Unedited.

Should I enter the Watty's with this? I doubt I'll win anything with it, but I wanted to put it out there. I'd love to know it you think I should!

And I'm sorry for the long wait! I've just gone back to school after holidays, and I'm just so unmotivated to do ANYTHING. Hope the chapter makes up for it! :)

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Three hours later—and I know because I've been occasionally looking at the clock to check the time—, someone enters the room.

His hand stills where it's running through my hair. I've been leaning on him, nearly falling asleep. He hasn't seemed to mind, alternating between scrolling through his Facebook and reading random pages from The End of Us in the silence.

We'd eaten lasagne and the rest of the food. After a week of hospital food it had been the best thing I'd eaten in a long time.

Blearily, I open my eyes, aware of the footsteps getting closer to the bed, before I hear the quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Miss Adams but visiting time is over. Your guest is going to leave."

I lift my head with a sigh. It's the same nurse as before. Her smile is soft, sympathetic, as she stares at us. Knowing James is just staring at her, I grab the paper I'd put on the desk next to the hospital, writing quickly.

You have to go. Visiting hours are over.

His arm tenses around my shoulder and I see him sigh out of the corner of my eye. Then he writes down one word that makes me grin.

Seriously?

I let my head rest against his shoulder again, nodding slightly, as I reach for the pen.

Yes. :'(

Then, simply because my hearts still fluttering, I write,

You love me.

Only then does his arm relax. His lips touch my forehead and I manage to keep the blush from my face. Then he grabs the pen from me.

Yeah, CG. I do. How could I not? You're beautiful, funny, brave . . . and I've already said all this so I'll stop in case I bore you. But, bottom line, I love you.

I know, for sure, that I'll never get bored of it. Before I can think about it, I lean up to kiss him. A tear falls but I blink the others away.

When a throat, I stare at the nurse. "Miss Adams, you're boyfriend cannot stay. I can't bend the rules."

"You let me take a phone call," I remind her. She hasn't said anything about the fact that James is on the hospital bed as well yet, but I wait for it.

She runs a hand through her hair, sighing heavily. "I know. But I can't make a habit of it. You're going in for testing soon, in less than twenty minutes—you know how important it is that you get to them on time."

My grin slips and I'm more than grateful James can't hear the conversation. He can sense that sadness hanging in the air, I know. The last thing he needs to hear is that I need testing done to see how far the cancer has progressed.

"Okay," I whisper, trying to muster up a smile. Then I flip to a new page.

You have to go. I want you to stay but you can't. Remember to post that you were here on Facebook, add a picture of me too.

He doesn't laugh, not even a hint of a smile. Instead, he pulls me closer, with a deep, worried frown, absently writing.

I'll come by tomorrow. You'll be okay, I know it—and I'm always right. They'll give you good news. And I'll kiss you until you forget you're in a hospital, maybe bring some chocolate.

It doesn't escape my notice that he leaves out the part about Facebook. I know for sure he won't post anything or tell anyone.

As he starts to sit up, tears strike. I blink them away, confused by the reaction. Blue eyes meet mine, and I know he's seeing the tears. Slowly—dragging it out as long as he can—, James leans himself over the other side of the bed. When he jumps off, his side of the mattress springs up. I stare at the space he's vacated with a frown.

The last thing I want to do is go through testing so doctors can tell me how close I am to dying. I want to sit with my boyfriend, pretend to a teenager without cancer. Act ignorant to everything but the fact that he loves me. Just spend time with him.

But I can't.

James leans over, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. I have to move over to the other end to get comfortable.

"Miss Adams, you shouldn't—"

I ignore the nurse, wishing I could wrap my arms around his waist. James pulls me closer to his chest. I rest my head against his heart, just listening to it beat. It sounds so normal, nothing like I know mine does.

Listening to it, I feel like crying all over again. He rests his forehead on the top of mine, kissing the top of my head, before he lifts my head and wipes away a tear, smiling softly.

I love you, he mouths. It'll all be okay.

Realising the nurse is staring, I forcefully pull myself together. I nod against his chest, leaning back. James lets me go reluctantly.

Tomorrow, he mouths, before his lips are on mine. I kiss back.

Then, looking back at me the whole time, he walks out the door, shutting it behind him.

I fall back on the bed with a sigh, staring up at the white ceiling. I do it for a while, feeling his lips on mine even though he's gone. Hearing his heartbeat.

Then I look over at the nurse, whose staring at me owlishly. "Let's do this," I mutter, with bravado I don't feel. The faster I get in there, the faster they'll finish the tests. Then I can get the results—good or bad.

She stares at me, before nodding rapidly. "Of course."

That's when the nurses come in, putting me under with an anesthetic.

*

"Oh, this is good news. Great news. Amazing news."

Doctor Sherwood continues to mutter to himself, clipboard hanging loosely in his hand. He's grinning, something that doesn't ease my panic in the slightest.

It's been another day, which makes it nine days in the hospital so far. Considering I've spent four months in a hospital during chemotherapy before, it isn't that long. But it feels a lot longer than it ever has before.

It's no longer visiting hours, but the hospital has made an exception so dad, mum and I can get the results of all the tests. I'm back in the room I've been in for the week, once again lying on the bed with all the needles and IV drips in my arm.

Mum sits on the edge of the hospital bed, gripping my hand tightly. I haven't said anything, but I know she's cut off the circulation, considering she's been holding it for more than an hour.

Dad stands against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Rick is nowhere to be seen. Mum had dropped him off at his friend's house on the way here. He'd complained, of course, but I knew he'd let it go after looking at mum.

I try to muster up a weak smile, as she stares at me. She looks gaunt and pale, like she hasn't eaten or slept in a month. Her cheeks are red, evidence of tears still visible. The jeans look a size too big, just like the black shirt she's wearing. Her hair is a mess, streaks fanning across her face,

"Brilliant news. You'll want to hear this," Doctor Sherwood mutters to himself.

Dad clears his throat loudly.

Doctor Sherwood blinks rapidly, before standing straight. "Right. Sorry, Mr Adams."

Dad just stares back, glancing at me with a frown. He's worried, I know. The results will either be good or bad, and if I go off what's happened before, they won't be good.

Dad clears his throat again, raising an eyebrow. His worry is quickly turning to impatience. He wasn't to know the results and he doesn't want to wait for them. "Results," he says.

Doctor Sherwood nods. "I suggest you prepare yourselves," he says, voice carefully blank.

Mum chokes on a sob, clutching my hand tightly. Her head shakes in denial.

I just close my eyes, preparing for the worst.

His voice is kind, unnaturally quiet. "Miss Adams . . ."

I don't open my eyes, afraid of what I'll see.

"Just say it," dad mutters, walking closer to the other side of the bed. When his arm comes around my shoulder, I bury my face in his chest.

Doctor Sherwood clears his throat, glancing at the shut door before speaking. "The lung transplant . . . I don't know how to say this, but . . . it won't be necessary."

Won't be necessary.

The words echo in my head. It can only mean one thing. I have no time left—it's all run out. Dad holds me tighter as a tear falls.

Mum sobs loudly.

"It's okay, honey," dad whispers, and I can hear the pain in his voice. He's trying to keep it together, for mum and me.

"Dad," I whisper back, voice tight. "Rick . . . what are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, honey." His arms grip me tighter. "I don't know."

I clutch him tighter.

"How long?" dad asks, voice low.

Doctor Sherwood doesn't say anything for a minute. Then he clears his throat. "Sir, you misunderstood."

"How long?" dad repeats.

"The cancer . . . sir, it's gone."

My heart stops and silence hangs in the room.

Doctor Sherwood fills it, voice calm and quiet. "It's gone, sir. There's no sign of the cancer cells anywhere. She's in remission."

"Remission?" dad whispers, voice tight. He grips me tighter.

"Remission, sir. It's gone." He pauses. "That's not to say it won't come back, but for now there's no trace of any cancerous cells. It's gone. She can leave hospital tomorrow. Because of it, your daughter has a higher chance of survival."

Remission . . .

A sob of relief escapes me.

I'm cancer free. Free. No cancer cells whatsoever.

"Gone?" dad repeats, voice quieter than I've ever heard before.

"Gone, sir. She's in remission."

I can't help but break into tears. Dad holds me tighter.

At some point, Doctor Sherwood leaves, closing the door behind him quietly. I barely notice, still in shock.

I'm cancer free.

"Dad," I whisper, before I can't say anything else through the tears.

I feel his body shake, forehead resting on the top of my head. He's crying, I realise. "I know, honey," he whispers back. "I know." The relief in his voice is so thick I can almost taste it.

I'm too emotional to say anything else, as we all cry our own tears.

*

It isn't until hours later, and I've cried all the tears possible, that I grab my phone off the desk beside the hospital bed. Mum and dad are both in the room. Dad's sitting on one of the chairs, mum on his lap. She's asleep, clearly exhausted.

Since I'm now allowed to leave early tomorrow morning, they're staying overnight to make it all easier. All the nurses have cleared out, giving me the space I need.

I type out a text before anyone can notice.

To James:

I'm in remission. REMISSION. I'm cancer free. FREE. They're letting me out of hospital—FINALLY.

No more than a second later, there's another text in reply.

I told you it would be good news. I love you, CG, and to celebrate I'm going to take you out to Marcella's for pancakes. <3

It's then that, I have to face it: I'm in love with him. Him bringing me food. Visiting me in hospital when I'm sick. Taking me to the city. Splashing in water like children. Eating dinner with my family. Playing video games with my brother. Laughing at my terrible attempts at jokes. All of it.

I love him. I love James.

My fingers itch to type the words back (a simple 'I love you too'), but indecision wars. In the end, I don't say it. I just say yes to his offer for pancakes.

If I'd known what would happen, I'd have told him.

               Because, days later, my worldcollapses from under me.