The Unexplainable You.

Part Thirty-One. Portland.

The next month and a half goes by slower then I ever imagined time could move. Between chemo treatments, radiation treatments, and a few death scares on Asher, I feel like this year will never end.

I'm waiting for Dr Taylor to come in and tell me if they want to do another surgery. Last time I talked to him he said that they figured out a way to at least try to get some of the cancer out of my brain. He said it would most likely be one of the most risky procedures they'd ever performed, but it very well could cure my cancer.

Through the past month I've done six rounds of chemo and twelve treatments of radiation, which has left me at ninety-six pounds of skin and bone, the complexion of a ghost, and uh... Oh! No hair.

Asher might not even recognize me if he wakes up.

A knock on the door startles me from my mental monolouge. Dr. Taylor pokes his head through the door, giving me a small smile.

"Good morning Portland." He says, grabbing a chair from the wall and sitting down next to me. "So, I'm just going to skip the small talk, alrighty?"

I nod, tightly, my hands fidgeting at the corner of the cover on the book I'm reading. He knows how much I hate small talk, but sometimes I just wish that we didn't have to skip to the life or death stuff so soon.

"So we've decided that it might be a better idea to not go through with the surgery, with all of the risks and side affects, it might not even work if we tried it, and would cause irriverseble damage. But we are going to start a higher, more aggressive dose of chemo treatment, and up the days that you do radiation therapy."

I nod, the words barely meaning a thing after all the bad news I've received over the past month. I've almost expected them by now.

"You also have chemo treatment in ten minutes, so I'll leave you to that. I just thought I should keep you updated on what we're doing."

I give him the biggest grin I can manage as he stands up, giving me one of the pitied looks if grown too familiar with.

"I'll see you later Portland." He tells me. "Just relax, It'll all be over soon. I promise."

***

I heave over the edge of my bed into a blue plastic bag. This always happens after my treatments, three hours of switching between vomiting, sleeping, and trying not to vomit. It's a horrible experience, the only thing that makes it a bit easier is that Ronnie or And always come over to sit with me after. Today, I'm lucky enough to get them both.

Yes, I've noticed Mal never comes, I've learned to just ignore it.

Ronnie has one hand on my back, the other one holding my hair back. This is what high school was supposed to be like, my best friend comforting me while I throw up, only it's supposed to be while I'm drunk, coming home from a party. Not in the hospital after my seventh chemo treatment.

After I finish throwing up, I fall back in to Ronalds arms, his fingers tracing lines across my sweaty forehead.

"I've got you." He murmurs into my ear. "It'll be alright, just get some rest, close your eyes."

I do as I'm told, shutting my eyes tightly as he runs his fingers across my bald head. 

Somebody who knew me three months ago wouldn't recognize me now. The girl I used to be would spend hours on her makeup, the girl I am now doesn't care who sees me like I am, I don't have the energy to care. The girl I used to be would have been embarrassed that I'm practically throwing up in my best friends lap, the girl I am now is just glad that he hasn't left. The girl I used to be would be optimistic about my situation, the girl I am now knows that I'm not getting better, and the worst part is that I don't even care.

Thankfully I fall into a deep sleep before my mind can build up anymore terrifying scenarios.

***

The first days of middle school where horrible. My teachers ignored me and the other students hated me. 

After  half a day, recess sounded like the best thing that could happen. Thirty minutes of silence as I sneak off to the library until the bell rings.

But today, there was somebody else there, sitting at my table. An eleven or twelve year old boy with firey red hair and pale skin leaning over a thick stack of books. 

Before I am even halfway to the table, his brown eyes dart up to meet mine.

"Hi," He says enthusiastically "I'm Ronald, but almost everyone calls me Ronnie, what's your name?"

"Portland," I mumble, shoving my hands in my pocket. 

"Like the city?"

I let out a shy laugh, biting my lower lip. "Yeah, like the city."

"That's so cool!" He exclaims. "Ronald is just such a boring name, Portland is so cool!"

He pulls out the chair next to him, gesturing to it with his head. "You wanna sit down?"

I nod, plopping down into the hard wooden chair next to him.

That was the day I realized that I didn't have to be alone anymore.