I looked down; the tears pricking my eyes again. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. My life had been turned upside down in less than 24 hours.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I whispered.

John moved over, sliding his arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his bare chest. I took a big sniff, inhaling the smell of soap and men’s body wash. I wasn’t going to cry and cover him with any more running makeup. “How about this. I’ll take you home and you work out what you need to and I’ll text you a little later?”

I nodded against him. “Sounds good.”

* * *

I excused myself to the bathroom while he got dressed. I wasn’t sure if he would drop trou in front of me, but I just needed a little room to breathe. And to see how horrible I looked in the mirror.

All of my makeup had gathered under my eyes, my hair was matted on one side, and I was as pale as a Chicago kid in the winter. Just like I suspected: a hot mess.

When I got back to the room he was dressed in a green hoodie with the letters ‘AM’ stitched on the front and a pair of gym shorts. He looked just as good dressed as he did standing in the towel. “You ready?” He twirled his keys around his finger.

“Yeah. I think so.” I’d managed to scrub the makeup off my face and now just looked like I was sick. Which I guess I was. Cancer. I was a cancer patient. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. The doctor acted like it was nothing. But this wasn’t nothing. People died from the big ‘C’ word. How was I supposed to keep up with school work if I had to worry about things like life and death?

I followed John down the stairs. A few guys camped out in the common room, their heads down, hair disheveled and faces buried in bowls of cereal. A few nodded in my direction, but most didn’t regard me. They probably thought I was another one of John’s conquests. I wished that’s what I was instead of the broken girl he had to take home after she collapsed on his bed.

Once we got to the parking lot, behind the house, John pressed his keys and a newer, silver Jeep beeped in front of us.

“I can walk home. It’s really no problem. I’m not that far.”

John grabbed my hand and pulled me to the passenger side of the car. “You can, but I can also drive you.” He opened the passenger side door, extended his arm out and ushered me inside.

I didn’t protest and closed my door as he ran around to the other side and hopped in the driver’s seat. Luckily the ride wasn’t too long and I didn’t have to make small talk. That is, until he got to my apartment building. He pulled to a stop at the front, put the car in park, and then looked over at me. “I want you to promise that you’ll call me after you get your appointment.”

“Yeah. I told you that I would.”

He put his fingers to my chin, lifting it up so I was forced to see the seriousness in his bright blue eyes. “I mean it. I want to know that you’re okay and take you to the appointment. If your mom isn’t going and you don’t want me to tell anyone then you have to keep me in the loop on this.”

“Why? John? Why do you care so much? I’m giving you your out. You don’t have to take me anywhere. You can just drop me off and we can pretend this flirtationship never happened.”

He let out a silent breath through his nose. “This may have started out as just flirting, but it got real the minute you cared more about the meaning behind my tattoos than just the body they were inked on.”

I shook my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Melanie, I’ll admit, I wanted nothing more than to fuck you. I just wanted to take the put-together girl and give her a wild time in my bedroom. I wanted to watch you come undone and hopefully underneath me.”

“Real romantic.”

He put his hand on my leg, his expression growing serious. “Then I started to get to know you. It honestly scared me when we were at your apartment and you acted like you wanted more than to just have your way with me. That’s why I left.”

“So you did just want me for sex?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Yes and no. I thought maybe there could be something more, but I couldn’t deny that I still wanted you in the dirtiest ways.” He ran his thumb along the seam of my jeans. “Then I watched you crumble. I never expected you to get that call from the doctor and watching you break made me see a whole other side of you. I want to be your knight in shining armor. To take away the pain. I’ve never felt like this before and whatever we have, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t care if it’s just starting and may be the most fucked up thing. I just want to give it a try. So please call me?”

I let out a deep breath, but my shoulders still stayed tense. “Fine. I will.”

“Good.” He leaned over the seat and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Later.” I opened the door and walked like a zombie to my apartment.

* * *

The clock on my stove said it was 8:30. My mom was at work, but I needed to let her know. If nothing else she should know what kind of bills would appear on her insurance.

I plopped on the couch and pulled out my cell phone, scrolling through my contacts until I got her number. Like I suspected, it went to voicemail.

“Hey, mom, no big deal or anything, but I went to Student Health Services the other day to get an exam and they called to tell me they found cancer cells on my cervix. Looks like I might have cancer. I’m supposed to make an appointment with a doctor in town to follow up, so heh, might get some bills for it. Okay. Bye,” I blurted it all out like word vomit and then hung up, letting the phone fall on the couch beside me.

I couldn’t cry. All my tears already fell on John’s bed. I sat there counting each breath I took. Tons of people had survived cancer. They had walks and stuff for it. It wasn’t a death sentence. But it wasn’t something that happened to nineteen-year-old girls while they were hooking up with guys either. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. And I was going to have to because my mom was calling back.

I picked up the phone and slid it up to my ear. “Hey, mom.”

“What the hell kind of message is that to leave on my voicemail?” she hissed.

“Thanks for being so supportive,” I said with added sarcasm.

She took a deep breath, crackling into the phone. “I’m sorry, baby. I just didn’t expect that to be the voicemail I got. Did you really say cancer?”

I bit my lip, trying not to whimper. “Yeah, Student Health Services called it moderate dysplasia and want me to see a doctor in town.”

“When? Where? What do you need me to do?”

I sighed. “I haven’t called the doctor’s office yet. A friend offered to take me to the appointment if you can’t come in.”

“I’ve exhausted my vacation days, but let me know when the appointment is and I can see what I can do. Do you want me to come now? I’m sure I can explain the situation to my boss and he’ll let me go.”

“No, mom, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know when I get the doctor’s appointment and we can go from there.”

My mom hadn’t been at her job very long and the divorce drained a lot of her money. I couldn’t let her risk losing her job or her overtime pay.

“Okay, baby. I need to go back to work, but call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

I hung up the phone, letting out a deep breath. Before I could even set it down a text popped up from John.


Make the appointment yet?


I wasn’t expecting to hear from him that quick. It was still hard to process that he wanted to take me. He said he wanted to see where our relationship went. It could have been some sort of guilt, but then I didn’t know why he would have admitted that he just wanted me for sex in the first place and now was thinking about more.


Not yet. Will let you know when I do.


I went over to my desk, opening up my email. Buried beneath some junk mail was the one from Student Health Services. It seemed so clear-cut the way it was written. Like this wasn’t a big deal, just another diagnosis.


Student Name: Melanie Wilder

Prognosis: Moderate dysplasia

Recommendation: Referral to Dr. Michelle Rodriguez 1010 Franklin Central, IL 309-555-7272


There was her number. Ready for me to call and get it over with. I sucked in a breath, staring at my phone. It was just a phone call. It would take a few minutes and be over, but my fingers froze over the buttons. Making the phone call made it real. Made me have to face the facts.

Yet I couldn’t put it off, so I sucked it up and dialed.

“Obstetrics and Gynecology, press one for the nurse. Press two to schedule or cancel an appointment,” a recorded message droned and I quickly pressed two.

Some jazzy hold music played for a few seconds before an overly cheery woman answered.

“Obstetrics and Gynecology, can you hold, please?”

“Um, sure.”

“Thanks.”

The jazzy hold music played again. This time for a lot longer. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Just when I was about to hang up the cheery voice answered again.

“Sorry about the wait, how can I help you?”

“Um, my name is Melanie Wilder and Student Health Services referred me to Dr. Rodriguez about moderate dysplasia, so I need to make an appointment.”

I couldn’t say cancer. If I said it out loud I might have started whimpering on the phone. So instead I used the cold word that the doctor had used at Student Health Services.