Better With You: A Bragan University Novel

by Gabriela, Gianna

  I think that’s bullshit.

  You know what else is bullshit? Watching my body deteriorate with each passing day. Seeing my hair fall out in chunks. I decided to just shave it off; it was easier that way. Instead of seeing red locks on my pillow or the shower floor every day, I saw just them all disappear at once. I ripped off the Band-Aid because they say it makes it easier… I’m not sure that it does.

  I’ve seen every part of me that I love stripped away by this malicious illness. Still, my parents want me to follow the treatment plan, so I do. They want me to fight, so I do. I do it for them because if it was for me, I’d have given up a long time ago.

  I’ve already finished the induction phase. In that phase, I was given intrathecal chemotherapy, which just means that the chemo was injected into my spine. As an added bonus, the drugs also cause my hemoglobin platelets and white blood cell counts to drop significantly. Now I need frequent blood and platelet transfusions in order to restore them. Hooray for needles.

  I hate science—always have. But now, now I find myself interested in every aspect of it. Who would’ve thought cancer would do that? Anyway, the low counts and crappy immune system are the reasons why I haven’t gone home yet.

  I’m confined to this hospital—to this room.

  My current round of treatment only makes it worse. I have to be isolated after every cycle of chemo so I can recover. Confined. Nauseated. Achingly lonely. After a while, the smells, the whiteness of my hospital room walls, the lighting in the room become almost unnoticeable. I wake up in the hospital every day, and while that made me anxious in the beginning, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to not be here. Oddly enough, I even find myself missing the constant shuffling of the medical staff as they come in and out of my room.

  This is my new normal.

  Whenever the ban is lifted and I can finally have visitors—to see my family—I breathe a sigh of relief. I value every moment I get with my parents because I don’t know which one may be the last. I miss them when they can’t be near me.

  I miss my friends, too.

  They used to come and see me every day, but they’ve slowly stopped. At first, they would wait outside the door and the moment the doctors said it was okay for them to come in, they’d run into the room and take a seat next to my bed. But those visits became less frequent and, eventually, nonexistent. I don’t blame them though. It’s my fault. I’ve changed. Enduring this battle has changed me and not necessarily for the better.

  For a long period of time, I stopped being the Zoe they knew—I’m still not. I was not the jolly, happy, enthused Zoe they had come to love. Instead, they saw a girl who had become a fraction of herself, one who’d lost all hope. After I found out I had cancer, Fear extend its hand to me and I took hold of it. I allowed it to lead me to the dark. I let myself become consumed by the illness and the very high possibility that I wouldn’t overcome it. After that, I pushed my friends away little by little. Their jokes no longer made me smile. Their stories no longer interested me. And so eventually they stopped trying. They stopped showing up.

  Now it’s just me and my parents. Despite my constant mood swings, my parents are always there for me. They understand that I don’t want to get my hopes up because if it doesn’t work out, it’ll wreck me. Literally. It doesn’t mean they aren’t hopeful. As I near the final leg of my treatment, they’re praying it works. I’m praying too.

  The doctors tell me I’ll be able to go home soon. The treatment isn’t over, but the last leg is a little easier. I’ll have to return to the hospital every single day, and some days I’ll even have to remain for a while longer, but it’s something—small victories and all.

  I’ll take anything at this point. I’m even excited about getting to see a wall that isn’t one of the ones I’ve been facing for the last few months. I can’t wait to wake up in my own bed. I want to try and gather the pieces of my life, the pieces I’d abandoned when I didn’t know if I would ever have the chance to live again.

  I’m hoping I can put those pieces back together, but I’m also hoping that cancer doesn’t tear apart the puzzle. Again.

  Not The Same

  A Not Alone Novella - book one

  Not the Same (Not Alone Novellas #1)

  I never meant to take on the role of parent.

  I was only fourteen years old.

  My job was to be a big brother, one my little brother could learn from—maybe even look up to.

  I wasn’t supposed to be the one he depended on for protection.

  But when Dad walked away, and Mom chose something else over us, I was left with no choice.

  I made a vow to protect my brother, and it’s a promise I intend to keep.

  Prologue

  I wish dad was here.

  “Hey, Mom, what’s this?” I ask, holding up a small plastic bag. I found it inside one of her shoes when I was playing hide and seek in the closet with Ethan.

  “Is it sugar?” I ask curiously. Maybe she forgot it was there. I know she’s planning on making lemonade today.

  “Where did you find that?” she asks, walking quickly towards me. She sounds like she’s mad, but I don’t understand why; she’s usually happy when I find things.

  “It was—”

  Prying the bag from my hand, she demands “Where did you find it?”

  She yells the question this time and my bottom lip begins to tremble. I look down at my hand to see there’s a little bit of blood. I think she scratched me when she snatched the little bag.

  Tears begin to stream down my face. “It was in your…” I mumble, not understanding what I did to make Mommy so mad.

  “Where?” she shouts and I flinch.

  “Closet,” I reply. Ethan stayed in the room. He’s hiding until I go find him. I told him I’d be there as soon as I gave the sugar to Mom. I’m glad he’s not here to see me cry.

  “Don’t go in there again!” she tells me.

  “We were just playing hide and seek,” I try to tell her.

  She gives me a look that tells me I’m in trouble. “Don’t ever go in my closet again.” She says each word slowly and I nod my head, lips still trembling, tears still falling.

  I don’t know what I did to make her mad.

  She’s not usually mad at me.

  I wish Dad was here.

  She was never angry when he was here.

  Not The End

  A not alone novella - book two

  Not the End (Not Alone Novellas #2)

  I needed you.

  I needed you to tell me I was beautiful.

  I needed you to tell me it was all going to be okay.

  I needed you to be with me.

  To love me.

  To protect me.

  I needed you—

  but the sad thing is you didn’t need me.

  You didn’t want me.

  You never cared about me.

  And when you gave up on me, I gave up on me too.

  I lost myself because I found all my self-worth in you.

  And when you left me, I left myself too.

  Now I’m left wondering, could I come back for me?

  Prologue

  I know this emotion too well.

  I’ve known Jake since elementary school. I remember seeing him sitting at a lunch table on his own, and feeling sorry for him, I left my own table to join him. I remember the look on his face when he saw that he wasn’t alone anymore. I remember asking my mom to pack me a second set of chocolate chip cookies because he really liked them—he loved them, actually—and I wanted to make him happy.

  In middle school, things changed. He started being noticed by the other girls. He was growing into a man; he captured other peoples’ attention with his shaggy blond locks and baby blue eyes. I remember the first time he moved up in the social ladder. I was sitting at our usual table, waiting for him to arrive so we could go about switching and trading whatever lunch our parents had packed for us that day. Apple slices for carrots. Chocolate chip
cookies for raisin ones. It had become our thing. I saw him enter through the cafeteria doors and my heart immediately began to beat faster. It always happened when Jake was around. I watched him walk in my direction, watched him smile when he noticed me. He was closing the distance between us when Janice Walcott got in his way—when she got in our way.

  From that moment on, our table wasn’t cool enough for him anymore. It stopped being our table. It was just mine. He sat with Janice and her friends. Eventually, her friends became their friends and my Jake became her Jacob. It wasn’t until a few months ago that he first approached me again. The rumor was that Janice had cheated on him, so he ended it. The halls were reeling with the news that Mills High’s power couple had split. Guys were lining up to ask Janice out, and girls had never really stopped trying to get their claws into Jacob when Janice wasn’t watching.

  “Hey.” That was what he said after joining me at my table again for the first time in years—the first time someone else had sat at my table with me. That was all I needed him to say for us to return to the place we were at before everything…before Janice.

  For three months he sat with me every day. Three weeks ago he asked me to prom.

  I said yes.

  “You look so pretty,” my momma says the moment she sees me coming down the stairs.

  “Oh mom, it’s your job to say that,” I tell her as I reach the final step.

  “It is, but it’s true. You’re going to be the prettiest girl at the ball.”

  “It’s Junior Prom, mom, not A Cinderella Story,” I tell her, though it might as well be one.

  I still can’t believe Jake asked me out. Not even in my dreams would a guy like him look my way, especially with all the other girls pining over him. I can’t believe he chose me.

  “When’s your date coming?” Momma asks, the camera already hanging from her neck, ready to take photos of her baby girl.

  “I’m meeting him there,” I answer. Her mouth opens with what I know will be a follow up question, and I brace myself to give an answer she won’t be thrilled with.

  “Isn’t it tradition for the guy to pick up the girl? Or am I stuck in the past?”

  I shrug. “They still do that, but he had something important to do today so he asked me to meet him there.” She looks at me skeptically, but I assure her, “It’ll be okay, mom. I’ll just drive myself.”

  “I can drive you if you want.”

  “I think that may be worse than showing up on my own.” I say, laughing as my mother joins me at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Bummer! I won’t be getting pictures of you both together.”

  I run my fingers through my hair, making sure it’s smooth enough. “I’ll make sure I get you a copy of the one we take when we walk in.”

  “Okay, but in the meantime, I won’t let this camera go to waste. Go ahead, strike some poses, Dimah.”

  I decide to give my mother what she wants and pretend to be a runway model. Today, I’m feeling confident. Which makes perfect sense, because when the hottest guy—a senior football player—asks you to accompany him to prom, you can’t help but get some pep in your step. Little old me, the envy of all the other girls.

  A few dozen photographs later, I give my mom a kiss goodbye and head to my car. The rules are simple: no drinking, no driving, and no sex. But we all know what happens at prom, and if Jake asks, I’m not sure I’ll say no. Who could say no to a tall, muscular, handsome man with baby blue eyes and blonde locks like Jake’s? Certainly no one else would. So why should I?

  Driving to Mills High takes a few minutes and after parking my car in the student lot, I give myself a once-over in the mirror. Looking back at me is the most basic girl you’ve ever seen: brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin—nothing special. But I guess I must be somewhat special to get a boy like Jake to look my way, don’t I? I reapply my lipstick, open the door, and get out.