Perfectly Spoiled

Perfectly Spoiled Chapter 3

Third chapter... hoping anyone reading enjoys! Sorry its short. Comment and vote, thanks

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So that was how I came to be sitting in a quaint little cafe I’d never heard of down a little side street I’d never noticed, which happened to sell the best hot chocolate I’d ever tasted. Not that any of that was the truly weird part. The weird part was that all this was happening with some guy Leah had recently labelled my “stalker” because of a few flattering lingering looks. And then there was the fact that the guy in question had just saved my life.

Well, as much as you can save the life of a girl with terminal cancer.

“Warmed up yet?” Nate asked awkwardly. Since coming down off the roof and walking the few streets to this place, things had shifted. The raw honesty on the roof had disappeared but I could feel that things had changed. I had been the most honest I’d been since moving to Soho, and it wasn’t to one of my “best friends”, but to some guy I had only just learnt the name of.

“A little. Thanks for this,” I smiled weakly, lifting my mug slightly. I’d controlled my shaking and was starting to come to terms with the stark reality of what I’d almost done. As I thought about the situation, I realised that he was still clueless as to why I’d almost made myself one with the pavement, and yet he hadn’t even attempted broaching the subject.

“Nate?” I asked quietly, liking the way his name sounded in my voice. He suited the name. Messy dark hair falling over his dark green eyes, broad shoulders and a slim build. He was different to Ben. Blonde haired, blue eyed Ben, the perfect golden boy for any school’s popular group. Surprisingly not very athletic, but he made up for it with his brains. And family money.

Nate had looked up from staring uncomfortably into his mug and was watching me expectantly, albeit a little cautiously.

“You haven’t asked why I was up there,” I muttered, suddenly feeling a little stupid. He probably didn’t actually care. He’d done his part, get me down and make sure I was alright. That didn’t extend into wanting to know any of the personal details of my life. Just as I was about to make an excuse to leave the uncomfortable silence which had descended, he spoke up.

“I don’t want to pry. I’m not under some false illusion that today has made anything different. That suddenly you’ll acknowledge me in the corridor or we’ll ever see each other outside of school for any reason other than coincidence. I never believed that you’d want to sit here and have an actual conversation with me. I don’t really have anything you’d want to talk about anyway,” he shrugged finally, almost looking defeated.

And right then I knew he was right. We would go back to school on Monday and really, nothing would have changed. Maybe in my head for a week or so things would change when I saw him, but nothing would change really. My life would stay just the same.

Except it wasn’t going to.

My life was never going to be the same again. I had terminal cancer and I had no idea at that point how long I had left to live my life. To make the changes I’d always been to afraid to make. Well fear of losing my popular life was nowhere near comparable to the fear of wasting what little life I had left.

So I did something to make this little change that had been initiated more permanent.

“I have cancer and it’s too late to save me. And apart from me, my mum and various professionals at the hospital, you’re the only person who knows,” I blurted out, forcing myself to look into his eyes when I said it. He flinched slightly, and shook his head slightly. In his position, I wouldn’t have known what to say. So I helped him.

“I don’t want to live the rest of my life the way it is now. So, show me what its like to have actual friends and conversation which doesn’t revolve around bitching and gossiping, and parties which aren’t about drinking and having sex,” I challenged, feeling so comfortable with him that I really wanted to experience the life that I witnessed around me every day but never let myself be a part of. And I trusted him to show it to me. I just wasn’t sure if he really wanted to. Pity was not something I wanted. If he agreed, I would want it to be because it was something he wanted to do. Because he wanted to be a friend. Not because he pitied me. I held my breath and waited for his response, nervous.

“I hate to break it to you, but most parties are about drinking. Like the one tonight, which you’re going to come to with me,” he smiled.