Split into two parts again. I'm too tired to write the second part. It's all one chapter though.

Unedited.

Go and check out @NinaDoad! Her books are really good and she deserves more notice!

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"Well isn't this cosy," an unknown voice drawls, breaking though the haze I'm in.

Turning quickly, I stare at one of Jordon's friends. He's just as built as James, probably on the football team as well. His hair is almost shaved to his head, eyes so brown they're almost black. Smirking at us, he openly stares at the oxygen machine beside me. I can't tell whether or not he's just curious, or if it's something else.

Jordon comes into view, punching his friend on the shoulder. From where I sit I can hear the punch and, despite an attempt, I can clearly see the wince his friend does in return. "Really man? Don't be an asshole."

His friend just continues to stare at me. His gaze is unnerving. Too focused-like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. Only I don't want to be solved. Tapping the back of James' hand, I grab the mp3-though I still don't know the actual name of it. He looks over raising an eyebrow, seemingly unaware of the people behind him. He probably is unaware of it. Grabbing the notebook that we'd left sitting behind us haphazardly, I reach for the pen. I think your brother wants to leave. He's waiting behind us with one of his friends.

Frowning, he looks behind him. Before he can hide the reaction, I see the anger flash in his eyes. There's a story behind the look and I know it has something to do with his past. Probably the suicide attempts. It's the reason I don't ask. An arm curls around my shoulders and I jump, staring at James with wide eyes. He'd not looking at me, instead at his brother, signing rapidly with one hand.

Jordon signs back, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Then he stares at me, frowning as if he's worried. I lean into James, realising that I don't want to remove his arm, despite the fact that I should. Human comfort is something that you don't get being the dying girl. There's a fear that the cancer will spread because of contact and, ridiculously, that the person will die on the spot.

Standing up, I take out to plugs in my nose, shrugging out of James' arm. Winding them around the handle of my machine, I make sure they're secure before letting them go. If water gets into the plugs, the whole point of the machine will just become redundant. I don't want to breathe in water-that's probably the only thing right in my body. Stepping into the water, I test the depth with my foot before stepping in fully. The water swirls around my legs, just in line with my knee.

Swishing my hand along the top of the water, I breathe in real air. When you first start breathing through a machine, the air feels the same. After a while, though, there's a clear difference.

A hand waves in front of my face and I look at James. I raise an eyebrow in question. You hungry? he mouths.

At that moment, my stomach grumbles. Rolling my eyes, I look at Jordon, reminding myself to tell James to teach my sign language. "How long have we been here?"

"An hour," he says, running a hand through his damp hair. His chest is wet, the shorts clinging to his legs. "I was going to grab you guys something to eat before I drove you to the city."

This is what being a child felt like, I realise. One broken lung and suddenly you're broken. For some reason, it's never annoyed me as much as it does right now. The hour has been one of the best in my life at least. Forcing a smile, I step onto a rock, careful to keep my skirt from lifting too high. The last thing I want to do is flash everyone. A hand grabs my arm, pulling me up to stable ground. Without me realising, James has already put his shirt back on, putting everything away. I smile at him gratefully.

"I'm paying for my own lunch," I say to Jordon, standing in the sun so my legs dry faster.

He only frowns in response. "No you're not. I'm shouting it."

Glaring, I cross my arms over my chest. "Just because I'm dying, you don't have to treat me like I'm incapable," I snap. Then it sinks in. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I stare at Jordon's friend.

Now, more than before, he stares at me, his gaze calculated. His eyes flicker between my oxygen machine and me, before it seems to sink in. His eyes go wide and he exhales roughly. "Shit, that's rough," he breathes.

Yes, it is, I say silently but I don't acknowledge him. Instead, I'm too busy glaring at Jordon. "I get that you feel like you have to be nice, but I'm sixteen, not five. I have money and I'm going to spend it. I already feel bad enough that you have to act as a chauffeur."

Jordon rolls his eyes. "Okay, I give. Pay for it. I'm never going to win this argument so I'm not even going to try."

I don't smile back-I felt no victory. Instead, I bend down, grabbing my socks from the bag. Sliding both over my feet, I slip on my shoes. "Thanks." I look at his friend, raising an eyebrow. "And stop staring, will you?"

His friend looks away quickly, embarrassed. I get the feeling that it isn't a common occurrence for him. He turns to Jordon, jerking his head up. "Dude, I'm out. Found your brother, now I'm going back. We'll be where we were."

When he's gone, Jordon turns to me, smiling in apology. "Sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Blake doesn't have any tact whatsoever. I'm going back, come over when you want me to drive you guys. It's lunch already, so keep that in mind."

"It's my fault. I mentioned . . ." I wave my hand, "it." Of course, he knows what it is. I'm not saying it again. People are staring at it is, as if I'm some sort of freak for having cancer. Of course, some of them haven't made the connection, but the few that have, don't need me to give them any more ammunition than they already have to stare at me.

James, who's been staring between us, starts to sign, and his brother responds in the same way. They frown at each other before James smirks. Staring between them, I try to follow the way their hands move. It's hopeless. Again, I remind myself to ask James to teach me sign language. For all I know, they may be talking about cheese. I have no idea.

Finally, James turns to me, writing something down. Let's get some food. I'm starved.

I nod, watching Jordon leave out of the corner of my eye. Grinning, I take the notepad from James; shaking my leg to get them dry. You speak my language. The irony of it isn't lost on me. There's no speaking any language-at least not aloud.

Slinging an arm around my shoulder, James grabs the bags from the ground. Dragging my oxygen machine by the handle, we walk away from the water.

*

The streets are busy-too crowded for my liking. Children run by in a scramble, parents screaming after them. The chaos isn't controlled, it's a frenzy. The air feels too thick, too heavy. It's almost suffocating. Having one useful lung doesn't help the situation either. I can feel the strain more than I could when we were having a water fight, but then again, I'd been having fun then. This, right now, isn't fun. The only good thing is the prospect of food.

The beach sits to the right of the pathway. Restaurant line the right, some Italian, others just general restaurant. Oddly enough, there's no McDonalds, which is crazy, considering they're everywhere. The restaurant here seem too classy though. There's a large path down the middle, between two restaurants, people wandering up and down.

James taps my shoulder and I translate it to words: here? Looking to the left, I see 'Pizza Pies' written on the front of the shop. I start salivating on the spot. Pizza, along with chocolate, is one of my weaknesses. James looks down at me, grinning broadly. He looks like every other teenage boy, confident and arrogant. The only difference is he can't talk. On the outside he looks normal. Digging deeper is where the problems begin. It has to be why I feel so connected with him, considering I don't get close to people.

He leads me over to the store, opening the door. I scan the menu for one thing, smiling when they have it. Hawaiian pizza.

Once we're seated at a table, the pizza between us, I grab the notebook from one of the bags. My oxygen machine sits next to me and I put the plugs in. Never have I walked so far in my life and it's taking a toll on my body. I'm just grateful for the oxygen from my machine.

James watches me from across the table, eating a slice of pizza. He's grinning, watching me constantly. It's not unnerving, like I know it should be.

Focusing my attention on the notepad, I write, then show him. Can you teach me sign language?

His smile fades before it returns, bright as ever. His teeth are perfect, straight and white. Braces, I think, imagining my own teeth. They're not straight, far from it. When chemotherapy is a priority, spending thousands of dollars on braces isn't high on the list.

Flipping to a new page, I write rapidly with my left hand, eating a slice of pizza with my right. Half of it falls onto the table and I stare at it wistfully. James laughs, silent yet blaringly loud. Rolling my eyes, I focus on the paper-and not losing all my pizza. If you don't want to it's okay. I get it. I just thought it'd be . . . easier. This writing can get annoying. You and Jordon talk so normal. This takes forever.

He reads the words, frowning. Then he looks up at me, before smiling gently. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just really hard to learn. You need patience. But, if you want to learn I can teach you. It won't be something you'll be fluent in within a day.

Smiling around a bite of pizza, I grab the pen from him. Picking off the pineapple, he bites some pizza. I stick my hand out, popping the stray pieces of pineapple into my mouth. James laughs and I continue to watch him even as I write. I don't mind. I have the patience of a saint-at least I like to think so. Now all you have to do is teach me.

He smiles at me, tilting his head to the side. I only smile back, wiping some pizza sauce from the side of my mouth. He doesn't seem to care, which I'm grateful for. I've always told myself that when-or if-I ever have a boyfriend, I'd make sure he didn't care how and what I ate. Okay. I'll start with the alphabet. A is . . .

By the time we're finished the pizza, ready to go into the city, he's taught me up to E. I don't know if I remember all of it, but by the end of the day, I vow that I will.

When we get in the car we're up to M. I practice the letters on my hands, and he corrects me when I get it wrong. It's a lot too. Already, I know that it's going to be hard. But it'll be worth it. At least then I'll die knowing another language. French in school had failed miserably. Japanese too. Nor had German. Of course, I'd simply hated the languages-and I still do.

"Okay. Out, both of you," Jordon orders.

I look up at him, freezing midst way in practicing X. "We're here?"

He nods. "Yeah. Finding a parking spot sucked but I have one. So, I have things to do and I have to get back."

"Oh. Okay. Going," I say, opening the car door. James gets out after me, stretching his arms over his head. His back cracks and I can't help but wince. No matter how many time I've been under, or how many times I've been stabbed by needles, the sound of bones cracking still give me the creeps. I hate the sound and I always will.

James smiles, signing something to his brother. Jordon signs back, glaring. I just stare between them in confusion. To begin with, my experience with guys is a dad and little brother. No teenage boys in that experience. I can guess all I want, but in the end it's probably wrong.

Staring at my hands, I go through the alphabet. It's easier than I thought it would be, I realise, as I go through the whole alphabet. Whole words are what I'm not looking forward too.

James smiles at me, when I'm done. Grabbing my oxygen machine, I stare around with wide eyes. All the buildings are huge, the people swarm around. Shops line the streets. Everything is bigger than I've ever seen before.

Let's go, he mouth, before turning and walking away.

I follow, grateful he seems to know where he's going. Because I have no idea.

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Comment on anything you want to happen or feedback! I'd appreciate it! If not then tell me how I can make it better.

~ Littlemissflawed