Caroline's Cries

Chapter 1

Caroline's POV

Growing up, I was a happy child. We didn't have much, in fact we had very little. We lived in a small cabin on the mountaintops, isolated from everyone else. But still, it was perfect. I had loving parents who did all that they could to provide for me and make sure I had a positive life. I was homeschooled, and didn't have any friends. 

Boys were a figmant of my imagination. I wasn't like other girls growing up, I didn't play with Barbies and made them get married to their dream boys. I spent my time climbing trees, building birdhouses, playing the banjo to my pet frog, stuff like that. Others would call me crazy. My mom called me "unique". 

I was a wild child. Still am, in a way. I would run away from our small house to hike up the mountain and try to reach the top. My parents would always catch me, though. I never made it to the top. 

One day, when I was about 10, I got my first bloody nose. My mom wasn't very concerned, until I started getting them on a regular basis. She arranged an appointment for me to go into the city to see a doctor. 

I remember getting all dressed up to visit the doctor. That would be the first time in a long time that I would be seeing people, and I wanted to make a lasting impression. I curled my hair, put sparkle stickers in it, wore a long yellow dress, and painted my nails bright green. People were sure to remember me and my vibrant fashion style. 

We drove in our beaten down Jeep all the way to the city. I looked outside of my window and saw a ton of people walking. They weren't wearing long yellow dresses and had sparkle stickers in their hair. I smirked to myself, knowing that I was probably the best dressed out of all of them. 

We walked inside of the waiting room and I sat down in a plastic chair. I looked around and saw crying babies, an old lady screaming into her phone about something dumb, and... him. 

He had blue eyes. They were icy blue and I couldn't help but stare at them. He had brown hair. He was wearing a grey shirt, and black shorts. Out of all of the people in that doctor's office, he captivated my attention the most. He looked around 12-13. And then he looked at me, with his icy blue eyes. A warm flush came across my face and I looked down at my green toe nails. 

I felt him staring at me still, I looked up and he smiled, his pearly whites gleaming in the light. I smiled as well, and then we both started blushing and I looked away. 

"Caroline Bagshaw, Dr. Todd is ready for you." 

I looked at him as I got up and walked away. He waved, and I waved goodbye. 

The doctor's appointment went by super fast. I don't even remember what went on, all I could think about was him. His icy blue eyes staring into my soul. 

I went back into the waiting room and sat down. He was gone. But still, a little bit of him lingered with me. I didn't know his name but he was all I could think about. 

Dr. Todd came out, with a worried expression on his face. He ushered for my mom to come in and speak with him. My mom did, and I heard her scream and cry from the other room. She came out and gave me the hardest news I would ever hear: 

I had cancer.

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Between all of my doctor's appointments, all I could think about was him. The boy with the icy blue eyes. I never saw him at any of my appointments, but I pictured him sitting by me and holding my hand, telling me that it would all be okay and that he loves me very much. 

When I was 13, I was hiking on the mountains with my dad when I passed out. I hit my head super hard on a rock and had a concussion. It only got worse from there. 

I had headaches like no other, my body ached, my bloody noses came back, it was horrid. I was constantly crying, I couldn't even picture me having a future. I fell into a deep pit of depression. My dad noticed, and attempting to cheer me up, decided to take me out for ice cream. 

While we were driving, I got another bloody nose. 

"When will this ever stop?" I suddenly screamed, "Am I just going to have bloody noses until I die?" 

I scared my dad, and he jerked the steering wheel. We hit another car. The car hit my dad's body. I hate that memory. 

I feel like it was my fault. My fault that he's gone. If I didn't complain he wouldn't be dead. My depression got worse and led to a point where I was giving up. I would cry in my bed uncontrollably while my nose bled, picturing the boy with the icy blue eyes standing over me crying too. I didn't know what to do.

My mom did all that she could to help me, and one day decided that I was too lonely and needed to actually interact with people. She was considering signing me up for public school but I cried and told her that they would make fun of me for wearing wigs. 

When I was 15, I started writing poetry. That was my way to escape. I would write the poetry and make them into songs, playing them on my banjo. That helped me a lot. In a way, it saved me and kept me going. After that, I vowed to myself that I would never let the feeling of unhappiness overcome me ever again. I was gonna fight. I was gonna win this battle for my dad. 

I did everything I could to kick cancer's butt. I took the medicine, did my chemo, excersied, and ate way healthier. It wasn't completely gone, but it was getting better. I was at a stable place where I could actually function and get stuff done in life. I got my driver's license and I started planning my future. I felt hopeful. 

I'm now 16, and I'm still fighting. The boy with icy blue eyes is still standing beside me, fighting with me.