Unedited.

After this, no more chapters in parts. I'll only write whole chapters from now on.

Dedicated to @12LenaBeana. Go follow her! Her stories are amazing.

This didn't go the way I planned but it never does. So, the city ends next chapter...along with something else [cue gasp].

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               After lunch, we wonder aimlessly, James leading me everywhere, since he actually seems to know where he's going. Every few metres I have to stop and catch my breath, exhausted. James doesn't complain, standing by me each time. Each time someone glances at us, he glares at them, a clear warning. Wisely they don't comment on the oxygen machine, though they do glance at it distastefully.

               The city is huge. Skyscrapers line the distance, most of them dark. There's a large river that I can barely make out in the distance, but from what I can see it's large and dirty, the water a murky brown. Where we're actually walking is completely different. Every street is lined with various shops. Through the very middle is a road, cars driving up and down. It's weird to see. We'd turned away from the middle already, onto a complex set of streets with no car access. All of it is just shops. Halfway up the road from us is escalators, leading to a large shopping centre, that towers over everything in the area.

               It's the craziest thing I've ever seen and it's making me feel more than a little panicked. Claustrophobic too—and I don't ever feel that way. Lung cancer and crowds isn't a good mix—and calling this a crowd is an understatement. Now I know why I don't go out.

               Since I'll never get the chance to do this again, I ignore all the people. They're irrelevant anyway—I'll never see them again and they'll never see me. If they want to judge me for something I can't control, they can do what they want. I don't care.

               James catches my eye, concerned eyes meeting mine. Smiling at him, I push back from the wall I'm leaning against. I'm okay, I mouth, looking around for any seats. There aren't any nearby, or the people might just be blocking my view. 

               All I get in response is a raised eyebrow.

               Rolling my eyes, I grab the sunglasses hanging on the handle of my oxygen machine. The glare from the sun is almost as bad as the crowd. Relax James. I'm not going to die.

               The joke isn't funny, but I don't expect it to be. James narrows his eyes, staring pointedly at the oxygen machine.

               Shaking my head, I start walking. Though I'll need to use it soon, I actually want to do something first. If I wanted to sit and wallow in the pity of cancer, letting a machine breathe for me, I'd be at home.

               Frowning at me, James moves his hands. Unlike before, I catch a few words and make sense of the rest. Need to sit . . . you sit.

               He waits for my nod before turning around. Following behind him, I get into step beside him. His legs are a lot longer, but he still matches my pace, so I know he's walking slower that he normally does.

               When we reach the end of the street, I turn, glimpsing a store out of the corner of my eye. I almost run into an elderly man, smiling softly in apology. He ignores me completely as if I'm not even there. Fighting a scowl, I walk off to the side waiting for James to reach my. Glancing back, I can't even find him in the crowd.

               There's a moment of panic, before he finally breaks through the crowd. He looks worried, walking forward with purpose. I thought I lost you, he mouths, and I know if he said the words they'd be rushed.

               I quirk an eyebrow, laughing it off. I know he's thinking the same thing I am. His brother is my ride home, I can't lose track of James. Granted, my phone is currently sitting in my bag and I could just as easily call him or Jordon . . . but still.

               James nods to the video game store behind me. We going in? he mouths.

               Without answering him, I turn. In front of me is a pair of stairs going down. It looks slightly sleazy, but the large flashing sign proves it's not some lucrative business. People walk up and down the stairs, bags in hand.

               There's a whistle behind me and I whirl around to look at James. My jaw goes slack and I can't help but gape at him.

               He doesn't get defensive, not like I expect, instead laughing. It's the same male arrogance I see and hate, but on James . . . I don't hate it. Instead it makes me happy on a strange level that I don't want to acknowledge. I'm so distracted, I barely catch the words he's mouthing. I can whistle, you know.

               Blushing, I glance away. Sorry, I sign.

               James shrugs, stepping down one of the steps. I follow, staring at him. He can whistle but he can't talk. That I don't understand. Rationally, it makes sense. He's deaf, not mute. Thinking about it feels wrong, when James is right there and I can ask him, but I can't help it—

               Choking on a scream, James' arm catches me as I miss a step. It's the only reason I don't fall on my face and humiliate myself. Freezing, I catch my breath, leaning heavily against James. Twice today. Twice I've managed to fall on stairs, both up and down them. The words klutz and cancer really don't go together.

               "Stairs will be the death of me," I grumble, stepping down the rest extra cautiously. James' hand rests just behind my elbow, ready to catch me. Thankfully I don't fall again.

               At the bottom of the stairs, I stop just outside the open door. The interior of the store looks like nerd heaven and I can't help but imagine taking Rick in here to buy something. His eyes would light up and he'd never want to leave.

               But it'll never happen. I won't ever get the chance.

               Telling myself to shut up, I consider the positives. At least I can buy him something, take pictures to show him. And once I'm gone, mum and dad can take him.

               When James diverts my attention, I'm grateful. The last thing I want to do is reminisce about the what ifs.

               Okay. I can do this. You're here to have fun, not think about dying.

               Surprisingly the pep talk works. Stepping into the store, I'm immediately assaulted with body odour. It's not enough to make me balk, but looking at James as he walks in, I can tell it bothers him. Still, he says nothing, immediately moving to the comic section. I follow, completely lost.

               Weaving around the shelves, I keep my eyes open for anything Rick would like. It all looks the same to me.

               James stands next to a wall of comics, looking through one. He turns to me when I get close enough, raising an eyebrow. Pen and paper, I don't even realise he had, pop out of nowhere and he's writing before I can track it.

               What're we in here for? Somehow I doubt it's because you want to be here.

               Forcing a smile, I roll my eyes. What? I write, flipping to a new page. I don't look like I belong? Who knows? I might be a closet nerd.

               He takes it from me, putting a Superman comic back on the shelves. You look lost. If it's not for you, why're we here?       

               A present for my brother. He won't talk to me because I left him behind, so buying him something will make up for it. Handing the paper back to him, I grab a random comic, looking on the cover. Words in Japanese stare back at me, the picture a pale guy with blood on his mouth. As quickly as I can, I put it back.

               James hands the paper back to me and I read the words. What does he like?

               His question is a good one, but there's only one problem. I don't know what comic books Rick reads. His PlayStation games I'm familiar with, but the comics in his room are the opposite.

               Grabbing the pen, I write while I try to find common superheroes. There's Superman, Batman, Iron Man . . . the list goes on and on, though I don't recognise half of them. What I do recognise is that this is what people are talking about when they have the great Marvel vs. DC debate. I'm never the one involved, because I could care less about the latest superheros. Staring at the comics though, they all look the same.

I don't see the appeal to them at all. Inhuman powers don't exist. Miracles don't miraculously happen. Wishes aren't granted at random. No one can fly just like no one can cure cancer by some extraordinary miracle.

Superheroes honestly seem so redundant.

Moving out of the way of an elderly man, beard down to his waist, I give the paper to James. The man glares at my oxygen machine, as if it's offensive to him somehow. What does everyone like? Something he won't hate?

You want my opinion? I've read most of them so I know the ones you don't want him to read?

Glancing at James, I raise an eyebrow. Don't want him to read? Should I be worried?

               He rolls his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest. As he writes, I can't help but wonder how long it'll take to get fluent in sign. Months, probably. I can only hope it doesn't take that long. I don't have months to waste; everyday might as well be my last.

               They're not what you're thinking. I meant they have violence, not sex.

               Blushing like mad, I flick to a new page, almost ripping it in my haste. Did anyone see? Glancing around, I stare at everyone in the cramped store. Thankfully they're all in their own world and aren't even looking our way. James! You can't just write that! What if someone saw? If I'd said the words instead of writing them, they'd be little more than a hiss.

               James laughs. You're such a prude. Now, before I get stuck here, can we look? We still have to visit the museum and it's already three.

               *

               It's a little after half past three when we're finally in front of the museum, two extra bags with us. We'd left the comic book store just after three, settling on . . . nothing really. Unsure of what to get, I'd grabbed at least ten comics, hoping he'd like some of them. I'd avoided any that hadn't looked appropriate for a ten year old—and saying that just feels ridiculous. James had weighed in on all of them, telling me whether they were worth reading. In his words—if they were "shit" or not.

               The walk to get here had taken forever, mainly because of me. I'd had to stop five times to use my oxygen machine. James hadn't complained once, sitting next to me on whatever bench we'd been able to find. Eventually though, we'd reached the museum.

               Now, standing here, I can't help but gape at it. The building is huge, a large dinosaur on display from the outside. Avoiding the urge to squeal like I child, I stare at everything. There's banners hanging down the front of the building, one blue and the others black. Art Museum, Dinosaur Exhibit and Historical Department, they read.

               James pulls me out the way of a passing family, children run by in a flash. Blushing, I smile sheepishly, catching their mother's eye. "Sorry."

               "No worries, honey," is all I get in response, along with a fleeting smile, before she's gone, chasing after her kids.

               You should watch where you're going.

               Narrowing my eyes on James' smirking face, I take the paper from him. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Your input is greatly appreciated.

               He stares at me, as he scrawls on the paper. I can't tell what he's thinking but I don't let myself consider it. If I start, I'll never stop. Then it will just turn into a giant pity party and that's the last thing I want.

               When he hands the paper back, I can't help but smile. 'Your input is greatly appreciated.' What are you, eighty?

               Glaring, I try to keep the smile off my face. Is this flirting? If it is I have no idea. Before I start to blush embarrassingly, I put pen to paper.  No, I just speak proper English unlike the rest of our generation. Would you rather I keep saying LOL or probs?

               James reads the words, clearly fighting a smile. Eventually, he starts to laugh, grinning. You are one of a kind CG.

               Avoiding his eyes, I try to find what's so funny. There's . . . nothing funny at all. I'm not funny. I'm the sixteen year old, with a depressing story to tell—if I ever actually tell it which won't ever happen.

               Reluctantly taking the pen from him, I flip to a new page. I didn't say anything funny.

               He seems completely unbothered as he reads the words. Winking, his arms comes around my shoulders. Taking a hint, I look up without a fight. It's unnerving, the way he stares, focused solely on me.

               "Stop," I whisper, trying to push him away. He can't hear but I know he can read my lips.

               James doesn't let go, holding me tighter if anything. The closeness, the lack of space . . . it's all too much. With a hand under my chin, he forces eye contact. Though I want to, I can't look away. His blue eyes hold me captive. Heart beating faster, I try to lean back, so there's at least an illusion of space between us.

               Look at me. For once, he doesn't right the words. It almost feels like we're talking like everyone else, though no sounds come out of his mouth; there's no cancer or deafness holding us back. You. Are. Beautiful.

               Oh my god, I think, fighting the panic that wants to come to light. My skin starts to crawl uncomfortably. Tearing my eyes away, I stare at my oxygen machine, hating the cancer for the first time in years—

               My heart stops for a totally different reason.

               There's no way, no way, that James is kissing me. Me. The dying girl.

               Everything going on around us fades away, until it's just us. I'm too busy freaking out to do anything, but in the back of my mind I know I should be doing something. Do I kiss back? Freak out? Move? Use tongue?

               James' lips aren't forceful in anyway; there's no tongue involved. They're oddly . . . warm and soft. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever done. Chemotherapy, needles, cancer . . . none of it compares to this.

               And worst of all . . . I can't kiss. I'm just standing here like a wall. Could this get any worse?

               When there's finally space between us again, it feels like the kiss lasts for hours. It was probably only a few seconds. Jerking back with wide eyes, I can only gape at him. I know my face is bright red, burning with embarrassment.

               James stares at me, a soft smile on his lips. His whole face is . . . soft.

               Staring at him, I try to ignore how uncomfortable I feel. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

               James raises an eyebrow, arms moving to around my waist. The whole moment is too close, too out of place.

               Stepping out of his arms, I turn. It was all going so well . . . until I ruined everything. Wishing a hole would swallow me up already, I walk away slowly. My heart still isn't beating the way it should, fluttering dangerously. 

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Vote and comment if you enjoyed it! I'm sorry if the ending was rushed. I honestly felt awkward writing it . . . and I may or may not have cried [Why? I don't know].

Hope you enjoyed it!

~ Littlemissflawed