Nightmares (A One Direction Project) [On Hold]

Chapter Two

 Whitney

“You're seriously in London?” Owen asks.

“Yeah” I reply, grinning. He holds two thumbs up. “I wish you were here” I tell him.

“Hold the computer up to the window” he says. “Then I'll be seeing London with you.”

“Smart” I tell him, picking up the computer and pointing it so that, through Skype, Owen could see the building and the streets and the people.

“Thanks” he says, once is gets too heavy and I have to set it down. “That's probably as close as I'll ever get.”

“Don't talk like that” I tell him sternly. “I thought I'd never get here either.”

“But your family can afford this” he says. “Mine can barely pay the medical bills.”

“My brother can afford this” I correct him. “My parents were against it from the start.”

“Well, you have the coolest brother ever” Owen says.

“Why, thank you” says Chris, walking into the hotel room and dropping onto his bed.

“Hey, Chris!” calls Owen, waving. Chris waves back.

Owen is my best friend, and he has been since I got diagnosed with cancer a year and a half ago. He has cancer too, and we had rooms next to each other when I was at the hospital. We both love the band One Direction.

My older brother, Chris, who is twenty-two, decided that, since I'm dying, he might as well take to London for two weeks.

“Hey, so the concert's at seven” Chris tell me.

“Have fun!” Owen says.

“I will” I tell him. We end the Skype call.

“There's a meet-and-greet before, right?” I ask Chris. He sighs, and heaves himself out of bed.

“Let's do this” he says, grinning widely at me.

-

The line at the meet-and-greet is really long. Chris waits with me for awhile, and then gets hungry and leaves. I know he'll be back eventually, but I can only hope it's on time. Chris is not all that responsible, but he doesn't have to be. He's a singer, back home he's kind of popular.

Home. America. Chris lives in California, but I live in a small town in Washington. As soon as Chirs was old enough, he was off to Los Angeles, but the cancer got me when I was seventeen. We went to Seattle for awhile, for treatment, but it wasn't doing me any good, so I went back home. And then I got really bad really fast, and we moved to Seattle permanently.

They've stopped treatment now. The doctors decided that either I'll beat the cancer or it'll beat me, but the treatment wasn't doing me any good. My hair started growing back last month. It's really short, but at least it's there.

Someone falls into me, knocking me over. Whoever-it-is falls on top of me, and we end up in a heap on the floor.

“Gosh, I'm so sorry!” the person says. I look up, as the person stands up and brushes themselves off. It's a girl. She offers me her hand. I take it, and she pulls me up. “Piper” she says. “I'm really sorry I knocked you over, I'm really clumsy.”

“Whitney” I reply. “It's fine, I'm alright.”

“Geez, Pipes, watch where you're going” says the girl in front of Piper in line. She turns to me. “Hi, Whitney” she says. “I'm sorry 'bout Piper. She is really clumsy. I'm Bobby.” She grabs my hand and shakes it.