Directioners Only:Part 3

One Shot Winner [Niall]

By: MyNameIsGabbie

*********************

"I love you, why is that never enough?" he rasped, the heat from his hot breath penetrating the air surrounding us.

"Love is just a metaphor."

He took my hands in his, the blue of his eyes engulfing my sorrow with one mere caring gaze.

"Love," he said while taking my shaking hand, "Love is like an ocean."

I scoffed, the corniness of his words amusing me. "An ocean?" I raised a brow, "How so?"

He smiled, "Fathomless, uncontrollable, frightening and wonderful...all in one package."

"I want to love you, Niall."

"The why don't you just give in, take a leap of faith?" he questioned, his face scrunching up.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Grinning his mega-watt smile, he responded, "Nothing you could ever do will make me love you less. Nothing you can say will hurt me."

I awkwardly started to tug at the sleeve of my jumper, suddenly becoming self-conscious.

Looking at my wrist, I could see him holding back tears. Pointing to an ugly scar, he breathed, "Why is my love never good enough? Why does it always come to this?

Shrugging, and choking on my words I replied, "Niall...I-it helps."

He caressed my cheek, "Let me help."

~~~~~

Seventeen years old. Not much older than a child. A seventeen year old- thrown into the world with no assurance than I'd be 'okay', no confirmation that this all actually had a purpose.

Words are funny, you know? Separate, they have little meaning. But sometimes together- words can alter the course of our lives.

"The test was positive."

"40% chance of survival."

"You have a year."

"You have cancer."

Just like that, your life's story is set out before you. Nothing you can do will change the course of it- you can only sit back and hang on for the ride. Like a roller coaster- slowly nearing the top, but once there you plummet...dropping to your inevitable fate.

I'm one of those people who doesn't like decisions made for them. Heck, when I was a kid I wouldn't even let my mum pick out my school clothes. I've always been independent.

So to have this thrown at me- someone telling me that I was going to die within months...was something quite hard for me to grasp.

Chemo, radiation...the works. Consuming belligerence of the mind, depression, angst. How the world seems to slowly grow smaller, dreams dimmer, life doesn't seem as magnificent as it once did.

Maybe I should be 'living life for the moment' or whatever, I mean that's what you're supposed to do when you're dying, right? But I don't want to sit here, aimlessly awaiting my departure from this world. If it's inevitably coming- why not just speed up the process? It'll save me a hell of a lot of pain.

But by now- I'm used to pain.

~~~~~

"I don't know, John..." my mother whispered in an unsettlingly quiet and distressed voice.

"These clinical trials are supposed to be miracle workers!" he argued back, matching Mum's tone of voice.

I heard her sigh. Then I heard as quiet sobs engulfed her.