Count Me In

Chapter One

We all have an angel and a devil in our lives, and most of the time they're humans with a deeper purpose. Whether it be good or evil is within their morals. My devil isn't a person though; it's my disease.

It's a narcissistic disease that feeds on itself, labeled with a simple umbrella term containing six letters: cancer. It's such an ugly name; what a perfect fit. I have Invasive Epithelial Ovarian cancer, to be exact. I'm not dead yet, but my chances aren't looking too great. Every day these mutated cells bring me closer and closer to death, and it carries along with it everything I love.

It's selfishly taking my hopes and dreams, my future and my memories, my family's spirits, and even me when it will be my time. My parents' empty cries fill the house some nights, you know, the ones where they realize another piece of me is gone. My parents raised me and built me up, now they have to agonizingly watch me fall apart. I'm slowly withering away and each of my characteristics are going down this endless drain that I cannot stop. Every time I try and plug this drain, it gets bigger and bigger to compensate for the blockage and takes more and more. The more I fight back, the weaker I become.

So, I've learned to accept it. Death is nearing my range regardless if I'm afraid of it or not, so why waste the rest of my precious moments left on this earth worrying about when I leave it? It's not worth it, but I guess nothing is at this point.

Life is 100% fatal, and no one's ever left a review. I'm just dying, we all are, but I'm just doing it a hell of a lot quicker.

I just strive to be a normal seventeen year old, but what even is normal? Walking into school every morning, drinking at parties, and studying through all hours of the night just to fail half of the tests I take? I honestly think I'm living a more adventurous life lying here in my bed, some days too weak to get out of it due to chemo. My mind takes further adventures than most kids do my age, and I've gained far more wisdom.

I've thought about this a lot, if you can't tell. I try to be hopeful, and live the remainder of my life happy.

The only "normal" aspect I brought over into my new lifestyle is my boyfriend, Dylan Jones. He's a very bubbly character, someone who definitely pulls up my spirit when it's down.

I mean, I also have my best friend Amanda. She listens to Christmas music year round and her favorite food is quesadillas; need I say more? We've been friends since we were five. Our mom's met through work; high school science teachers are very social. She is there when I need her, but Dylan is always here. No matter what.

I always felt as Dylan and I weren't meant to be, as he lacks depth. I always yearned for a stronger personality from him. I think I expected too much from my first, and probably only, boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, I love him to death. I appreciate him, but he resembles a Ken doll, internally and externally.

I've also come to realize that the only person you're truly stuck with is yourself. Even then, we're all still alone. I spend a lot of time with Haylyn Pearce, and she's not too shabby. She's simply a quiet girl who's also not afraid to share her opinion. She feels as others aren't listening, so she doesn't waste her speech on other people. She almost resembles a frozen chocolate-covered cherry; hard to get into the middle, and when you're inside, she's soft and sweet.

"Haylyn!" my mom yelled, breaking my train of thought.

"What is it?" I yelled back from my room, in my truly uncomfortable bed.

"Dylan's here! I'm sending him up."

Ah, yes. My beloved Prince Charming has come to save me from the neverending antagonist that lurks all the time, known as my thoughts.