After the Easy

Chapter 1: Decisions, Decisions

Chapter 1: Decisions, Decisions

My jaw dropped. Why the hell did the price of my favorite shampoo go up by two dollars? I sighed loudly before dropping the item into my basket. Grocery stores are robbing people. I continue around the store, slowly adding more and more items to my basket. The amount of items slowly increases, and I know the price rises along with that. I finally reach the self-checkout before seriously debating half of my choices. I can do without the chicken strips, sweet tea, and ice cream. My wallet's cries die down as the price slowly decreases with every item I exclude. The items ding as I slide them across the sensor, bringing my total up to fifty dollars and thirty-six cents. My breath catches; looks like I will be going without power for half of the week.

I make my way out of the store with my arms weighed down with my purchases. My apartment is a mile and a half away from the store, and I know my arms will be begging for mercy by the time I reach the run-down complex. Glancing to the left and right, I quickly make my way across the crosswalk when my turn approaches. People have been hit at these things too many times in the past year, and my bank account can not handle any more expenses at this time. No hospital time for me. As I approach the sketchy building, my pace quickens and I keep my head down. This complex isn't exactly in the best part of town, but its the only thing I can currently afford. There are people hanging around by the stairs drinking Bud Light and smoking cigarettes. I can feel their eyes on me as I pass by and start my way up the old, rickety stairs. Practically running, I slide into my room and slam the paint-chipped door shut. All three of the locks are secured tightly.

My groceries find their way to the floor and my ass finds its way to my bed. I hate making that walk; it takes so much out of me. The strong stench of weed makes its way into my room and seeps into the walls. Here we go again. I turn on my television and scroll through the minimum thirty channels before settling on Grey's Anatomy. This was how my life was supposed to go. I was going to go to Duke University for both undergraduate and medical school before continuing on to my medical internship. I would become a pediatric oncologist and help children who had little to no hope left in their world. How ironic could my life have been?

Instead, here I am in the middle of Charlotte, North Carolina. I gave up before I could reach my bachelor's degree or my MCAT. The University of Alabama, my back-up school, didn't exactly suck, but it wasn't what I wanted. I moved in my dorm with my best friend, not expecting us to have a falling out halfway through sophomore year. I still cringe when I think about what happened...

I stumble into the dorm room, drunk off of my ass. My nineteenth birthday bash had been amazing, but everyone kept disappearing. I flip on all of the lights and yank off my heels. I hear them clunk on the floor. I'll get them later. As I walk further back into the dorm complex, I hear the tell-tale sounds of sex.

"Get it Brit!" I scream. It's nice to know that my roommate is getting some, even though my boyfriend escaped without giving me my present.

A deep voice resonates through the hall,"Holy fuck...what the hell, man?" I look around, slightly confused. I walk down the hall—just to make sure the guy hadn't broken his dick in my best friend. As I turn the corner, the door flies open to reveal my two roommates and my boyfriend. I stop dead in my tracks.

They're all naked. And sweaty.

I start to hyperventilate. I haven't had a panic attack in so long, but this, of course, was enough to induce one.

"Hey babe. Wanna join?" My boyfriend, Cole, suggests as he leans against the door frame fully exposed.

I can't breathe. I need to get out of here. I turn around and run out of Riverdale East, dead set on making it to the Quad without stopping. For the first time in my life, the excruciating pain of running barefoot doesn't seem to phase me. I still can't breathe. I finally see the bell tower in the distance and collapse on the soft grass. My gaze lands on the lack of stars above; I miss those more than anything. Sitting outside gazing up at the stars used to be my favorite pastime. In the country, you can see the striations of the milky way looping within the stars as well. I can finally breathe again.

My best friend, my boyfriend, and my other roommate were having a threesome. Cole invited me to join them! How could I have missed this, and how long has it been going on?

This grass feels amazing. Maybe I'm just way too drunk to really comprehend what happened, or maybe I just don't care. This doesn't hurt the way that it should. Sure I couldn't breathe for a minute, but my heart isn't breaking in my chest. I don't feel like my world is ending without him.

Maybe I'm broken.

Shouldn't the fact that my boyfriend of six months slept with not one but two of my best friends make me fall apart? He obviously didn't feel the same as I did...or maybe I didn't feel anything at all.

I'm definitely broken.

HE definitely broke me.

I groan out loud and cover my head in a pillow. I wish I could forget the betrayal of my friends, and I want to somehow feel something for Cole's part in it. But, here I am two years later, still feeling nothing. I've tried to feel something for other people, and I slept with so many guys after Cole trying to have an ounce of emotion towards someone of the male population. Nothing happened. Then, it all changed when I passed out at a club one night a year later.

Not only did I get busted for underage drinking, but I got to spend several nights in the hospital undergoing numerous tests. I had scans of my entire body, enough blood drawn to create a whole new human, and a long talk with my doctor. Then, I had a large needle pushed into my hip while they extracted my bone marrow. Dr. Henson, the hematologist, assured me that I wouldn't feel a thing—she lied. It hurt like a bitch, and sure enough, after the biopsy of the marrow was finished, I was diagnosed.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

I wish the pain and torture ended there. Dear God, I wish it did. But now they had to determine how advanced it was, what subtype I had, and what the treatment plan would be. I didn't want any of it. But, I did it. This disease, this curse, is so rare for people of my age to get. But, the diagnosis can sometimes be a death sentence.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia basically means that my red blood cells are out to get me. One day, a shift happened and they started growing out of control. AML develops quickly, and if not treated immediately, it can quickly get out of hand. The average age of onset is sixty-eight. Sixty-fucking-eight, and I managed to develop it at twenty. The five year survival rate is twenty-four percent. So, that means that over three-fourths of the people diagnosed die in five years. That's with treatment.

I tried at first. I tried to fight it. The chemotherapy was hell, but I did it. My weight dropped. I had permanent dark circles under my eyes. My body ached and complained the entire time they were pumping the lethal chemicals into it. There were days I couldn't get out of bed, and if I did manage to stand, I puked immediately. Suicide was a big contemplation for a while. I cried when my hair started falling out, and I cancelled my next appointment. Then, I cancelled the next one. This cycle continued until I just didn't call anymore. I wasn't going to go. 

I was alone the entire time. After the incident with my two best friends, I decided that friendship had no appeal to me. Not when loyalty meant nothing. I laid in bed for days with no contact to the outside world.

My mother didn't even know.

Or maybe she did. I don't know entirely where the bills were being sent, but she never contacted me about them. No notes showed at my door. She didn't show up either. No one in my family even bothered to check on me. Eventually, the lack of income caught up to me, and I was forced to make a decision. Go home and continue treatment while living with my mother, or pretend that my diagnosis didn't exist and live my life.

That's when I moved to Charlotte. My dream city.