha. Uh, depends on what you want.”

Rick, not as attached to his DS as I’d thought, almost drops it in his haste to answer. “Pizza!”

“Pizza it is then,” dad says, and I can’t help but look over at him. When his eyes catch mine in the mirror reflection, I look away. The concern in them is what gets me. He should be angry—even though I hadn’t really be hiding anything—, but he’s not.

Mum glares at him. “It’s not pizza yet. Alyson, what do you want?”

I only shrug, brushing hair out of my face. It’s grown out since the last round of chemo but it’s still not long enough for a fringe. “I don’t mind. If Rick wants pizza, we’ll have pizza.”

“Sure, honey?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “No, mum, I’m lying. Like I’d say no to pizza.”

“Yeah, mum, everyone loves pizza,” Rick adds, smiling in victory. “Meat lovers pizza.”

“What if I want pineapple on pizza?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his.

“No one likes pineapple. It’s gross. Like Brussel sprouts. And you don’t have pineapple on pizza. There’s a girl from Italy in my class and she hates it.”

“Well I’m not Italian, am I?”

“Alyson, I’m half Italian,” mum says, playing with the wedding ring on her finger.

I mock-glare at her. “Everyone’s against me, aren’t they?”

“Mum, that doesn’t count. You weren’t born there,” Rick says. “I wish we lived there. The food is good.”

Dad looks at him through the reflection, glasses resting on top of his head. He still hasn’t changed out of his uniform, and I can’t tell if it’s because he didn’t bring a change of clothes or just because he wants to wear it. “How do you know what the food tastes like? We’ve never been to Italy.”

Rick shrugs. “I just know. You know what happens to the cat?”

Dad blinks at the sudden change in conversation. “Whose cat?”

“The curious one.”

Dad frowns. “Who told you that?”

“Alyson,” Rick says, pointing right at me.

I glare at him. “You don’t know what the word secret means, do you?”

He shrugs, trying to look innocence. “I’m only ten. I don’t know everything.”

Ten is only a number. Cancer doesn’t care how old you are. “Nice excuse,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Or it would be if it worked.”

As silence dawns over us, I stare out the window again. Watching has become a hobby—as strange as it is. But it just happens. You watch people because they’re not you. They’re not dying. They don’t have the same problems you do. Most of the time, I just sit there and wonder, what if? A million things come to mind. If I didn’t have cancer I could be one of those girls, dressing skimpy and sleeping with anyone. I could be on drugs—that aren’t ones to fight a tumour. I could be on the way to marrying my childhood sweetheart.

But no matter what I imagine, it doesn’t come true. I still have a fast spreading tumour. I’m still going to be in heaven—if it even exists—by the end of the year.

When the car finally stops, my head comes up rapidly and I have to blink to un-cloud my vision. Everything blurs, and I swipe a tear out of my eye. For some reason my necks hurts and my arm is numb.

“Ah, sleeping beauty, woke up,” a voice yells and I turn to glare at dad.

“Why does my neck feel broken?” I ask, stretching my arm. It’s not easy in the cramped car. When my hands slams into the roof dad only laughs, even as I cradle my wrist, milking the—lack of—injury.

“You fell asleep. Don’t know how. One minute you were talking—the next? You were out like a light. I tried to wake you,” dad says, opening the car door.

I blink against the harsh light, shielding the view with my arm. I know he’s right—the last thing I remember is the conversation. It seems like that was forever ago. “Figures. And . . .” I look at the clock radio, “. . . it’s only three in the afternoon.”

Rick chimes in from outside the car, “I wanted to draw on your face but dad wouldn’t let me. Mum even had a pen she was going to give me.”

I roll my eyes, unsurprised to hear it. “Of course you were.”

“Come on, we have to meet your mother. She’s already in the store.”

Following dad’s orders, I undo my seatbelt, jumping out of the car. On shaky legs I stretch my ears, wincing as the sound my back makes as it cracks. “What store?”

“Book store. You coming or not?”

Rolling my eyes, I lower my arms, following after them. Cursing my short legs, I rush after them, also cursing my useless lung. There’s no way I’d miss an opportunity to visit a book store. Rick, however, doesn’t look nearly as enthused, dragging himself behind dad.

“Dad, slow down,” I call out.

He slows, stopping in the middle of the carpark. Cars surround us, all sorts of colours. A few people walk by us, staring as if they’ve never seen anyone with their dad before. The main shopping centre is at least an hour away so it’s not crowded but there still too many for my liking. Lung cancer is the oddest thing. I struggle to breathe on a daily basis but around crowds it seems that I breathe in everything that isn’t air. Perfume, cologne . . . everything.

“You okay?” dad asks, when I finally reach them. Before I can even stop, I’m pulled into his side and his lips are kissing my hair. “Can you breathe fine? I’ll sit in the car with you if you need to.”

Leaning against him, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m good. Just don’t make me run. That ended so well last time.”

He doesn’t smile, but he does start walking again, practically supporting me. “Yeah. So, you’re good? Don’t act tough because you feel like you have to.”

“I’m fine dad. Promise.” Pausing, I question my judgement before I just blurt out, “You’re not mad still, are you?”

“I was never mad, sweetheart. Just . . . after the past week with you, I’m not exactly trusting of others. And if he’s your boyfriend, good for you. But, unless he has my approval, nothing’s going to happen between you too.”

I wrinkle my nose. “For one, I’m not talking about this with you. And two, I’m not dying a virgin so you’ll have to accept a guy eventually. He’s my friend and if anything was to happen between us it certainly wouldn’t be within a week of meeting.”

Dad sighs, opening the door of the bookstore. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to face that. But just be sure that he’ll have to pass my standards before you even start dating.” He pauses, stopping so Rick can catch up to us. “Is this the guy from the hospital?”

I nod, breaking out of his hold to scan the bookshelves. “Like he’ll ever be good enough for you. And, yeah, it’s him.”

With dad following, I walk straight to the parenting section, a habit I can never manage to break. There’s always sections with the dumbest advice and if I’m lucky there’s books about children with cancer. It’s always amusing to read through the advice, written by people who have no idea what it’s really like to live with a terminal illness. Sometimes, it’s laughable.

“He seemed . . . out of it. You sure he’s not on drugs or anything?” dad asks, voice startling me.

I wheel around, catching the attention of a few other people as they walk by. They look away quickly, going back to whatever they were doing. “You scared me! And no, he’s not on drugs. He just can’t hear.”

Dad frowns, stopping when I do. As I scan the parenting section, he stares at me, not bothering to put up a pretence that he’s looking at book. “Can’t hear?”

Fingers running over the spines of the books, I grab the first one with the word ‘cancer’. “Yes, dad. Deaf.”

“Permanently?”

“Yep,” I say, opening to a random page in the book. I read aloud the first thing I see: “Parenting a child with cancer isn’t easy. Depression can often occur. The way to combat this is to distract said child, so they’re not reminded of their illness constantly.” Eyebrows raised, I turn to dad. “Can you believe this? Last time I checked I didn’t have depression.”

Dad says nothing; just hums. “Uh huh. What’s his name?”

“James.” Eyes following the words on the page, I try not to laugh. That’s just too cynical. Who laughs at a book about dying children? It’s not worth the strange looks I’ll get. “Therapy. One word that is key to helping your child. They need it to open up. Ridiculous, I tell you. Mums been forcing me through therapy and I haven’t spoken to her about it once. I’m not suicidal.”

“Nice name. Have you talked to him since you saw him at the hospital?” dad asks, just watching me with careful eyes.

“A lot. I’ve been texting him.” Sick of the book, I grab another one, a picture of breathing tubes mocking me. “Children are fragile. Cancer will only make it worse. One wrong move and they’ll snap. They’re emotional. Clearly, they know nothing. Cancer makes you less emotional, not the other way round.”

“And when did he ask you on a date?” dad asks, a hand curling around my shoulders.

“Cancer sucks,” I mutter, looking at the picture of a tiny infant, clearly losing the battle she’s trying to fight. Then I answer dad. “A few days ago. And it’s not a date.”

“Uh huh. I guess you chose the museum?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course it was, dad. I am in a book store right now. He let me chose though, so it’s on him if he’s bored out of his mind.”

I know dad catches the same photo I’m looking at when his frowns, holding me closer. It’s a teenager, pale and lying on a hospital bed, needles everywhere, looking like she’s on the brink of death. That was me a week ago. “Yeah. Okay. But I’m taking you guys.”

“Dad, no. That’s just weird.”

“I’m not taking any chances. I almost lost you a week ago,” he says seriously, eyes haunted. No doubt he’s thinking about me in a coma.

“Okay,” I agree, leaning into him. Putting the book back, I smile at him. There’s no point arguing. In the end, he’ll probably win and chaperone us. I can only hope it doesn’t happen—I love dad, but that’s a whole new level of awkward. “You can’t threaten him. He can’t hear.”

He winks at me, pulling me with him. “I have my ways. Now, come on. I know you want to see if whats-his-face wrote a new book.”

“Dan Adams, dad. Not whats-his-face,” I say. He knows his name by face but dad never remembers the name spontaneously. “Do you at least remember the name of the book?”

“’The end of us’,” dad says.

I smile at him. “Good. You know that.”

He rolls his eyes and I can see the affection shining in his eyes. “I love you. It’s my job to know everything about you.”

Leaning against him, we walk around the store. By the time I’ve located Dan Adam’s books, and realised there is nothing new by him, mum comes over, bag in hand. She smiles at us. “Hey. You ready to go?”

I nod against dad’s shoulder. “Yeah. Dad?”

“Of course I am. Where’s Rick?”

Mum looks behind her as Rick walked up to her, looking thoroughly bored and annoyed. “Can we go now?” he whines.

Mum smiles at him indulgently. “Sure honey. Run tho the car.”

Together we walk to the car, Rick racing ahead as if he’s trying to escape a fire. “Come on! I want pizza!”

I roll my eyes, turning to mum. “What’d you buy?”

“New cookbook,” she says, putting the bag in the boot.

“Oh. What happened after I left the meeting?” I ask, the bookstore a distraction from it.

Mum shakes her head. “I’ll tell you at home. And you can tell me about your date. For now, let’s get pizza before your brother bursts.”

Nodding I open the car door. It could be worse. At least she’s not mad. 

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As a side note I'd like to say that @Lokie66 is the best! Great taste in books and just awesome! 

~ Littlemissflawed