Breathless ✓

Fifteen ✔

Night has already fallen as I gaze down at the hospital bed, the small lump beneath the blankets gently rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Strands of hair, so blonde the sun might envy it, splayed across the white cushion. The room is bathed in a murky darkness but I know that, if I could see her face, Lucy's pale complexion would radiate the kind of beauty one wouldn't believe existed, even if they saw it with their own eyes.

I have seen it.

I've seen the strength and resilience shining through her sky blue eyes, a defiance which had often caused her mother trouble, as well as great joy. I've seen the pure, untainted innocence displayed in her features, the childlike wonder as she asks question after question, never satisfied with a simple answer.

She is so strong.

A pang shoots through my chest at the notion of a child, so small and delicate, suffering through this. Having to endure the physical pain of chemotherapy, as well as the emotional trauma of seeing loved one's around her breaking down. I know she blames herself for the tears that have become a constant in her mothers eyes; the anguish that never fades.

Even at six years old, her wisdom exceeds that of many others.

I blink several times, fighting the water threatening to fall from my eyes. This room has seen so many tears, so many brittle smiles. I don't want to add to that.

I feel his presence in the room even before Marcus speaks.

"Tori, there you are." He is breathing heavily even though his tone remains gentle. "I've been looking all over for you. We need to get going."

I take a last look at her form before getting up from my space on the edge of Lucy's bed, forcing my aching legs to stand. I glance at Marcus, tears still shining in my eyes, and he opens his arms without as much as a word, reading the situation and offering comfort without hesitation.

Stepping into his warm embrace I revel in the feeling of comfort that radiates from his body, my muscles relaxing slightly. His suit smells of washing detergent.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll pull through." His voice is a gentle lull as his fingers glide over my hair. "She's a fighter."

That she is.

I've worked with Marcus for a while and, even though we haven't exactly been the closest of friends, he understands my struggles; the emotions that follow me like a rain cloud. He himself often has difficulty dealing with sick children, seeing their joyful smiles falter as we deliver bad news, feeling the tension as parents and carers slowly lose hope.

Sighing, I reluctantly pull away. "We better get going, Dr. Smith won't be happy if we're late again."

"We're always late." He remarks and I can practically hear the smile on his lips, causing my own lips to twitch in response.

But it's the truth. No matter how important these events are to the hospital, we both hate attending. Charity balls only happen once a year, if that, and any staff that wishes to attend is welcome. I, however, am apparently required to be there on account of my Uncle.

If Marcus and Sam didn't go, I don't think I would survive these things.

With one hand on my lower back, Marcus steers us out of the hospital and towards his car. It's a small, red Corvette Stingray, the pride and joy of my coworker. I remember the day he had first bought it and drove it to work. None of us had ever seen him so happy over something as trivial as a car, but the smile lighting his face could not be dampened for the duration of the week.

I'm about to get in when Marcus hurries to my side, opening the door with an elegant bow, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

I give him a small smile in return, muttering a 'thank you' and settling into the plush leather seat. As soon as the engine purrs to life, we're out of the parking lot and on our way to the manor. Besides the occasional pop song filtering through the speakers, the short drive is filled with a comfortable silence, allowing my mind to rest after a long day.