dear diary,
I have been diagnosed with N3a. what is that you may ask. I'll tell you what it is, pretty bad. see, we all have these things in our bodies called lymph nodes. they're the organs that help fight off infections. in my case, if only 1-2 of my nodes have cancer, then there's a higher probability that I'll live, which is great news! for whoever out there that has at least 1-2 nodes with cancer in their bellies. sadly for me, I have 15 cancer infected lymph nodes. so I guess I might die, or I might live. 50/50 chance. let's see what my stomach has to say.
I dip a fry into the strawberry milkshake on my lap, flipping through the last few pages of King's, The Eyes of The Dragon.
"You're still reading that?"
"You're still a pain in the ass?"
Peter rolls his eyes, grabbing a fry and slowly sliding it across the pink deliciousness. His hand stays in place, even after the fry begins to decompose into the drink.
A fry hangs limp from my mouth, "Whattt, are you doing?"
"Waiting."
"For what exactly?"
"For you to smack my hand away."
I let out a sigh of annoyance, "And why would I do that?"
"Becauseeee, it's your food."
"And why does that matter?"
"Because. It's your food!"
I slam the book shut, "Just eat the damn thing!" I shout, popping the fry into his mouth.
His eyes widen in surprise as he begins choking on the diabetic piece of yellow salt.
"Kill me won't you?!"
"With pleasure," I reach to grab another fry but he stops me, shaking his head vigorously from side to side.
"Most girls would bite my hand off if I grabbed their food," he swallows, pupils a bit dilated.
I scoot closer to him,"Well I'm not most girls, am I?"
He sighs in disappointment, "You weren't, until you said that. Most girls would say that."
I flick a fry at his face, before quickly picking it up and eating it. "Shut up."
I flip open my book to the page I was on, quickly skimming towards the end. That's when I feel Peter's gaze on me.
"Can you. Not. Do that?"
"Do what?"
"Stare."
He wraps his fingers around the side of my bed, "That's just really unhealthy."
The fry I was currently chewing, falls out of my mouth. "Okay. Mom."
He mumbles a few incoherent things before turning away from me, "I'm serious. It's not good for your cancer."
I close my book once again, "Actually Mr. Know It All. I did a little asking around, and what I eat actually doesn't affect me in any physical way. Well, it's McDonalds, tumor or no tumor, it's slowly killing me, but! The worst thing that could happen to me is non-stop vomiting, but I think I'll live."
"Or you'll die, and I'll get in big trouble."
"Gee. Thanks for the sympathy."
"Honestly Hayden, I need this job. I don't need you screwing it up for me."
I almost choke on the milkshake, "Excuse me. I didn't choose to have a tumor the size of fucking Pluto lying in my stomach!"
"You could choose to not be so annoying all the time," he mutters, positioning himself to get up.
"Well you know what?" I slide the straw out of my shake, dumping the beautiful mess on Peter's beautiful, ugly head. "Get the hell out of my room, asshat! You made me waste a perfectly good drink!"
He slips on the drink splattered on the ground while walking out, with not even a hint of remorse in his eyes.
I sure can pick em'.
October 8, 1994
