The hospital terrifies me. 

All those clean, sanitized surfaces, the beeping of the machines that proclaim life or death, the needles that poke mercilessly into your skin, pumping drugs into your system. 

And the smell. I think the smell is the worst part. 

A sharp, chemical scent mixed with the lemon cleaning liquid that stings my nose. And underneath it all is the aroma of death, of stale bodies lying in old hospital gowns, of patients lying still on the operating table, and of silent monitors.

But I did not come here to shiver in fear or too see a doctor. I came here for my little sister.

It's late in the evening, and the buzz of hospital life has died down. My footsteps echo too loudly off the white walls of the hallway. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling flicker sporadically, causing a dull ache to form behind my eyes. 

A few nurses call out in greeting to me as I pass, and I wave back at them, forcing a small smile onto my face. Every staff member that works in this wing of the hospital knows me by name, and no matter how many times I tell them not to call me by my first name, they do it anyway.

The door to Room 407 is ajar, and a soft orange light is spilling out into the hallway. A real smile forms on my face as I step into the room, closing the door softly behind me.

The harsh lights on the ceiling are turned off. The light in the room is coming from a strand of tiny orange bulbs that hang over the hospital bed. This hospital room is more personalized then the others, with photos of smiling family members and a cute puppy lining the walls. A quilt on the bed brings a much-needed explosion of color into the dull room.

My eyes travel to the girl sitting on the bed. She is young, around twelve years old, with big brown eyes that sparkle in the faint light. Her face is fresh and has the innocent beauty of youth, with a tiny nose and a splash of freckles. She has no hair, instead wearing a floppy cap pushed out of her eyes. An oxygen tank is next to her, hooked up to her nostrils and an IV cord is inserted in her arm.

She looks up at me as I walk over to her, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of her lips, revealing even white teeth.

"Lyric! I've been waiting for you. Where have you been?"

I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattresses sagging slightly with my weight.

"I couldn't find a ride, so I walked here." I sigh, slinging my battered backpack off my shoulder, throwing it carelessly to the side. I flop down dramatically on the bed, splaying my arms out and relishing the warmth of the quilt.

"You shouldn't have done that." Marcella says, reaching down to brush some of the snowflakes off of my forehead. Her hand is soft and warm, and so small.

"Probably. But you know that Mom and Dad can't drive me - they're too busy working. And none of my friends could either. It's fine, Mar. You worry too much."

A few beats of silence.

"Are they okay? Mom and Dad?" She asks it softly, so faint that I almost don't catch it.

"Yeah, I think so. Just working all the time to pay the hospital bills and stuff. Why? Were they being weird the last time they came to visit?"

Marcella looks away and shrugs, but it's very unconvincing. I prop myself up on my elbow, and push the brim of her cap down over her eyes playfully.

"You've always been a terrible liar. Tell me the truth, Biscuit."

A small smile flits across Marcella's face at the sound of my old nickname for her.

"Well, they're just always so sad. They smile and laugh, but I can tell that it's fake. I caught Mom crying once, when she thought I was asleep. I never meant to make them unhappy."

"You never made them unhappy, Mar." I sit up and scooch closer to her on the bed, wrapping my arm around her frail body.

"They just hate seeing you go through all this unfair shit." Marcella shoots me a warning look and I quickly say,

"Crap. I meant crap."

She tries to look stern, but it gives way to a fit of giggles. I laugh, shaking my head.

"Promise not to tell Mom that I slipped?"

"Hmmm....I suppose. But..." Marcella steeples her fingers, giving me a wicked grin.

I groan exaggeratedly, facepalming and making Marcella laugh.

"What do you mean 'but'?"

"Only if you make me a promise."

The amusement fades from her features and she fixes me with her huge, intelligent eyes.

"Okay," I say softly. "Like what?"

She turns away from me and gazes at the wall, staring at something I cannot see.

"That you'll take care of yourself when I'm gone."

I stare at her, shocked.

"Whoa, what? Don't talk like that. You're going to be fine, Mar. The doctor's think that this next round of chemo could really help."

She reaches out and takes my hand, fingers curling gracefully around my palm, her skin warming mine. She turns her head to look at me, and the deep sadness in her eyes breaks my heart.

"Just promise." She whispers.

"Okay. I promise."

She visibly relaxes, all the tension leaving her body as she rests her tiny head on my shoulder. I squeeze her hand, feeling my eyes burn.

"I love you." She murmurs.

"I love you too, Biscuit."