Never 18

Chapter 8

The hospital's automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and the first breath of fresh air hits me like a jolt to the system. I hadn't realized how suffocating it had been inside until now, standing on the edge of the world outside. I tilt my head back, letting the afternoon sun bathe my face in warmth, its rays sinking into my skin like an embrace I've been missing. It feels surreal, almost like I've forgotten what it's like to be free, surrounded by the vastness of the open sky. A few wisps of clouds drift lazily above, while the scent of pine trees and freshly cut grass mixes with the sterile, chemical tang still clinging to my clothes. I take another deep breath, savoring it. I'm free. No more sterile walls, no more fluorescent lights burning into my skull, no more machines that beep in time with my weakening heart, tethering me to a fate I refuse to accept. No more pitiful glances from nurses who think they know my future better than I do. I'm free—at least for now.

Dad stands by the camper, his fingers twitching nervously around the keys in his hand. His brow is furrowed, a look of deep worry etched into his face as his eyes flicker between me and the ground, as if he's afraid to look too long, afraid he'll see how close I am to collapsing again. It's like he's waiting for something to go wrong, for the ground to fall out from under me. Dana, usually a whirlwind of energy, is uncharacteristically quiet, her lips pursed as she bites down hard, lost in her thoughts. She doesn't say much; she just tucks the last of our bags into the back of the camper with a kind of grim determination. I can feel their unspoken questions hanging in the air between us, thick and heavy. Are you sure about this? Shouldn't we just go home?

They're worried, and I get it. I really do. If the roles were reversed, if I was watching someone I loved walk toward the unknown with the weight of their illness hanging over them, I'd be terrified too. But that's exactly why I'm doing this. I don't want to spend the rest of my days staring at the same four walls, waiting for the end. I want to choose the unknown, to walk into it with my head held high, whatever may come.

"Ready to roll?" I ask, injecting as much cheerfulness into my voice as I can. My legs are unsteady beneath me, a quiet reminder of how fragile everything is, how close I am to the edge. But I refuse to let it show. Not today.

Dad's eyes linger on me for a moment before he nods, walking over to the passenger side. "You sure you don't want to sit in the back? Might be more comfortable," he offers, his voice gentle, almost pleading.

I shake my head, already moving toward the front. "Nope. Front seat's fine. I want to see everything."

I climb into the seat, and Dad closes the door with a soft click. I catch Dana's reflection in the side mirror as she climbs into the back, her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses.

Dad climbs in and starts the engine. The camper pulls out of the parking lot, and I roll down the window, letting the wind whip through my hair, tangling it in wild knots. The road ahead stretches into the distance, wide and open, full of endless possibilities. A rush of exhilaration surges through me, like a flame igniting deep in my chest. I might be weak, I might be dying, but out here, on the road, I feel alive in a way I haven't in a long time. This—this movement, this freedom—is what I need. Not the slow, sterile death waiting for me in that hospital.

"Where to first?" Dad asks as we merge onto the highway.

"I was thinking... back to Cannon Beach," I say, my voice barely above a murmur as I watch the blur of trees whip past the window. There's something soothing about the constant rush of the landscape, like it's pushing me forward, closer to something—someone—I can't get out of my mind.

Dana perks up from the back seat, her mood instantly lighter. "Back to Cannon Beach? I'm in. Those tide pools were amazing last time." She leans forward between the seats, her eyes gleaming with excitement.