What's Left of Me

by Maxlyn, Amanda

  “I try, but ... I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hate being so vulnerable. I hate the feeling of needing someone to take care of me. It’s like … like maybe if I don’t say anything, don’t tell anyone, then it’s not real. That the pain in my hands, my hips, my knees, or back, or the weakness that overtakes my body isn’t really there. If I just push through it, keep quiet … then it’s not happening. If I ask for help, then it shows the weakness I feel, and I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want you or Mom and Dad to feel as if I’m slipping away. And sometimes I feel as if I am.”

  I pause, letting the tears slide down my cheeks to my chin. “I see the fear in your eyes. In Mom and Dad’s eyes. I see the Mom’s weakness. I see the hurt of what I go through in all of you. If I’m not the strong one, then who will be?”

  “We’ll be strong together, and we’ll be weak together. As long as we’re together. You will get through this, Aundrea. Just, please, stop pushing us away.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me. Promise me that if you feel you need anything—anything at all—that you will come to me. Ask me. No matter what you need, or the time of day. I want to be there for you.”

  “I promise.”

  And I will keep that promise. I won’t hold back anymore. I won’t hide from my family. The last thing I want is to cause them more pain. If it makes them happier or makes them feel better that I give a little, then I will. As much as it kills me to ask for help, I’ll do it. For them. As long as I have my family, I know everything truly will be okay.

  Even if that means I have to give up Parker.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As much as I want to spend time with my family, I need to get away. The house has become too cramped following my outburst. Everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid to say anything on the off chance I’ll freak out. My mom keeps nagging me to get out—that the fresh air and sunlight will do me good.

  I tell Jason I’ll no longer be working at the clinic, which, of course, throws my family into a frenzy. My mom goes on and on about how I need to get out of the house and how seeing people will make me feel better. Genna offers to help me with makeup tricks to disguise my appearance by pulling up YouTube videos on how to do your own fake eyelash and realistic pencil drawn eyebrows. It is sweet, but not something I can face Parker with, let alone anyone else.

  Jean offers to come pick me up Sunday evening to bring me to her place for the next couple of nights, even though she has class Monday and Tuesday.

  Overall, I feel better. The pain is still there, but the prescriptions take the edge off. It is just the fatigue that I wish I could take a pill for. No matter the amount of coffee I consume, I’m still tired.

  “You slept with him again? And you didn’t tell me until now?” Playfully, Jean kicks my thigh.

  We’re sitting in the quiet living room at her place, just the two of us, while everyone is at class. Jean skipped her only Monday class to hang out with me, so we’ve spent the morning baking two dozen banana chocolate chip muffins, which we’re now finishing eating.

  “I didn’t think I needed to make it my Facebook status,” I say before taking a sip of cold milk to wash down the thick chocolate.

  “Why not?” she teases. “How was it? You know … compared to last time? Better? The same?”

  “It was …”

  Why am I having this conversation with her again? Sometimes I think Jean and I are worse than guys with how much sex talk we have. Somehow, one way or another, our conversations always turn to sex.

  “Come on! Share the goods. I’ll tell you all about Tristan and how his tongue does this amaz—”

  Laughing, I shake my head, “Please, no! I don’t need specifics about his talented tongue. I get it!”

  “Fine, no details, but at least tell me it was good.”

  “It was better than good.” There’s a hint of a smile as I remember just how good, how amazing, it was.

  “Good, good?”

  “Jean, it was magical.”

  “No!” she screams, leaning back on the armrest. “You did not just compare sex with magic.”

  I did. “I did.”

  “Have I taught you nothing?”

  “Yes … and you’ll be happy to know I passed my pop quiz.” Literally—it popped right out! I start to laugh at myself for how stupid and silly that remark just was.

  “What do you mean? Did you … slob the knob?” Slob the knob? She did not just say that. “You did! Oh my God! You totally did!”

  “Okay, yes, I went down on him!” I half laugh in embarrassment, putting my face in my hands. I can’t believe I just told her that.

  “And … how was it?”

  “Fine—good, I mean. I don’t think he knew it was my first time.” My words are muffled from my mouth being covered in my hands.

  It’s not that I never tried to go down on Adam when we were together. I did. However, we usually never had that much time when we were alone. We were horny teenagers and skipped all foreplay.

  “Did you let him finish in your mouth?”

  Why did I bring this up to her again?

  Separating my fingers, I squeak out a quiet, “Yes.”

  “Good. Spitters are quitters.”

  Taking my hands away from my face, I give her a proud smile. “Yeah, I thought you’d be happy about that.”

  “Very. I’m a proud momma!”

  Parker texts me a couple of times, but my replies are brief. I can tell he’s getting annoyed and frustrated with me. His texts are becoming shorter, and he’s asking a lot more questions. It’s not in my nature to be rude, but I’m trying to give us a little space. We’ve spent too much time together too soon. Our relationship was never supposed to get to this point. I didn’t want things to be any more complicated than they already were …

  Are.

  Getting away, to another town, is supposed to be good for me. It’s supposed to give me time to get used to the idea of not having Parker around. If I can just keep him at arm’s length, then we’ll be able to hang out again when this is all over. Or, at least, once my treatment is done and my hair comes back.

  When Jean’s roommates first saw me they stumbled over their words, trying to be respectful at the sight of my appearance. No one brought up the fact that I was missing my facial hair, but their stares didn’t go unnoticed. I overheard Jean filling them in, and the sudden pity I received made me sick, so I’ve tried to spend all my time in her room to avoid the whispers, questions, and looks.

  “Who called?” Jean looks down at my lighted phone.

  “Parker.”

  “Again? Why don’t you just answer?”

  “Because he needs to get the hint. This was never supposed to be about starting a relationship. I didn’t want this.”

  “Didn’t want what? To have a man care for you, or to fall in love?”

  “I’m not in love with him.”

  “Sure, and I don’t love sex.”

  Rolling my eyes, I walk away from her. It’s what I’m best at. I don’t want to talk, so I walk away.

  The house has become packed since classes let out. The music is so loud that it rumbles against the walls. I need some space from Jean, if only for a minute, so I walk out into the house with my head held high. There are random bodies on the stairs, couch, and even on the kitchen table.

  Opening the fridge, I take out a bottle of water. Just as I’m about to close the door, a deep voice asks, “Hey, what happened to her face?” Closing the door, I keep my back to them. With a calming breath, I turn around to confront the guy, but before I can open my mouth, Jean’s voice fills the room, cussing the guy and his friend out. He mumbles an apology, and walks away.

  I meet her sad eyes. “I can fight my own battles.”

  “I know.” She steps around me, getting her own water out of the fridge. “But what fun would that be?” she says with a smile.

  As she leaves the kitchen, she calls out behind her, “
It’s okay if you love him.”

  Walking quickly to catch up with her, I reply, “I know, but I don’t.”

  “Not even a little?”

  “Nope.”

  Maybe. Yes?

  “Liar.”

  I’ve never been in love. I thought I loved Adam, but who isn’t in love when they’re seventeen? There is so much meaning to the word that I’m not even sure those who say it really fully understand the power behind it.

  It’s more than just passion.

  Love is handing yourself over to someone. It’s being able to trust them by giving them full access to your everything. Even if that means allowing them to break your heart.

  I want to give Parker my heart. I just don’t know if I can handle him breaking it.

  Jean gathers her clothes and heads off to take a shower before bed, which is my cue to slip into mine.

  While I’m getting into my pajamas my phone vibrate, again.

  I wait until I’ve crawled into her warm bed and pulled the comforter all the way to my neck before checking it. It can only be one of three people: Parker, Genna, or Mom.

  Genna: Parker showed up a while ago. He came for poker, but I could tell he was looking for you the entire time. He seems really mad. He was asking me a lot of questions. Call him!

  When I’m about to throw my phone, it buzzes with another text. This time from Parker.

  Mr. Handsome: What is going on? Why are you ignoring me? Genna said you went to Jean’s to get away. From what? Me?

  Me: Parker, I’m sorry.

  It’s all I can think of to say right now.

  Mr. Handsome: For what?

  Mr. Handsome: Quitting the clinic? Or ignoring me?

  Me: I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I told you that. I think we need to pull back for a while. I’m sorry.

  Mr. Handsome: Pull back? What happened to change your mind? What aren’t you telling me?!

  Me: I just need some time. I can’t breathe.

  It’s the truth; I can’t. But not because of him. Because of everything else in my life.

  Mr. Handsome: I’ll give you some space, but this is not over.

  I don’t reply. I don’t know what I want. I don’t want to end anything. I just want to think about how to tell him. I throw my phone on the floor.

  I miss him.

  Jean walks in wearing her maroon and gold university sweats. Her hair is sitting high on top of her head in a messy bun, and her contacts are replaced with glasses.

  “Whoa … What happened?”

  Sliding over in bed, I make room for her to scoot in next to me.

  “I miss him,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

  “I’d hate to see what you do when you miss me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Call him. Tell him everything is fine, and make plans to see him when you get home, then tell him everything.”

  “I can’t call him right now.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s like riding a bike. You pick up the phone, scroll through your contacts, and find the number next to the name Parker.”

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  “You deserve to be happy, Aundrea. You know I’ll support you in any decision, but it’s not fair to make a decision for him based on what you think he’ll say or do.” I listen to her words and know every one of them is true. “You need to tell him. Let him make the decision if he stays or goes. You’ll learn real fast what kind of man he is.”

  I know I want to give my heart to him. Just the sound of his voice, the deep rumbles that move through my body when he laughs, or the butterflies I get with just one look. The little finger locks, knee bumps, winks, and temple kisses. They’re all things I miss. I miss him. How just a thought of him can make me weak in the knees. There’s more than just an attraction. He cares so much about others, life, and family. I’ve never met someone so passionate about saving the world one animal at a time. I love his ability to make me laugh and forget everything around me. He’s become my reason to want to get better.

  Someone once told me that it’s not about whether there is life after you die, but whether you’re alive before you die. I didn’t believe I could ever feel alive again. Not until Parker.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’m sitting on the couch talking to my parents when the doorbell rings, followed by knocking.

  Jean drove me home Tuesday afternoon. She convinced me—or maybe I convinced myself—to come back and confront the piece of my life I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. We stayed up well into the morning talking about our fears, life, high school, and even parts of our future. She reminded me of how I’ve never wanted cancer to run my life, and I was doing just that by walking away from Parker.

  I promised myself I would tell him.

  When I was ready.

  “Can someone get that for me?” Genna calls from upstairs.

  “Yeah!” I yell back.

  Making my way out of the living room, I head into the foyer to open the door. Unfortunately for me, Genna and Jason have a window next to their front door, so whoever is there can see in. And, in this case, it’s Parker who can see me walking toward him.

  My hands move to the head wrap that is securely in place instead of the wig that has become itchier with each passing day. I reach the edges, trying to pull it further down, as if it’s not already covering every inch of my hairless scalp.

  He looks sad. His hair is a mess and he has dark bags under his eyes. I try to tell my brain to send some kind of signal to my mouth to form words, but nothing leaves my lips.

  “Aundrea, please open the door,” he begs, his eyes pleading with me.

  Just hearing his voice makes me want to step closer to him. I’ve missed his voice more than anything this last week. Parker is the only person to whom I can’t justify showing a part of me that was never meant to be seen.

  Instead of moving to open the door, I mouth, “I’m sorry” before turning around and walking back to the living room.

  My heart breaks with each step I take away from him.

  The pounding on the door gets louder, followed by Parker yelling my name and the doorbell ringing nonstop.

  “Honey, who is at the door?” my mom asks in a worried tone.

  My dad moves to a standing position like he’s ready for battle. Before I can answer her, or my dad’s unspoken words, Genna comes running down the stairs.

  “Aundrea! What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you let Parker in?” She rushes past me to the door.

  “Parker’s here?” both my parents ask in unison.

  I don’t answer. I just turn away from them and head to my room. At least there I can pretend none of this is happening and that the one thing I tried to keep away from the person that matters the most is not about to come out.

  I can’t face him. Not yet. I’m being childish, I know, but until everyone finds themselves in my shoes and feels the hollowness I carry inside, then they can’t judge me.

  Just as I make it to my room, I hear my parents asking Genna what’s going on and Parker’s loud footsteps approach.

  I lock the door and sink against it, bringing my knees up to my chest. Resting my head back, I wrap by arms tightly around myself.

  “Aundrea, please just talk to me. Tell me what I did. Please! I can fix it. Just, please ... God.” His voice breaks through the door, and I can’t help the tear that fall.

  “Parker.” My voice breaks, so I clear my throat. “Parker, I’ll call you later, okay? I promise.”

  “No. I’m not leaving here. You have been ignoring me all week. I need you to talk to me.”

  “Parker, is everything okay here?” Genna asks.

  “I need to talk to your sister.”

  “Aundrea … Why don’t you let Parker in and talk to him.”

  “I can’t.” It comes out as a whisper, and I’m not sure if either of them heard me.

  I want to talk to him so badly, but I know after this everything will change between us. Deep down
, I know it already has changed, but if I can just imagine for one more second that everything is perfect, then maybe it will make all this pain go away.

  “Aundrea, Mom and Dad are asking questions. I suggest you talk to Parker before Dad comes over here and gets involved in whatever you’ve got going on.”

  Parker is the first person who makes me feel normal. He makes me forget about all the wrongs in the world: my cancer, the treatments, and all the insecurities that go with it.

  He makes me feel happy, complete, and, most importantly, loved.

  I can survive cancer.

  I will survive cancer.

  But I know for a fact that I will not survive losing Parker if he can’t look past the disease and see what lies beneath.

  “Please open the door, Aundrea.” His voice is softer. I can picture him, head resting against the door and hand on the knob, waiting for me to let him in.

  I take a deep sigh. Reaching up with one hand, I unlock the door and slide out of the way.

  The door is pushed open slowly. All I see are his black Steve Madden shoes coming to stand in front of me.

  He doesn’t speak. I just hear a soft sigh of relief as he crouches in front of me.

  My heartbeat is fast and irregular. I try to calm my breathing, counting to ten in my head.

  When I finally do lift my eyes to his, I’m not met with passion and desire. These eyes are different. They’re the eyes of a confused man, unsure of who is sitting before him.