Make a Wish|| G. Gustin

9.

The truth is, no matter how much you love someone, someone in the relationship always leaves. No Hrant has made it pretty obvious that he isn't the one who is going to leave but I can't say the same for myself. I feel the malignant mass in my head slowly killing me. I'm drained. I don't want to move. I don't even want to breath it hurts so bad.

Any food that is in my stomach turns in an angry manner and I feel like I'll puke at any second. My mouth is arid and chapped. I sit curled under a mountain of blankets shivering.

"Hey Marebear," says a familiar voice. I groan.

"Go away," I tell Grant. "I feel like crap."

He ignores my command and cuddles up next to me. His warmth invades my body and I cease to shiver. I smile weakly.

"I wish I could make you feel better," he whispers.

"You do," I assure him. He faces me and kisses my cheek. Then his lips moved to find mine. He kisses me gently. Not a kiss for him but a kiss for me; to make me feel loved and cared for. And I do. But the constant feeling that I will puke up my lunch kind of surpasses the whole in love thing.

"Stop," I say cause I'm to tired to pull away.

"Sorry," he says immediately. He looks down, clearly sorry. What a nice guy, I think to myself.

"It's.. Fine," I struggle to say. My mouth feels like it's full of sand. "It's just that if you kiss me I might puke in your mouth. And that would be like the biggest turn off ever."

"Aww your so considerate of my well being," he says sarcastically. I roll my eyes and laugh. I immediately regret the laughing though, for a sharp pain spreads through my diaphragm.

"Ow," I say flatly. "Hey what time is it?"

"Six thirty," he tells me. "Why?"

"Well the last few times I have had chemo, I have always gone into a puking fit at seven on the dot. I think I'll start heading to the bathroom floor now," I tell him. I painstakingly get up and move to the bathroom connected to my hospital room. Grant takes my arm and I put most of my weight on him. I take a seat on the spotless tile floor and prepare myself for the incredible amount of bile that is about to come up my throat.

"You can leave now," I tell Grant.

"Why would I do that?"

"You really want to watch me puke up my lunch?" Despite my pain, my voice is strong and snarky.

"Not really, but I don't want you to be alone," he says rubbing my back. "I'm staying."

"You are not," I demand. Before he can argue with me, my stomach lurches and warm vomit flows out of my mouth and into a bath of toilet water. My face turns hot with embarrassment. Yep, my boyfriend just saw me throw up. Great.

"Now can you leave," I ask. I throw up again. "Please," I whisper.

He nods resistantly. Before he goes he pulls my hair back into a bun for me and rubs my back. He hugs me, planting a kiss on my forehead.

"I'll be back for dinner," he promises. I put my thumb up as I continue to hurl into the toilet. Grant leaves finally and I breath a sigh of relief.

----

Hours later, around nine o'clock, I feel a lot better. I lay in bed waiting for one Grant Gustin to walk in the room. Because of my fatigue I decide to take a little nap while I wait. I don't know how long I slept, probably only a couple of minutes, but I woke to a shift in movement. I open my eyes to see a brown haired boy looking at me.