*.*.*.*.*.*

October 18

The weather grows colder overnight, and students switch their summer clothes for winter clothes. As for me, I retain my use of Carter's hoodies and T-shirts, refusing to switch them up for anything. People may think it's weird, wearing your dead brother's clothes, but for me, it's my way of keeping him with me.

"We could have stayed in today," Racheal tells me as we attempt to finish our reading for our environmental sciences class.

I don't answer, not wanting to tell her that I'm more than thankful that she let me stay at her place for the night. I couldn't go to Marla's with her out of the state and going to Riley's after what her dad did wasn't an option. It was Racheal who responded at ten at night and let me stay with her.

Racheal watches me while I refuse to look up from the loose sheets before me, highlighted in blues, pinks, and yellows. Most of my studying involves drawing lines and highlighting headings that I plan to read but never do.

"You okay?" she asks.

I nod, chewing on some loose skin of my bottom lip.

"I'm hungry," I announce, looking up at the ceiling.

"We have class in like ..." Racheal glances at her watch. "Two minutes."

We look towards the food display and notice the group of students already waiting in line for their lunch. It's obvious we're not going to get anything from there in two minutes.

"We can try the vending machine," I suggest.

"They've sealed it up," Racheal tells me. "Something about it eating up people's money and not giving it back. So many students complained that they couldn't get it to work again."

"Did they try being nicer to it?" I ask, Shane's words slipping out of my mouth before I can stop them.

A smile slides onto my lips and I shake my head to wipe it away without Racheal noticing. Luckily, she's too confused to understand.

"I'll ask Riley to get something for you by the time we get out of class, okay?" Racheal assures me, getting to her feet and gathering up her things.

I sigh, knowing I have no choice but to follow her. My head spins when I stand up and I take a moment to get the dizziness under control. My head feels heavy and I close my eyes briefly, opening it to find Racheal already picking up my things too.

"I got them," I say quickly, taking them from her as we almost start running towards the class.

We get there just in time, entering right after the balding teacher who keeps calling me Tyler for some insane reason. I get it, we've only been in his class for two months but my gender is pretty much clear. Not that names have anything to do with gender but calling my Tyler Ming pisses me off. He doesn't mess up anyone else's name, neither does he call them by their full name. Does 'Ming' somehow indicate I need to be called by my full name or nobody will know it's me? We don't have another Taylor -- or Tyler as far as he's concerned -- in the class.

The class passes by uneventfully, with me scribbling lines and crescents on the top of my notebook while Racheal takes notes. Halfway through the lecture, I zone out, returning when the teacher begins his version of an interactive discussion which is mostly him asking questions and the students answering. I didn't sleep too well last night or eat anything. My head -- which is exhausted from overthinking -- keeps spinning and I drop it in my hands, wishing the deafening pounding in my head would go away already. It's not only painful but also annoying, distracting me from whatever the teacher is asking me now.

"Tyler Ming, did you hear the question?"

I open my eyes and lift my head when Racheal nudges me. The teacher's beady eyes stare right at me, his bushy mustache fluttering when he huffs out an aggravated breath.

"If you want to sleep, you can leave my class," he says.

Now, my natural instinct is to tell him that his lecture is boring enough to send me to sleep even when all I want to do is study, but I need a recommendation letter from this apparently racist dude who will one day I'm sure even blame me for the Corona Outbreak in America. So, even when I want to tell him to go fuck himself -- which is a frightening but very probable thought -- I sigh and straighten up.

"Sorry, Sir," I mumble, lowering my gaze to my pen.

"The question, Tyler Ming."

"My name is Taylor and you don't have to say Ming every time," I hiss through gritted teeth.

I blame my spinning head for my irrationality. And I blame my brother and parents for my spinning head.

Maybe I just blame myself.

"Tyler Ming --"

"May I please be excused?" I ask, shooting up a hand. "I need to go to the bathroom."

The teacher turns fifty shades of red -- not gray -- while staring me down, his hands shaking from rage. Everyone around me is quiet, staring either at the teacher wondering what he'll do or staring at me and wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Honestly, my head hurts, I'm tired and hungry, and I need to go use the bathroom.

No joke.

"Tyler --"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but unless you want me to pee in your class, I really need to go." I get up without warning, clutching Racheal's shoulder when I almost fall on my face. She stares at me with wide, panicked eyes, getting up too. "I'm good," I reassure her.

She doesn't listen, quickly picking up my bag and notebook and her own.

"Miss Marshal, sit down," the teacher says as the class breaks out in whispers.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not leaving my friend," Racheal says as she follows me down the rows of murmuring students.

She follows me out of the class and down the nearly deserted corridor, through another and finally into the bathroom. She waits outside while I'm inside but I can hear hr talking on the phone.

"She's not well, okay, I don't know what it is," she's saying, her voice low as the sound of her rapid footsteps reaches me. "No, I don't ... we're in the bathroom. She said she wants something to eat. I know she just ... Ry, just get here. I fucking walked out of class and I'm pretty sure we're both failing EE now. It'll be worth it if she feels better."

Exhaling a breath through my nose, I drop my head into my hands and run my fingers through my hair. I hate that I'm worrying my friends. They're all trying to help me, constantly asking me to go to a doctor or figure out what's happening. I keep delaying it, telling them I'll talk to mom and dad and do something.

The truth is, though, that I'm freaking afraid.

I'm afraid of worrying Mom and Dad -- not that they'll care too much -- of what they'll say, or if they'll be able to handle their daughter is sick. I'm afraid I won't be able to handle it myself, the thought of being unwell horrifying. But more than anything, I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of leaving behind my parents and friends and just leaving. I can't do it. I can't do that to him.

People say death is the end of all pain, but I know that only stands true for the person who dies. For those left to deal with it, it's only the beginning. The beginning of a downward spiral of self-hate and denial, of regret and guilt, of all the 'what if I had done this differently'. For those left behind, it's not the end. It never is.

Taking a deep breath and telling myself I'll be okay, I leave the bathroom with my head held high and my back straight. Racheal looks up when she hears me, quickly approaching me.

"Riley's coming," she says, wide-eyed. "She's just getting something to eat for --"

"Rach," I stop her, smiling the best I can. "I'm okay. I just made all that up to get out of that class and --"

"No, Tay, you're not okay," Racheal argues, her blue eyes wide. "You keep saying that. You keep pretending like you're okay but you're not. This isn't like you. We've been with you for years, Tay --"

"Okay, here's the deal," I inhale a deep breath. "I've been pretending. It's an attention-seeking stunt, get it? My parents pretend I don't exist and I want them to think that I'm dying. So I have this facade and do this act even in school so I can stay in character."

Shaking her head throughout my lies, Racheal turns away and leans against the washroom sink. She folds her arms across her chest, my bag on one shoulder of hers while hers hangs off the other. Her eyes tell me she isn't convinced and that my attempt to get her to stop fretting is only making things worse. I sigh, leaning back against the wall.

"We should go and see Riley at the cafe instead of waiting for her to bring food into this foul-smelling nest of germs," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Racheal doesn't argue, heading towards the door as soon as I straighten up. She pushes the door open and exits and I follow behind, trying not to focus on how everything before my eyes is spinning.

My vision blurs and everything seems to swirl upside down. The empty corridor vanishes from before my eyes and I don't know where to put my foot next. Everything spins or maybe I do, falling sideways into a wormhole.

I fall into the abyss and disappear.

*.*.*.*.*.*

A/N: What do you think is wrong with Taylor? It's a disease with an estimated prevalence of 8.5% which is approximately 463 million according to a census in 2019. Despite how common it is and how dangerous it can be, it's not taken seriously by so much of the world because it doesn't kill you directly. It attacks your kidneys and heart and eats your body from within, cutting off an estimated 20 years from your life. Do you know what it is? If not, you'll know in the upcoming chapters. You might go 'what, that?' but trust me, if left undiagnosed, this is all it is.