Where No One Dares

Chapter 9: The Vulnerable and the Broken

It seemed as though Star didn't remember the night before.

Her hair had been washed, the color faded out, and it was back to its full and fluffier bounce. But it was as if her life had been washed out along with it.

She couldn't walk for days, and her skin was so pale she looked like a ghost. Marco avoided possibly harming her in any way and kept his distance.

But that wasn't what Star wanted.

She remembered everything. The feeling of the universe at her fingertips, the feeling of her heart soaring to impossible speeds, and the feel of Marco's lips molded with her own. She liked remembering it...but she could tell Marco felt as though he was walking on eggshells around her. Everything he did was too careful—getting an occasional glass of water, a blanket for when she fell asleep, or even when he watched her stare at the wall through the crack of the bedroom door.

And it was starting to catch everyone's attention.

"She's not depressed," Marco hissed to his friends. "She's just...really weak right now."

"She's been weak for a week." Janna sighed. "I feel like something's wrong. Are you sure she's okay? You hardly talk to her anymore."

"She hardly says anything," Marco mumbled, head down. "It's like she's just a shell, and the real Star is already dead."

"Don't say that." Jackie shushed him. "You have no idea what she's going through."

The talking then stopped, Star realized, as the party moved downstairs. She wondered if Marco had felt the way she had. Had he felt as though there was no one else in the world at that moment? Had he felt like he was teetering on the edge of life and death?

Star slowly got to her feet, and willed one foot to go forward. She needed the bathroom.

She hobbled and made it to the door, before having to catch her breath. She couldn't call out—her voice was too raspy from lack of use and a scratchy throat. Her footsteps felt heavy, and she could feel herself swaying as she made it out to the hallway. But she pushed herself to go further.

She was almost to the bathroom when a hand gripped her arm to steady her. Star looked up to now dull brown eyes and an expressionless face.

"Need some help?" he offered. Star hesitated, but she could feel the bile rising from her stomach, and she knew she needed all the help she could get at that moment. Marco responded to her weak nod and helped her into the bathroom. Star pointed to the toilet, making Marco gently put her down and hold her hair back as she upped the contents of her stomach. When she was done, Marco cleaned her up and carried her back to her room in his arms as though she was a baby. And she took full advantage of it; nuzzling into his t-shirt and inhaling his scent.

"Stay," she murmured, her voice hoarse, as he tucked her into bed.

"But—"

"Stay," Star said more firmly, looking up at him. Her eyes were wide and brimming over with tears.

Marco gave in and sat in the chair beside her. He couldn't understand why she wasn't in the hospital, but Star had put up quite a fight not to be admitted. So the Diaz's opted to bring a doctor in, to the house, along with all the necessary equipment. Still, no one knew what was wrong with her. They were deciding between leukemia or Lung Cancer. But only Star knew what was wrong.

But she wasn't ready to let go.

She wasn't ready to let him go.

"Star?" Marco whispered, hoping she was awake. After a few seconds, her eyelids fluttered open and she turned to look at him. "Star." He looked down. "...Tell me. Tell me what's wrong."