Again, this is split into two parts because . . . I actually don't know this time. It just is.

Writing at four in the morning is what this is. Sometimes cats can be soooo annoying. I swear, she was out to get me until I fed her :(

Unedited.

I'm thinking of changing the titles of each chapters to A year before . . . Four months before . . . etc. I'd love to hear opinions on it! . . .

. . . Before WHAT? *ominous voice* :0

I'm so lame . . . xD

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"Alyson, need help?"

               I smile gratefully at Jordon, still trying to wrestle my way out of the car. "Yes please." Without my oxygen machine it'd be easy, but I don't have a choice. I can't leave it in the car, and just hope everything will work out okay. Keeping the tubes in at the same time is near impossible. Once I'm out of the car I can just wheel it around, but lifting it is a different story all together.

               He smiles at me, dimples showing. "No problem."

               As Jordon crawls into the backseat, dwarfing me in the small area, I look at James, standing just outside the car door. He's frowning, concerned eyes staring at me. Smile, I mouth.

               Despite the obvious confusion on his face, he does so. I study it—as morbid as it sounds. Same smile, only he doesn't have dimples. He stops smiling, mouthing, Why?

               Dimples, I say back.

               He raises an eyebrow, staring at me oddly, before throwing his head back. His laugh—though it's silent—is something I fill in the gaps on. In my head, it sounds like his brothers: deep and loud. Shaking his head, he grins broadly. One of a kind, he mouths, and I can't help but grin back.

               "Enough you two. I wasn't joking when I said I have things to do. Stop smiling at each other and help me here. Alyson, can you step out and I'll pass it to you," Jordon orders, with a hand on my shoulder.

               I see James' hands move out of the corner of my eye, smirking at his brother. Jordon signs back, winking at me. I frown, looking between them. I've missed something, I know it. "What?" I ask, my voice too high.

               Both brothers just shake their heads, staring at each other. A silent conversation passes between them—this one without sign involved. I'm just left confused, wondering what they're saying to each other. Letting it go, I step out of the car, stretching my arms. The car ride was cramped.

               A part of me is still emotionally exhausted, thanks to all the tears I'd cried. But I feel . . . lighter, somehow. I'd confessed something, said the words to someone else. In the aftermath, it feels like a weights been lifted off of my shoulders. No one knows about the attempted suicides, aside from mum and dad. I haven't had the nerve to tell anyone. They wouldn't understand—suicide is selfish, but when you have reasons for attempting it, the last thing you're thinking about is everyone else. James understands it like no one else can. He has a reason to hate himself, unlike other people who break up with a boyfriend and decide their world has ended. Yes, best of all, the cancer that continues to spread, is the last thing on my mind. I'm in the city, for the first—and probably last—time in my life. Enjoying myself is the only thing I plan on doing.

               Scanning around me, I watch the people walk by. They stare, pointedly at the tubes in my nose, before glancing away quickly. Some pretend to ignore what they see, others look sympathetic and some people just look uncomfortable at the sight of them. They don't have to say their thoughts aloud; I know exactly what they're thinking: what's wrong withher? I roll my eyes; there's nothing I can do. I'm not the one to blame for having cancer, I didn't ask for it. If they knew I only had one working lung would they change their opinion? I wonder.

               Staring at my clothes, I wish I don't have to wheel an obnoxious, obvious and frankly annoying machine around. Without it I'd fit in just fine, just a normal teenager, out in the city with a friend. Not too dressed up, but clearly making an effort. With the oxygen machine is a different story. I stand out, the odd one in the crowd.  Still, there's no way I can hate it, despite the reactions it causes. Aside from chemo, it's the only reason I'm still here. I need oxygen and its how I get the air my lung can't provide. People take the gift of breathing for granted all too often.

               Jordon's car is parked next to a large building, people milling around it. Looking around to figure out why, I read the sign. Beach Shak, it reads, a surfboard on the logo. I raise an eyebrow; this is the city. Even though I've only ever seen photos I know there's no beaches. "There's a beach here? Yeah right."

               "We're right next to it."

               Rolling my eyes, I turn to Jordon. "Uh huh. Sure. Look to your left."

               I do and beyond a small line of bushes, there's sand, small waves crashing. Geography has never been my forte but even I know beaches are along the coast, not in the middle of somewhere, a city nonetheless. "How'd that get there?"

               James looks at me, grabbing my oxygen machine from me. They dug a hole, he mouths, shutting the car door.

               "They dug a hole?" I repeat, staring at the beach—well, whatever it is. Children splash in the water, parent's sunbake on the sand. It's all so . . . normal. The area is large, the water as long as the street behind it. Beyond the street is a large river, buildings in the distance, towering over everything. I can only assume it's the city. "I thought we were going to the city."

               James waves at Jordon, who's grabbing towels from the boot. "We are," Jordon says, throwing James two of them. He catches them in mid-air like it's no easy feat. "But, considering this is your first time in the city and you won't get to go . . ." He breaks off, but I can fill in the gap: because you'll die of cancer. Shaking his head, he closes the boot on the car. "Never mind. Anyway, I thought I'd take you to the beach, even though it's not a beach. I'll drive you to the city afterwards so you don't have to walk."

               An uncomfortable prickle makes my hair stand on end. I should have never agreed to come. I'm just a burden for his brother. "I can get my parents to pick me up if you want."

               He frowns. "What?"

               "They can pick me up. You don't have to drive me around. I can walk. I don't want to be a burden—"

               Before I can blink, arms wrap around me. It takes me a minute to realise its Jordon hugging me. I stand, still as a statue, unsure what to do. 

               He steps away, shaking his head. "Shit. Sorry. Now it's awkward." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry. Just . . . don't say that. Sure, I have friends here, but you're not a burden. You didn't ask for . . ." He waves at the oxygen machine, clearly uncomfortable, ". . . that, so don't blame yourself. You're the only person who's been kind to James in forever, that means I owe you."

               An arm folds over my shoulder, pulling me into James' side. I don't take my eyes of Jordon, but I do lean against him. I see his start to sign, smirking at his brother. When Jordon just gives him the middle finger, it doesn't take much to realise it's an insult of some sort.

               "I can't . . . swim," I whisper, frowning. In truth, I can swim but I haven't since my lung collapsed. Putting my head under water has deadly consequences—my lung just fills with water, with no way to fight against it. My good lung suffers in return, and so will I—according to my doctor anyway. "I didn't bring swimmers anyway."

               James just shakes his head, mouthing, Neither did I. I'll make sure you don't go under.

               True to his word, James leads me along the sand, arm still around my shoulders. Kids whirl by, flicking sand as they go. There's shouting across the water, loud and annoying. Babies cry. Still, none of the sounds matter, it's just us, walking towards the water.

               His hand taps my shoulder, and I look up, blowing the hair out of my eyes. You good?

               Nodding, I stare at the water. I want to jump in, without a care. But I can't. Then there's the fact that I'm wearing a skirt, so I can't go in too far. Swimming has always been something I've enjoyed and when the doctor had ordered me to stop, I'd been heartbroken. It was a part of me leaving—the cancer winning. I can't even remember the last time I've been in a pool, let alone the beach. My feelings on sand haven't changed in the slightest. It still feels gross between my feet, squishing uncomfortable each step I take. By the time we leave, I'll be in places I don't even want to think about because sand has a way of magically doing that.

               Looking back, I watch Jordon, sitting on some towels with people his age. The guys are all athletic, the girls model perfect. It's hardly surprising considering what he looks like. Still, I feel jealously in the pit of my stomach, slowly growing. I force it down. My oxygen machine lies next to them on the sand and his friends keep glancing at me. I purposely pretend that I don't see the looks, not wanting to face the fact that they're judging me. I didn't choose cancer, so it's hardly my fault.

               When he'd told me he'd take it from me, I'd balked. Somehow, though, I know he'll say nothing. They'll look at me but he won't tell them I'm dying. After the hug, I feel awkward, but I can't find it in me to avoid Jordon. He's too nice. Unfairly so.

               Cold water splashes against my feet and I jump under the sudden chill. James' arm goes around my waist, gripping tighter. Smiling up at him, I break out of his hold, wading through the water. It only gets colder the more I step in, but I ignore the cold, revelling in the fact that I'm in water, finally living. There's no burden of cancer hanging in a cloud above my head.

               Grinning widely, I flick water at James. It splashes his bare chest—nearly as muscular as his brothers—the water trailing down. He'd thought ahead, wearing clothes that can get wet. My clothes aren't ones I can change out of, though I doubt it'll make a difference in a minute.

               Frowning, he glares, reaching down. The splash is bigger than mine, splattering water onto my hair and a little on my skirt.

               Rolling my eyes, I raise an eyebrow. My skirt sticks against my thigh, wet with water, but, ignoring it, I splash him back. It's weak, barely hitting him. Still, I splash again, until we're fighting each other, even as my lung starts to burn. I put it out of my mind, enjoying myself for the first time in forever.

               By the time my breathing leaves me in the form of pants, I'm soaked. My skirt is saturated; the silk sticking to my legs. My hair isn't any better. Grateful that I'm wearing a black shirt, I sag, trying to catch my breath, as my lung burns like it is on fire. This is why I don't do anything; it's too painful. I can't bring myself to care. I'm too busy smiling so big it hurts.

               An arm wraps around my waist, and I lean against James' shoulder gratefully. What I need to do is get off of my feet, but standing in the water, grinning like an idiot, I don't want to. I want to stand here forever, not go back to my oxygen machine. Back to cancer.

               A hand waves in front of face and I look up at James. His hair is wet, sticking to his forehead. His chest is in the same condition, though already he's starting to dry. Come with me.

               Nodding wordless, I lean against him, as we walk out of the water. Sudden tears strike and I have to blink them back. I'm too late though—James notices them anyway. What's wrong?

               Fighting back the tears, I mouth, Thank you. I'm thankful for everything—taking me to the city for the first time, taking my mind of cancer for the first time in years. Its things people take for granted, but things I hold close to heart. So close to heart, I want to cry, for the second time today. For today.

               James smiles gently, kissing my forehead. It only makes the tears worse. He rests his hand on his heart and I don't need to know any sign language to know what it means.

               The lapping water disappears, only to be replaced with grains of sand. Wet feet and sand isn't a good match—something I've clearly forgotten. Chilled air hits my legs, goose bumps prickling. Not even the too bright sun helps. It doesn't help that my wet clothes are sticking to me either.

               Bypassing families, we manage to make it to Jordon and his group of friends. I hang back, as the two brother's start a conversation with their hands, avoiding his friends. They're staring at me, the girls gawking as if I'm an alien. I know what they see—a drowned rat with a wet face. I can only hope the pain I feel isn't too obvious. At least I didn't swallow water—then I'd be having a coughing fit. Even now, I want to cough, though it'll do nothing to ease the pain. The only thing that will is the oxygen from my oxygen machine, which happens to be near Jordon as he sits on a towel, shirtless like his friends. I tear my eyes away.

               "You okay?"

               I nod at Jordon, glad the tears on my face can be disguised as water. "Yeah. Just . . ." I wave my hand, understanding dawning on his face. I'm glad I don't have to say it aloud; the last thing I want to do is announce to the world that I have cancer.     

               James leans over some bags, putting them over his shoulder. Grabbing my oxygen machine, he passes the handle to me. Avoiding the onlooking eyes, I nod away from the beach area, onto the street—away from the gawking.

               As we walk off I can hear the whispers, hushed conversation like we're not supposed to hear.

               "Who's she?" The voice belongs to one of the girls, lyrical and welcoming.

               "A friend," Jordon says in reply.

               "Dude, what's wrong with her?" The voice is male this time.

               "Nothing," Jordon says, warning in his voice.

               They seem to get the hint, dropping the subject.

               James turns to me, starting to walk away and I follow, lung burning with exertion. By the time we're on solid concrete, I collapse, just sitting on the concrete. James sits next to me, clearly concerned. Head in my hands, I just . . . stop. It helps.

               Paper flashes before me, and I blink through pained tears, to make out the writing, What's wrong? You okay?

               I force myself to take the pen from him, turning to a new page. Yeah. My lung is just burning badly. It'll be okay in a minute—I just need to sit.

               His hands snakes out to my oxygen machine and I stop it. I don't need it. I mean . . . I do. But I just need to sit and get my breath back. I guess I ignored the pain for too long. Once I'm good we can go wherever you want. I'll probably need it then.

               He nods, watching people walk by. We're on a congested path, people walking by every second. They glance at us before looking away quickly. Taking the paper from me, he scrawls neatly, They made you uncomfortable didn't they?

               I shrug, the burn easing. I still can't get any more oxygen, but now that I'm not moving it's less painful. Yeah. The eyes. The gawking.

               He smiles sympathetically. I know how you feel. I'm deaf; they stare at me like I'm a damn alien. They don't mean it. His friends are okay, they just . . . don't understand. They won't say anything though. If they do, Jordon will kick their asses. I'll help too.

               Taking a deep breath, I wince as someone kicks my back. They don't stop and I don't dwell on it. Your brother's too nice. I feel like a burden. He shouldn't have to drive us around.

               Jordon's great. Helped me more times than I can count. If he's too affectionate, just tell him it's weird. Girls fall all over him, he showers in a locker room full of other guys—his personal space isn't much.

               Can you blame them? I write, before crossing it out as quickly as I can. Of course though, he notices, raising an eyebrow. I blush, standing up. My shirt is dry thanks to the colour but my shirt is a different story.

               James stands too, stretching his arms over his head. Grabbing the bags, he helps me stand. I hold the handle of my oxygen machine, wheeling it behind us as we walk.

               *

               He leads me to a rocky area, just like the beach area, only instead of sand its rocks. Sitting on one of the rocks, I move my oxygen machine so it won't fall in the water. Then I put the plugs in my nose, immediately grateful for the oxygen.

               Will the museum be too much?

               I read the words James flashes, as he crosses his les over one of the rocks next to me. Then I shake my head. It'll be difficult, but it'll be worth it. As long as I sit down when it gets hard I'm fine. I'll be mad at myself if I leave now. That was my first water fight—how sad it that?

               He shakes his head, kicking his feet in the water. Though his hair was wet before, it's almost dry now, unlike mine which is still dripping. It's not your fault your childhood was robbed. I've never listened to music, never heard anyone talk before—I think I win.

               You're worse off than me. At least I had a childhood before the cancer came along and ruined it. Even then I'd been okay. Chemotherapy had sucked—it still does now—, but I've done things James hasn't.

               You're dying. I'm not.

               I frown, resting my head against his shoulder. It's bony without material covering it but I leave it there. I'll be free of cancer then. You'll still have no hearing. Besides, I couldn't live without one of my senses. Especially my hearing.

               Shaking his hair out, he splashes his hand in the water. It's not that hard. You just have to rely on everything else more heavily. I can read people instantly. Sometimes I wish I could hear my own voice but I can wait until we can afford a hearing aid for that.

               Dipping my feet in the water, I kick it around, the water cooling in the best way. Sometimes—like now—, my oxygen machine is my best friend. You've never talked aloud?

               He reaches into one of the bags, pulling out a small iPod. No. When I was baby I used to cry all the time, but I don't see the point. Hands moving over the iPod, he gives it to me. I study it. It's not an iPod, more like a thicker one with rough edges. Tapping something, he writes, Just listen.

               Frowning, I hold it. For a minute there's nothing. Then it starts to vibrate in my hand, every few seconds a thrum in my hand. Switching hands, I write, it's not doing anything.

               He takes the paper from me. Just wait. You'll feel the difference.

               Holding it in my hand, I continue to hold it. The heavy thrum continues, like a guitar playing. Then it alternates; now a deep rhythm. Then it's a slow, constant hum, almost like singing. Turning to James, I grin. It's so cool.

               He shrugs. Probably not as good as listening to the real thing. But that's my music. I'll show you on something better; that's a crap example.

               Lapsing into silence, I continue to hold the mini iPod-thing in my hand. Together we listen. The songs continually change, each beat a different one. I don't remember ever feeling so relaxed, even surrounded by the chaos of the busy city.

               I'm almost asleep by the time James stands, holding out his hand.  

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Part two in the next few days. I haven't written it yet but I will. Right now, I'm sleep deprived and this is keeping me awake (I don't get it either xD)

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

~ Littlemissflawed