Bailey was diagnosed with cancer when she was just seventeen years old. She had a tumour in her brain, and she was barely eighteen when she died.

She didn't show many signs at first, just some headaches every now and then. They weren't very nice, but she dealt with them, and we thought it was just an awful phase. When she started to be sick, we all stopped panicking. The headaches must have been an early on-set symptom, we thought. And it was, just not of a common bug, like we thought.

She was ill for a week, throwing up on and off all day. During that time she was at my house, not her parents', sleeping next to me at night. Every time she woke, I'd wake too, going with her to the bathroom and back, holding back her hair and stroking her cheek as she fell asleep again. I'm sure her parents would have much preferred to have her with them, but moving to another house wasn't an option with how ill she was.

Addie moves his hand to my back, and I press closer, breathing heavily.

This can't be normal, I remember thinking. Maybe it's one of those long-term illnesses. It'll pass. But I never did my research. It's what we all kept telling ourselves. We didn't want to go and get it checked out, because that would make it real. We just kept putting it off, making excuses to ourselves and pretending that nothing was happening— because it'll pass. Bailey herself, even. We just lived our lives as normally as possible, going through each day like anyone else. We were ostriches, sticking our heads in the sand to wait out a storm, but this storm wouldn't pass unless we did something about it.

But of course, so much of this way of thinking is in retrospect. All we could feel at the time was a terror of this new unknown, but also of knowing what it was and how awful that could be. Considering the consequences of our reactions was not an option at that point. Fight or flight had kicked in, and we chose to run. Overriding even the fear was a mass confusion. It covered everything in a thick mist, leaving us blind to any other path than that we were on; run, and keep running, until we must stop.

Addie moves his hand to my back, and I press closer, breathing heavily.

It didn't pass, and the headaches kept coming, getting worse and worse, until she couldn't cope with them without something to numb the pain. Two weeks after she'd started throwing up, I was out of my mind with worry.

All this time we had put off seeking medical attention. She denied there was anything wrong. So did I. Both of our parents, and our friends too. We just wanted it to all be alright, to act like it was all fine. We didn't want to face reality.

Remembering this is possibly one of the hardest things. Addie's hand moves to the small of my back, his other holding my shoulders steady to try and stop their shaking. It's futile.

The final straw was when she was over at mine one day. I left her standing in the living room while I went to the bathroom. Two minutes, I was gone. I came back and she was on the floor, shaking and sobbing. I didn't know what to do. I'm ashamed to say, I panicked. I didn't do anything straight away, but just stood staring. The guilt of that still eats away at me today, like a maggot at an apple. But this apple is rotten to the core.

When I finally pulled myself together, I knelt beside her, cradled her head. She clung to me like a little child, doubled over in pain and pretty face completely creased up. I called Addie, stroking her hair the whole time. He came as quickly as he could, to help me help her— and if I'm really honest, to support me emotionally as well. The entire time we were waiting for him, I sat with her, tears now pouring down my own face too. What good was my love if it couldn't cease her pain? Useless.

When Addie arrived, he took one look at Bailey and called an ambulance. He held Bailey's hand. He called her parents; I was too much of a mess to by then.

I can't keep thinking about this. I take a deep breath; deeper than any before this. It doesn't calm me. But it makes Addie move a hand to the back of my head, cradling me to him like a little kid. I need to do this. Come on, Alex. Get over this. If anything I deserve the pain it leaves me in. If I'd have just taken her to the doctors sooner, she might still be here today.

The sight of the girl I love in such pain rendered me basically useless. My hand continued its stroking of her hair simply out of habit. Addie talked to her calmly, made sure she knew we were here. Said it was all going to be okay. Help was on the way. He made promises I was unable to. We all knew that the reality was everything was far from okay. It would take a miracle to reverse that.

But he helped in the moment, and that's what matters. He helped in a way I wasn't; in a way I couldn't. But I just could not speak, no matter how I tried. I was too focused on her bubbling mouth, sweat dripping from her forehead. Too focused on her anguished expression. She was in such pain, and I could do nothing. How can I live with myself after that?

Her face in that moment, and in many the same and worse afterwards, still haunts me. One of my worst nightmares, come true in front of my very eyes. If there's one thing I could save, both then and now, it would be her. Why her?

How tightly Bailey squeezed our hands that day. For someone so small, she had a lot of strength in that moment.

Her parents arrived as quickly as they could, but still only just made it before the ambulance did, despite the considerable difference in travelling distance. The waiting felt like an age. Bailey's dad was crying. Her mum was barely holding herself together. The paramedics put Bailey on a stretcher and carried her into the back. I stood in the doorway, supported by Addie, and watched as her mum climbed into the back. I think her dad should have gone, as sending him home so upset to two little girls hardly seemed fair, but I guess they spoke about it on the way here. It would be best for Bailey to have Lou there.

The ambulance pulled away. Brad paced the front garden for a couple of minutes, before wiping his face with a handkerchief and announcing he'd best get back. Who he was speaking to, I don't know. I slumped in the doorway, head in my hands and devoid of all life. Eventually Addie managed to get me back inside onto the sofa. He made me a hot chocolate to drink in case I went into shock, and organised for Isaac and Tommy to come over, to help distract me. I didn't protest.

I nestled into the crook of the sofa for the evening. I blubbed like a baby, drink gone cold and abandoned on the coffee table. The boys came and put on a film, but I did not watch it, did not join in the chatter. They didn't try to make me. My tears eventually dried up, and so having cried until I couldn't, I stared into space. Despite the sombre atmosphere, the boys acted normal. And no matter how hard that was, it would have been a lot harder if they hadn't: if they'd made a fuss.

I lay in bed that night shivering and shaking despite the warm duvet I was wrapped in, and the heating being turned up high. My thoughts were with Brad, heading home earlier to his two little girls. They would surely have had questions, would surely have pestered him for answers he could not give. He would have had to hold himself together, for their sakes; be a good father, and cook dinner. And then lie alone in bed, worrying the night away.

But primarily, my thoughts were on Bailey. Of course they were. The bed beside me lay empty, her absence a gaping hole in my heart, a mortal wound in my side. I ached for her.

I still cringe at the way I acted that day. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for it. Addie's mumbling something, but it sounds underwater and I can't make out his words. His tone is calm and comforting, and I let him rock me slightly, the back of his top clutched tightly in my fists.

She was in hospital for a week. I went to see her whenever I could, doing my best to keep smiling. I mostly held her hand, trying not to look at the tubes in her arm. She chatted away, like she was sitting at home on the sofa, happy as ever and still smiling and laughing. Almost all the way until the end, she was like that, or at least up until she could.

They took lots of tests over that week, and some scans. She was allowed to go home after that, on strict instructions to rest up and not be left alone for long periods of time. A week after she was home, the test results came in.

Thinking about this is like reliving the horrors all over again. The image from one awful day after her diagnosis surfaces in my mind, and for one awful moment I can see it again. The saliva I'm trying to swallow gets caught in my throat and bile rises. Its acid taste makes me feel sick, and I feel a tear roll down my cheek to hit Addie's shoulder. But it doesn't make much difference to the state of the cloth; it's already soaked.

Bailey's dad drove us to the hospital, and the three of us sat in the waiting room in silence. Smiles sat pasted on our faces, but behind all of our eyes there was sadness. A growing dread of what was to come. A resignation. Bailey's mum didn't come with us, someone having to stay behind and look after the younger girls.

After a little while Bailey started to chat, just like usual. She kept our spirits up in the only way they could've been in that moment. I could see in her eyes the joy still dancing like flames that are impossible to quench. How she could face something as huge as that with such a smile, I have no idea, even to this day.

I kept bouncing my leg up and down nervously, until Bailey reached over a hand and placed it gently on my knee, smiling reassuringly. I smiled back, trying to be brave for her. Why was she the one reassuring me? I should have been looking after her, not the other way around. I wasn't the one who collapsed in excruciating pain. I wasn't the one who was about to receive possibly life-changing results.

In the appointment room, Bailey and I took the two seats, and her dad stood behind us, a hand on each of our shoulders, preparing to hold us steady when the news came. When it did, Bailey didn't need it. Brad turned ashen, breathing deeply, but still he stood strong. I just sat there, hands shaking and stomach flipping.

A malignant brain tumour, they said. In her astrocytes. A clear anaplastic appearance; a well-developed tumour. A stage three. We're not going to lie to you, they said, it's not looking good. But we'll do our best and use our best methods, we promise.

What little hope that gave me.

I stared, stricken with the news. Was this reality? Was it really my Bailey who this had happened to?

Then her dad spoke up, voice hoarse, "How long do you think she— if it doesn't work— how long?" His voice cracked slightly on the last words.

We held our breath, all of our eyes now on the doctor.

"I'd say fifteen months at the most. So if there's anything you want to do, now would be the time to do it."

I took a shaky breath, eyes back on my hands.

"I'm so sorry. I wish my news was better for you. But like I said, we'll do our best to help you, and prevent... that."

Bailey smiled bravely, being the first to stand and shake the doctor's hand, thanking him. How could she do that when she'd just been given what was effectively a death sentence? But that's just Bailey. Always keeping it positive, always finding something to be thankful for in everything, even if that includes being diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I expected tears. But my eyes stayed dry. Even in the car on the silent trip home, as I said goodbye, and as I lay in bed that night, her space next to me empty once more, they still didn't come. Her dad wanted her at home, of course, to break the news to her mum and sisters. They didn't invite me over. I didn't ask. I think that we all needed to sort out our heads.

I would have preferred to have her next to me. To hold her in my arms all night, and never let go. To bury my head into her soft hair and breathe in her scent. To forget the world and just love her like any normal twenty year-old. But her family needed her, and she needed her family.

Fifteen months. That's how long I had left with the love of my life, with the girl I thought I'd spend the rest of my days with.

And now I'm sitting on my best friend's sofa, tears pouring down my face to soak his top: a complete mess. I haven't spoken to her family properly since the funeral. It's too painful. I can't even look after myself anymore, living with a friend for so long, and now I'm back home relying on my mother to come and help. I don't see my friends often, and when I do they may as well be babysitting. Is this really a life?

I never imagined one without her, and now I realise that's because there isn't one.

There's just existence.