Before We Say Goodbye

Chapter Nine: What Really Happens at Parties

Chapter Nine - Sophie

I lay my head on the kitchen table, glad for the momentary calm. In here, the music doesn’t seem so loud. The thudding of the music is still clear, but…I don’t know, it just seems more muffled.

What do I want from life?

I want to find something more. I want to find someone who would be willing to die for me – no, I don’t want them to actually die for me, but I want to know that there’s someone out there who cares that much for me.

Dad cares, I know, but he’s my dad. There’ll obviously be times I feel like he doesn’t care. I’m a teenager. We teenagers hate our parents because they don’t let us out to parties. That’s the way we work. Hormones, or whatever it is. I want someone who loves me for me, without needing to know everything about me, without feeling the need to control what I do.

God, I’m such an ungrateful person.

I stand up and walk over to the kitchen sink to fill up my glass with water. I run the tap for a few seconds, watching as the clear liquid rises higher and higher in the glass.

Someone clears their throat.

The sound scares me…I thought I was alone here!

I spin round, scared of who it might be, considering all the stories I’ve heard about house parties.

I should’ve listened to Dad, I scold myself, getting ready to run if I have to.

A blonde boy with pale blue eyes stands in front of me. Those eyes…they remind me of someone…

“Did you come here with Damon?” the boy asks casually, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms folded.

I nod. “Yes,” I mumble.

Talk about shy.

I start to walk past him, but his arm shoots out and stops me.

“Wait,” he orders. “I want to talk to you.”

I wet my lips nervously. “Okay…”

The strength of his eyes on me makes me want to cower down, hide from his intense gaze. I hate attention being on me. It’s awkward and embarrassing.

“Please be nice to him,” he says. “Damon doesn’t have many friends at the moment, so I would be so grateful if you stood by him.”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“Paul. His brother. What’s your name?”

“Sophie.”

A silence settles over us.

I yawn, stretching slightly. My eyelids feel so heavy. It’s kind of annoying. It’s like, I’m trying to keep my eyes open but there’s nothing to support them, to keep them open. They’re just sliding shut…

Does that even make sense?

I draw a hand across my eyes, trying to stay awake.

“Shit!” I curse, remembering something.

“What?” Paul asks me, cocking his head.

I forgot my medication! I yell at myself. Again! What’s wrong with you, Sophie? You can’t keep forgetting! Having leukaemia is worse than having a sniffle!

“What’s wrong?” Paul repeats.

I try to smile, but it’s not working. Why would it? I can feel the panic surrounding me.