Who Needs A Prince Anyways?

Two Weeks To Live

"Finally, Saturday." I said as I woke up. I made my way downstairs to the living room, and flicked on the tv. My favorite tv show, the Big Bang theory, came on. I watched as Sheldon debated over couples he liked for costumes for him and his girlfriend. Laughing, I made my way into the kitchen for something to eat, and discovered Marilyn already cooking. As bacon and eggs wafted through the air, I made my way over to her. "Food?" I asked. "Food." she replied with a grin. She made me up a plate and sat down with me. "You know, you shouldn't beat yourself up over this. It's just going to hurt more.'' I ate silently. I really didn't want to talk about it. I love Marilyn, but I didn't want to talk to her about that. "So, my birthday is tomorrow." I said. She took the hint and changed the subject. "Yes, it is. What would you like to do for your special day?" I thought for a minute. "Can we go see the new TMNT movie? I'm really excited for that." She finished up her food. "Sure sweetie." I helped her with the dishes and cleaned the table. Then I went back into the living room and watched some tv. I sat there the whole day. At least, until I heard something break in the kitchen. "Marilyn? What's up?" I walked in there. She was standing over a broken plate. It looked like she had been putting away the dishes when she dropped it. I looked around, and the phone was hanging off the receiver. "I got a call, from the hospital. Dean was in a crash." I tried looking at her, but my eyesight was fuzzy. I stumbled backward, and fell on the table. My brain wasn't working. See, Dean had been in a crash before. It did serious work on his spinal cord. The doctors said that if something like that were to happen again, it would probably be fatal. All I could do is run out to my car and drive straight to the hospital, so that's what I did. When I got there, I found out where he was and went in. I looked at his wounds and cuts and bruises, and I could barely stand it. "Dean, what happened?" He started telling me the story. Turns out he was coming back from dinner when a drunk driver hit his impala. Then, a doctor came in. She looked at me with sad eyes. "Darling, may I talk to you, alone?" I stepped out of the room, afraid of what I might hear. Then, the unthinkable happened: she told me he has two weeks to live.