Seven Days

Chapter One

People will only remember you when you’re dead. That’s what they say. Well, they don’t just say that, they believe that, too, because it’s true. Come on, I mean who still remembers Michael Jordan? Basketball addicts, but other than that, almost nobody remembers him. (No offense though.) Right? When he dies, I’m sure, a LOT of people will remember his NAME like how people remember the NAMES of Aristotle, Michael Jackson, Albert Einstein, and all the other famous dead people in the world, but the thing is…, they remember the name, not what the person did. Isn’t that right? Some people only remember the name, not the person himself, I mean.

Anyway, my name is Alexandra Taylor Chase. I’m a brunette. I am a five-foot-three sixteen-year-old girl (I’m almost seventeen though). I know, short for a sixteen-year-old. I have blue-green eyes. And one more thing about me is that I am a girl with a heart that’s about to fail. Sooner or later now, it’s gonna fail. You feel unfortunate for me? Oh, no, don’t. Please. It’s fine. I don’t need your pity. I’m fine without it. Besides, everybody just comes and goes, right? We’re all gonna die. Nobody’s gonna live forever. People will go to heaven (or hell). People will die. Doesn’t matter when. It just matters what we’ve done on this earth. That’s all that matters. Understand? Okay then.

Here I am in a hospital bed feeling and looking like crap. No, seriously. Every day, my condition grows worse. I’m dying soon, and I know it. My mother and father know it, too. There’s nothing we can do about it. Nothing.

Silence is filling the room. Nobody’s here but me. My mom went out to buy some of my favorite food, and my dad is in his office right now. I’m bored as hell. I wanna sleep. I feel myself drifting to sleep. Maybe I should sleep for a while. Yeah, I should. I’m gonna do that.

As I slowly drift into another world, suddenly, a tall and familiar guy with short black hair, sparkling brown eyes, dark blue shirt, faded light blue jeans, and an absolutely jaw-dropping body busts through the doors loudly and annoyingly. That killed my drowsy feeling. I am not drowsy anymore. Suddenly, I’m angry, and no, I don’t care if this guy has an amazing body (or is familiar), I am still angry towards him. I want to sleep for crap’s sake! Then he busts into the doors! Wow, nice job dude. Nice.

The guy announces without even looking at me, “Good morning sunshine!” Well, it’s not good anymore. He looks at me and then he realizes that he was in the wrong room, so he says, “Oh, crap! I’m so sorry for busting into your room. I didn’t mean to. I thought this was my mom’s room! I’m sorry.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. I ask him, “So you would burst into your sick mom’s room and shout ‘good morning sunshine’ without even thinking?”

He smirks at my question. (Ugh, guys with flirty smirks.) He says, “Well, she knows how I roll, and she is not sick anymore. She’s going out of this place today. I’m here to pick her up.”

“If I were your mom, I would rather not tell you to pick me up because I don’t want to get another heart attack from my extremely loud and annoying son,” I tell him.

He chuckles at that. “You’re really funny,” he says to me.

I mimic his chuckle with a bit of a higher tone and then I say with a blank expression, “Not really.” I look away from him because I no longer want to talk to this guy, and he is a stranger (though he looks so familiar). My momma told me not to talk to strangers.

The sad thing is that he is still not going out of the room, he is still not leaving me alone, and his eyes are still on me. I hate it when people look at me because I really don’t like it when I get the undivided attention. I don’t like it one bit because I look so pitiful right now. I mean I have this thing in my nostrils right now that helps me breath-ish (well, I can actually breath on my own, but the doctors said I needed it just in case my lungs decide that it’s time to retire), I guess, and I look as pale as ever right now. I mean what do you expect from a dying girl? To look like a supermodel? Ha! Oh, no, that’s not possible. So anyways, I am as pale as ever. A side effect of dying, I guess.