Nineteen-year-old, Bea Somerton, knows exactly how she wants to live. Become a doctor, remain in remission from her childhood Leukaemia and have a happy, normal, life.
The last thing she expects is to meet rising star and troubled musician, Holden P...
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"You had another fight?"
My phone rests between my shoulder and ear as the long tube dangles from my arm; the fluids dripping from the bag beside my chair.
Charlie sighs on the other side of the line; tsking me. "I wish I didn't like his new song," she grumbles. "He's sending off major jerk vibes at the moment."
I blush at the thought of his latest song; Cleaner. Charlie had fangirled hard when she'd listened to it the first time, aware that the lyrics are written about me.
"Who writes a girl a song just to tell her that touring is more important?"
"Holden Pacheco, apparently," I sigh.
Only one other chemo patient sits in the room with me today; their withered skin and bald head making my heart ache. I had so much ahead of me.
"Well, at least you learnt how to play the guitar?" Charlie tries.
"Yeah..."
The television mounted to the wall catches my attention. E! Entertainment is playing on silent, the host murmuring something to her co-host. Suddenly, a video of Holden plays; singing at his latest show. It cuts back to the hosts, both wearing pained expressions.
"Char, I'm going to call you back."
She protests, but I hang up, swivelling to the side in my chair. The pull of the needle in my arm makes me wince, but it's not as bad as the feeling growing in my stomach. "Martha," I call, "can you turn the TV up please?"
Martha raises an eyebrow at me from across the room as she attends to the other patient. "Why on earth would you want to listen to that rubbish—"
"Please," I beg, sternly.
She frowns at my tone, mumbling incoherently under her breath. Despite her disapproval of my demand, she reaches for the remote, turning up the volume.
"—Seems that the reports are true, Luke. I don't think anyone can deny that now."
"Yes, it's a real shame. Holden has already had such trouble in his private life over the last few years. Our wishes go out to him at this time."
"And to Blake Somerton, his alleged girlfriend, of course."
What. The. Fuck.
"Bea?" Martha calls, confused. "Did I just hear—"
"Yes," I breathe. "They just..."
I trail off when I see the headline beneath the segment; 'STAR GIRLFRIEND'S CANCER DIAGNOSIS.'
"Not again," I croak, feeling numb.
Before I can justify the fact that no one may believe it—being as trashy as most magazines—images fill the screen. Images of me in hospital. Recent images of me in hospital undergoing chemo.
