A Heart Like Yours | ✓

Eight - "You're supposed to help me"

I watch Parker from the doorway sleeping soundlessly. He's lying on his stomach; hair covering my view of his eyes as he faces the doorway.

I lean my forehead against the doorframe, holding the door tightly in my hand to stop it from creaking open any further.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "You didn't deserve to have your childhood taken away too."

I still when he begins to move, fearing he's waking. Luckily, he turns over and I take it as my cue to shut the door quietly behind me.

I take my keys hanging from the side of the doorway, and let the sun soak against my skin. I shut my eyes and breath, steadying my loud heartbeat.

My phone dings in my hand and I find a text from Charlie as I walk towards my car.

You should see this! You famous bitch xo

I frown, unlocking my phone to find an attachment from the Daily Mail. Charlie really knows her credible sources.

"Oh great," I mutter, clenching my phone tighter in my hand as I march down the driveway.

Holden Pacheco was seen out for the first time since collapsing on stage during his If Only world tour in Seattle three weeks ago.

Pacheco attended the VMAs after party, winning the Best New Artist award after skyrocketing to fame in the past year with his single, Never Like You, remaining on the charts for over ten consecutive weeks.

Since concerning fans around the world after his collapse, there has been no statement from his management surrounding the twenty shows around the country he has left for his tour.

Fans also captured images of a mystery girl stepping out with Pacheco, who seemingly attended the after party together.
The news comes almost a year after his split from actress, Sophia Garez, after two years of dating. The pair are rumoured to have split after cheating allegations surrounded Sophia Garez and singer, Joey Phillips.

I pocket my phone, my gut twisting. This is the last thing I want. For people to begin speculating about Holden and I when there isn't even a Holden and I.

My phone pings again and I stop. It's not Charlie, but a message request on Instagram. From Holden_Pacheco.

I'm sorry.
1. For what I said 2. For all the articles already. I didn't expect them to move so fast.

I accept the request but leave it on read, hoping he gets my message loud and clear. Just because he thinks he's better than me, doesn't mean that a simple apology will fix what he said.

I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and pull away from the curb, rolling quietly up the street. The radio begins playing and of course, Holden's voice begins to filter through my speakers.

I used think it was something.
How you'd look at me like I was your number one.
When really, I may as well have been your third.
But luckily for me I learnt never to be like you.
Never like you.
Never like you.
Because I'd always be broken and reserved.

I slam the button, changing the station to a happier song. When I'm about to find out that my Leukaemia is back, the last thing I need is Holden's depressing lyrics.

Parker will kill me when he wakes up. I hadn't told him that they'd called me countless times. That they had left voicemails for me to come in. Doctors never do that when they have good news, I know that.

The medical centre comes into view and I turn the corner slowly, feeling as though my world is tilting on its axis. Everything in my entire life is about to change and I have no way of stopping it.

No way at all.

"Have a seat, Blake."

The smell of plastic fills the room as I clasp my hands together on my lap, feeling the sturdy weight of the chair beneath me.

"We've had a look at your blood results. The CBC has shown an abnormal level of white blood cells. You also have significantly lower amounts of red blood cells and platelets. Essentially, with your medical history and with these results, we think it's best that we have you undergo the bone marrow aspiration and biopsy."

I open my palms; stare. I'm ten years old again. The words are foreign. My mother hugs me whilst dad ridicules the doctor with questions. I stare numbly ahead as the words lose their comprehension and I disappear into the darkness.

"Blake?"

My head swivels towards Doctor Anderson as he watches me closely, concern etched into his expression. "We'd like to schedule the procedure immediately."

"When?" I whisper.

"Tomorrow afternoon at one. Does that suit you?"

Does finding out I have fucking cancer suit me? Well, of course.

I nod numbly despite the coiling anger at my own body that begins to spring inside my stomach.

Why can't you just fight with me for once? You're supposed to help me.

"Blake, we don't want you to worry just yet. A high count of white blood cells can also be an indicator of stress or even a bacterial or viral infection. But as a precaution, I'd also just like to check you for any symptoms."

Wordlessly, I roll up the sleeve of my top, revealing the bruises blooming against my body.

"Have you been having any other symptoms?"

I shake my head, standing up as he checks my abdomen. Spleen or liver enlargement.

"Everything feels fine," he mumbles. "I'm just going to check your throat."

His cold hands press into my skin and I shut my eyes, breathing out slowly.

Once he finishes, he reminds me of my appointment tomorrow. I barely manage to thank him as I find my way slowly outside.

I sink into the drivers seat, holding onto the sides of my abdomen as the first sob slips through my mouth. I cover it, but there is nothing I can do.

Despite just wanting to live, I know that I have another fight ahead of me. This time, I'm not sure I will make it out alive.