The truth is, no matter how much you love someone, someone in the relationship always leaves. No Hrant has made it pretty obvious that he isn't the one who is going to leave but I can't say the same for myself. I feel the malignant mass in my head slowly killing me. I'm drained. I don't want to move. I don't even want to breath it hurts so bad.

Any food that is in my stomach turns in an angry manner and I feel like I'll puke at any second. My mouth is arid and chapped. I sit curled under a mountain of blankets shivering.

"Hey Marebear," says a familiar voice. I groan.

"Go away," I tell Grant. "I feel like crap."

He ignores my command and cuddles up next to me. His warmth invades my body and I cease to shiver. I smile weakly.

"I wish I could make you feel better," he whispers.

"You do," I assure him. He faces me and kisses my cheek. Then his lips moved to find mine. He kisses me gently. Not a kiss for him but a kiss for me; to make me feel loved and cared for. And I do. But the constant feeling that I will puke up my lunch kind of surpasses the whole in love thing.

"Stop," I say cause I'm to tired to pull away.

"Sorry," he says immediately. He looks down, clearly sorry. What a nice guy, I think to myself.

"It's.. Fine," I struggle to say. My mouth feels like it's full of sand. "It's just that if you kiss me I might puke in your mouth. And that would be like the biggest turn off ever."

"Aww your so considerate of my well being," he says sarcastically. I roll my eyes and laugh. I immediately regret the laughing though, for a sharp pain spreads through my diaphragm.

"Ow," I say flatly. "Hey what time is it?"

"Six thirty," he tells me. "Why?"

"Well the last few times I have had chemo, I have always gone into a puking fit at seven on the dot. I think I'll start heading to the bathroom floor now," I tell him. I painstakingly get up and move to the bathroom connected to my hospital room. Grant takes my arm and I put most of my weight on him. I take a seat on the spotless tile floor and prepare myself for the incredible amount of bile that is about to come up my throat.

"You can leave now," I tell Grant.

"Why would I do that?"

"You really want to watch me puke up my lunch?" Despite my pain, my voice is strong and snarky.

"Not really, but I don't want you to be alone," he says rubbing my back. "I'm staying."

"You are not," I demand. Before he can argue with me, my stomach lurches and warm vomit flows out of my mouth and into a bath of toilet water. My face turns hot with embarrassment. Yep, my boyfriend just saw me throw up. Great.

"Now can you leave," I ask. I throw up again. "Please," I whisper.

He nods resistantly. Before he goes he pulls my hair back into a bun for me and rubs my back. He hugs me, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"I'll be back for dinner," he promises. I put my thumb up as I continue to hurl into the toilet. Grant leaves finally and I breath a sigh of relief.

----

Hours later, around nine o'clock, I feel a lot better. I lay in bed waiting for one Grant Gustin to walk in the room. Because of my fatigue I decide to take a little nap while I wait. I don't know how long I slept, probably only a couple of minutes, but I woke to a shift in movement. I open my eyes to see a brown haired boy looking at me.

"Why are you staring at me, Cupcake," I croak.

"Because your beautiful," he tells me. I roll my eyes and sit up.

Kissing his cheek I say, "You are such a dork."

"Feeling better are we," he asks with his eyebrows raised.

"Much," I respond.

"Hey so Barbie wanted be to talk to you about something," he says ominously. My stomach sinks. What now? "She thinks you should call your parents and so do I."

"And why would I do that? They left."

"They are your parents," he says matter of factly. He picks up my phone and gives it to me. "Call them or I will."

"I'd rather die," I say in a snarky tone.

"And miss all the fun we'd have?"

I roll my eyes to cover my blush. "You're lucky you're cute, Mr. Gustin," I tell him.

I dial my mom's number and wait for the pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey momma," I say in a sweet tone. No matter how much they don't like me, I will always love them.

"Marybeth," my mother says in a bitter tone. "What do you need."

"Nothing," I tell her kind of hurt at her response. "I just wanted to let you know that I have to go into surgery on Friday."

"Oh. Sorry Hun. Good luck!" She sound so chirpy as if I going to take a third grade math test.

"Wait, your seriously not coming down here to say goodbye to me," I say with a screeching voice. I can't believe them.

"Marybeth we are very busy," she says. What is wrong with my parents?! "When your an adult you will understand."

"No," I say sourly. "I won't understand. Cause I'll be dead!"

I hang up the phone in anger. I take all my anger out on Grant, who is sitting next to me looking upset. "Happy?!"

"I'm sorry," he tells me. I believe him. Hot tears burn my eyes and the lump in my throat grows.

Grant scoots over to me and I lay my head in his chest. I sit there in silence thinking of what dying would be like. Then I think about what being better would be like. Grants voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Marebear?"

"Mhm?"

"What happens if you don't die?

"Then we get married and have kids and live happily ever after," I say sarcasticly.

"Sounds nice," he tells me laughing.

"That's not what would happen," I say now serious. "I couldn't get a job. I would have to move out of the hospital cause I'm not sick. My parents wouldn't give me anymore money saying cause they have already payed for all my medical bills. And you would probably just end up breaking up with me for some hot model."

"Why would I do that?"

"Cause your freaking Grant Gustin! You are a hot, well paid actor who could get any girl in the world."

Grant sighs speechles. "You don't get it do you."

"Get what," I pout.

"What's the point in having some shallow actress when I can have the amazing, strong willed, gorgeous girl sitting next to me."

"We haven't even been dating two months," I say bitterly. "How do you know we are going to stay together."

"I don't. But I hope I would never be stupid enough to let a girl like you go."

"Why are you so cute," I ask in a baby voice.

"Cause I'm Grant Gustin," he tells me.

I roll my eyes. "I take it back. You're not cute."

"Ouch. Your mean."

"You are right about that," I say with a smirk.

---

A/N: If you have ever read any of my other books you know how this ends.