chapter three: still me

☾ ☼ Sunny Wright

Tuesday, September 15th, 2017

I'M NOT SURE WHATS MORE DEPRESSING, A KID WITH LEUKEMIA OR MY MOM.

             I dip my spoon into my soup, taking small sips, my appetite wasn't big these days, but I ate anyways, and did it with a smile on my less than average face.

Everything I did was for my mom, my poor, dear old mother. I smiled over at her. "The soups really good, mom,"I offer, taking another sip.

She gives me a tired, but loving smile. "I'm glad you like it."

I examine my mother with tired eyes, I couldn't tell which one of us was the sick one, her or me. Her brown hair was a mess atop her head, her glasses hang lowly, nearly falling off her face, into her soup, my mom had a permanent look of distress on her face, every since we found out about my leukemia, she's treated me like fragile glass, she tip toes around me like I'll break at any second, maybe I will.

I steal glances at her, the face that looked so much like mine, our frizzy golden brown hair was the same, our tired hazel brown eyes, same full lips, I almost inherited no features from my father, except my awkward and lanky boyish body, figures, he wasn't even in my life anymore and he still managed to fuck it up.

"Hey mom?"I begin, pushing my bowl of soup away, I was tired of pretending to eat, I never thought there'd come a day where I Sunny Wright would not have an appetite. "I'm still me."

My mother raises a brow at me, pushing her soup away as well, confusion woven into her face. "What are you talking about, Sunny Bunny?" She asks, rising from the table, grabbing both our dishes, dumping them in the sink, with a clank.

A small smile creeps on my lips at the nickname, I used to hate it, but now hearing its familiarity, it felt nice, it felt warm, it reminded me that everything would eventually be okay again, and that mom was still in there somewhere, underneath all the sadness, so I continue.

"I feel like you're treating me like I'm...how do I put this, well.....sick, I know that sounds silly because, well....I am sick, but despite that, I'm still me, I like all the same things, I still act the same way, I'm still the same me, I'm just sick now, but that doesn't change anything, I'm still...me, I want things to be normal,"I ramble on, I sink lower into my seat at the kitchen table, feeling like a blubbering idiot. Maybe I was different now, the old Sunny could at least speak properly.

"I know you're you, you're still my sunshine,"She says, kissing me on the forehead, before returning to the dishes in the sink.

There's a moment of silence, but it wasn't awkward, it felt natural, it felt calming, I watched as my mom, washed the dishes, I rise from my seat, grabbing a hand towel, drying the wet dishes, placing them in the cabinet.

"What do you think about going to support group?" My mom offers, breaking the silence, handing me a pot to dry.

I scowl deeply, not bothering to hide my distaste. "I'd rather throw myself off of the nearest building, into a pit of lava."

"You're being dramatic,"She says giving me that disappointed mom look, her eyebrows knitting together.

"No mom, I'm dying,"I begin. "And I don't want to spend the last of my days chumming it up with other sick people, sounds like a big old pity party to me, I don't want a pity party, I want to live out the last of my days in peace and isolation."

"I'm worried about you,"She muses lowly, her brows knitting together once more. I had become a complex puzzle that she couldn't solve. She didn't like that, mom saw in black and white, it either was, or it wasn't, it needed to fit neatly into a box, she craved a solution to every problem. I just wished that she could accept the fact that all problems don't have solutions, there was no fixing or curing my leukemia, it was here, and it was gray, and it didn't fit neatly into a box, and it certainly had no solution, no solution she would like anyways.

Mom I'm worried about you, I wanted to say, except I didn't, because some things weren't meant to be said out loud.

"Please, don't worry," My voice sounded weak and frail, almost like I was begging my mom, please, please don't say that, it only makes it harder for me.

I walk over to the dining room table, wiping it down, my eyes filling with tears, my mother could not see me cry, I had to put up a strong front for her, I had to put up a strong front for everyone. I didn't want to make things any harder than they already were, so if that meant crying myself to sleep, faced smooshed in a pillow so that my mom didn't hear, so be it.

"You just...seem so lonely."

I place the washcloth in the sink, a sad laugh escaping my lips. "You want to talk about lonely, mom?" I begin, leaning on the counter, looking over to her. "Lonely is your seventeen year old daughter being your best friend."

She places a damp hand over her chest, faking hurt. "I have friends."

"The mailman doesn't count, mom."

"Heather Grey is my friend." She says, sitting back down at the kitchen table, flipping open her laptop. "Speaking of, you remember Owen, right?"

I tilt my head to the side, confused at where she was going with this, a few strands of hair cascading into my vision. "Yes, what about him?"

"He's coming over tomorrow, isn't that exciting? You two used to be inseparable!"

"Mom,"I groan, slapping a hand up to my forehead. "Number one, that was middle school, number two I'm seventeen, I don't need you to set up play dates for me,"I say anger rising in my voice, the last thing I wanted was to sit awkwardly with Owen, pretending that we could be friends, we couldn't.

"You're just so lonely,"She says again, which was true, I was, I hardly ever left the house and Mallory always had work and Simon, he was always busy doing whatever it was that Simon did, it wasn't their faults that they actually had lives, it wasn't their job to babysit me.

"I have Mallory and Simon," I say anyways, not knowing what else to say, I surely wasn't about to admit to my overbearing loneliness.

"And now you can add Owen to that list,"She says plainly, pecking away at her computer now, not offering me a glance as I roll my eyes deeply.

I groan, all the way up the stairs, flopping on my bed. I flip over on my side, retrieving my phone, happy to see messages from Simon and Mallory.

I laugh at the picture Mallory sent me of Simon sleeping in math class, and of the picture of them sitting at lunch, where Mallory is holding a plastic knife up to her eye.

Mallory: wish you were here 😪

I quickly jot a text back, snapping a picture of me laying in my bed, with my eyes rolled up, placing my phone back on the nightstand.

Me: you'll live! 🤠

I don't say what I want to say, I don't say I wish I was there too, because then I'll end up spiraling. It was my senior year, I had made it, three long, painfully dreadful years of high school and I was so close to the finish line, so so god damn close I could taste it.

I wanted to go to college, I wanted to see the world, fall in love, have sex, have kids, get married, all that stuff, but I never would, all I had was a number of days, it was so unfair, why did my blood have to be all fucked up, I was a good person, right? Why not give this horrid disease to someone that actually deserved it, why do bad things happen to good people?

I lay staring up at my ceiling, too sad to even cry, you know you're really screwed when you can't even cry the pain away.

Crying won't make your sickness go away. The words chant in my head, it was enough to get me out of my mood, with a sigh I sit up on my bed, my head throbbing slightly, from the sudden movement.

The only side effects from my leukemia, so far, were headaches, not too unbearable, just slight pressure and throbbing and the nose bleeds, which came very frequently, so frequently that I carried around napkins or hand towels wherever I went, not sure when my nose would bleed, but knowing it was inevitable.

I rise from my bed, slowly, to not aggravate my headache, walking to my bathroom, reaching for my daily meds. Meds that we're supposed to help with my leukemia, but it didn't feel like they were helping much, I was slowly, but surely getting sicker by the days, by the hours, by the minutes. Nevertheless, I pop the pills like candy, washing them down with sink water.

Suddenly exhausted, I climb back into my bed, lulling into a dreamless sleep. And that's how I spent my days, hanging with my mom, when she wasn't at work, sometimes I read, sometimes I watched movies, or listened to music, but mostly I sulked or cried, leukemia had made me such a moody bitch, I hated it. I missed being myself, maybe I truly wasn't the same anymore, maybe I had changed, maybe the old Sunny had died.

🔆🔆🔆

a/n
how do you like it so far, hope it's not too sad my goal is not to make you cry just yet 🥺👉🏾👈🏾