THE DOOR SLAMMED shut.

My heart jumped out of my chest as I whirled in my seat.

And it continued to try breaking free of its cage as he walked closer and closer, his feet thumping softly on the grey carpet floors of his office.

I took in a sharp breath as he walked past me and sat in his huge leather chair. Its polished surface fell as his weight dropped, sighing as he leaned against it.

He clicked his fingers against the desk while he stared at us: me, my mother, and father.

The clock chimed from the back of the room, its echoes bounced off the brightly coloured paper walls.

I hated the walls. They were so absurd, with bright yellow flowers and soaring butterflies behind baby blue skies. It was all so happy, so cheerful. If doctors thought that the wallpapers were going to make us feel better about cancer, then I was seriously going to start questioning their degrees.

The clock chimed again, and my father spoke.

"Doctor Giovanni, what's going to happen to Estelle?" My father braced his arms on the chair, knuckles shining as white as my skin now did. It used to be full of colour, healthy. Now, it was pale, weak. Fragile as porcelain.

"Estelle's chemotherapy is nearly done, and we can proceed with the surgery to remove the tumour in about two weeks."

My mother let out a breath of relief, my father's grip loosening. "So the cancer will be gone?"

"Not entirely. After the tumour is removed, we'll need to observe Estelle for any signs of infection or any of the other side effects that could result from the surgery and removal of the tumour."

My mother took my father's hand in hers. "What side effects?" She asked, clenching his fist.

They all spoke like I wasn't there, like it wasn't my very life they were contemplating at that moment.

"Side effects for the surgery could include Estelle losing her ability to move, her balance, or coordination–"

"What?" I shot from my seat. My legs felt like lead, and my head throbbed from the sudden movement, yet I stood my ground.

"Maybe it's best if Estelle weren't part of the conversation." My father spoke to doctor Giovanni like I wasn't there.

He couldn't even say it to my fucking face.

"Sir, I understand that you may be concerned about how your daughter may react. But we wouldn't be allowed to operate if sh–"

"You still haven't answered my question, doctor." I slammed my hands against the polished, wooden table.

Doctor Giovanni took in a deep breath, placing his palms flat on the table. He looked me in the eye, and opened his mouth, then closed it again. My parents and I watched in silence as he opened and closed his wretched mouth like a fish out of water.

The clock chimed again, and his fingers drummed the table one last time before he spoke. "Estelle, the surgery could deprive you of your ability to move."

"How?" I whispered, taking a step back.

I couldn't just stop moving, movement was life. A plant moved to reach the sun, a human moved to feed itself, animals moved to stretch their muscles.

Movement was freedom, it was a gift.

My doctor shifted in his seat as he lifted his eyes to the clock. He looked back at me and my parents, and took a deep breath. "The tumour is located near the cerebellum, the part that controls all motor movement. Now, we have some of our finest surgeons operating on Estelle, but if one of us makes a wrong move, then we might forever remove your ability to mo–"

I felt like shards of glass pricked and poked at my lungs as my breaths turned harsher. I staggered back a step and stared at my doctor. "So I'm going to die because of incompetent people?"

"Estelle, it's not like that." My father turned in his seat to glare at me.

"Sit down." His dark eyes seemed to smolder.

I looked to my mother, and found tears glistening in her brown eyes. "Listen to your father." They seemed to say.

Like hell I would.

I took in a sharp breath and looked around the room one last time. Doctor Giovanni clasped his hands on his desk, a look of pity passing his face. My father was the same, glaring at me from his seat. While my mother's face looked younger as a smile bloomed. She thought this was good. That me losing my ability to move would be alright, as long as I was alive.

But I wasn't alive. I had died a long time ago. The chemo had killed me, the cancer had killed me. So removing it wasn't going to bring me back to life.

I clenched my hands into fists and took in another shuddering breath.

The clock chimed once, twice, the metal ringing softly through the room as everyone stared expectantly at me.

Like hell would I let them take my freedom away from me.

So, I ran.