You'll see

Chapter 1

Saturday

After I turned seventeen my mother decided I was depressed; it's not really my fault, I mean I'm dying. Which I guess isn't my fault either, except it is, because I was dying of cancer. This means I'm fighting bodily tumors which are made of- right, my body.

So yeah, naturally she told my doctor, and which meant I got prescribed new drugs and a new support group; I had refused to go to the other one because it had been in the morning, which is fine except for the fact that for breakfast they insisted on serving toast which sent me into a frenzy on why toast had to be a breakfast food and not for any other meal, resulting in my insisting on have toast for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a week.

This support group proved better, if not still agonizing, met in the afternoon every Wednesday and was led by a guy named Marcus. Marcus who had cancer in his nuts, but then didn't, now lives with his parents, played way to many online character games and made a miserly profit of speaking to kids with cancer. We would introduce ourselves: Name. Age. Diagnosis. And occasionally how we were doing. I would say "Um, Troye; Seventeen, thyroid originally, but now with a satellite colony in my lungs. I'm alright, I guess."

Then we would all listen to Marcus go on and on about how lucky and fortunate we would be when we were cured. And we would all pretend to be supportive, but truthfully we were all thinking about how lucky we'd be if we outlasted each other, because most of us would live to adulthood and some of us wouldn't.

At the time the only okay thing about support group was my mutual acquaintance Connor, a brunet with some type of eye cancer resulting in him having one glass eye since he was like twelve and leaving the remaining one in suspense. We would communicate mostly through our eyebrows raising them every time Marcus said something about cancer or himself or his cancer.

--------Wednesday

So after a few weeks of that I grew to rather loathing it and insisting I'd be better off on the couch with a jar of Nutella, but my mom wasn't having it.

Her: "Troye, get up. You have to go."

Me: "No, I refuse"

Her: "Troye come on the doctor said it would be good for you, and besides your a teenager you should be out making friends and doing teenagerey things."

Me: "Well then I shouldn't be going to support group, I should be out drinking and going to clubs and having one night stands."

Her: "Firstly you won't be doing that last thing in my house, and second your going."

Me: "AHHHHHH."

After a while I agreed only after convincing her to buying three jars of Nutella next time instead of two.

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I gave her one last pleading look, to which she shook her head and mouthed 'Your here, now get out'. I sighed, say a quick goodbye and a small luv ya!

I decided to take the stairs, all three flights of them; the elevator was a end times gig that I wouldn't subject myself to. Of course when I agreed to coming to support group, I didn't know I was agreeing to meeting Tyler Oakley, that just happened.

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The way things happen is this not unattractive guy( okay gorgeous) shows up out of the blue and insists on making eye contact with you, while your wearing unwashed skinnys and your cousins old sweatshirt. Charming, right?

He had blondish hair, thick glasses and somehow the plastic kiddie chair he was in seemed to big for him. He was small in a cute way. I stared back  and tried to see if he would play the eyebrow game like Connor; he sucked at it. By the time I managed to teach him the basics, Marcus was starting the normal routine beginning with Connor.