"You've no choice," Mum declared as she poured her coffee in the cup. "You're going to school, Blake."

I dropped the half-buttered toast on the plate, turning at her immediately. The crunch of it that had delighted me earlier seemed to have transformed into an award which I had to fight for.

"No, I'm not. You know it'll turn up a mess," I objected her statement. It was impossible that I could even ever leave my room, and here she was, talking about school. Again.

Although I've attended school before, I was cautioned by the teachers that I should not be troubling any students with my disease. Every school's prosperity seemed to fall bleak when I stepped in them. That was probably when I realized that the society would never accept me. I'd always be the person sitting at the far edge of the room, with a mind that no one would understand.

No one.

"Blake Clarke Williams, you're departing to high school this Monday. You've grown to be the only teenager who hasn't proceeded to school for two years now. I don't want any further arguments," Mum spread the strawberry jam evenly on her toast. The dark circles under her eyes patched up her skin tone, giving her a perfect panda look. I looked at mine, and it had suddenly dulled into pale ordinary bread. I heaved a sigh, slaughtering my appetite further.

Mum strolled to the porch, sipping her regular morning refreshment. From the back, she appeared like a typical skinny mother, who had been dieting to get rid of the fats she never had. But the front beamed the reality that she failed to hide— A mother of a cystic fibrosis patient, who had lost weight tremendously from her body in two prompt years, gaining them in her anxious mind. The worried mind that had drifted away her sleep from her life, continuously wondering about her only child's future. Her lips had chapped due to forcefully laughing when someone cracked a joke, deprived of the plump moisture which she had when Dad was here.

It had just been two years since my Great Tragedy, and she had already shrunk into a shrimp. And amidst all these, her mere desire was to never let me know her struggles.

Instantly, as if erupting like a volcano, realization hit me. I frowned at the mutual thought of what if she just wanted to get rid of me? It wasn't her fault that she didn't want me here anymore—nobody would want a sick teen in their home whose illness is eternal. Irrevocable, and permanent. I shuddered at the mention of "eternal". The guilt for Mum softened into a narrow stream of amateur thoughts.

I rushed to the porch and sat beside her. The golden rays of the spring sun clashed from heaven, swirling behind the fresh leaves of the old oak tree, immersing us into its splendor. The breeze kissed my face, seizing regret to bury me—for it knew I could never cherish its virtuous fragrance. The tubes under my nose deepened the regret. I clenched my fist under the long loose sleeve that gleamed peach in the sun. "But Mum, the students—"

"They've got to adjust," Mum looked at me with her solemn, gray eyes. The pale white curls slithered from the swanky bun, magnificently merging with the rest of her chestnut brown hair. "We can't just let you be here when you've got so many dreams."

I sarcastically yanked a snigger. Dreams? Yeah, right. As far as I remembered, they got crushed the day I concluded with this disorder.

I sort of wanted to travel worldwide and click pictures of the monuments that build my character. I craved for climbing the Eiffel Tower and inhaling the crisp air of Paris. I desired to be a popular Hollywood actress, with an extravagant Rolls Royce when I turned twenty.

Nevertheless, then I found out the new me and it all transformed into ashes.

"No one cares. I can't really be me with this freaking demerit in my body!" I shrieked, forcing the chirping melody of the birds to peter out. Rage darted through my veins, but I knew right then that that morning, I had lost my toast enchantment.

I believed too much in this world, but the world never belonged to me— The quotation from my ex-school danced in my head.

"Demerit?!" She turned at me, "What're you even talking about? This is not a demerit, Blake. I'd rather say a peculiarity." She forced an exhausted smile. My eyes struck at her nails, which still had the splintered stains of her old red nailpolish, half-bitten into a shapeless curve from concern. For a minute, I couldn't decide if I should talk back, or relish some empathy on her. Sometimes, when I stared at Mum, the picture of her past personality reflected back; the gorgeous enthusiast with the brightest smile now gave the impression of her shadow of who she was today.

"Peculiarity? Mum, let's face the reality. I'm a vanishing from the world and there's nothing that can cure me. And that's not a specialty—that's a bloody disadvantage." I howled at her, brimming with tears. I was suddenly filled with angst for letting her turn so crippled. She stared at me for some time, hesitant to speak. A pang of guilt stomped on my heart, and I was seized to clench my jaws.

It wasn't her fault that she had flinched so much. But perhaps if she had permitted the doctor to push the euthanasia syringe in me, she would have never faced this day. Or if she had fought not to sign the divorce papers, would have she been in rejoice.

Nonetheless, she had declared otherwise. And probably that was why the wrath was boiling in me.

"Blake please..." She went off trail, and the previous contemplation brushed a pale shade of grief. She was nursing me like there was a remedy for it, but perhaps, the remedy couldn't heal me in all these years. It didn't bring back Dad, it couldn't bring joy to her lips and it surely couldn't bring back a life to me.

The clouds splashed an abrupt lightening gray into it, blurring out the brace of the morning. And as the rain poured on the bare lawn, each droplet hammering its incense, my eyes adhered with it to become a stream. The fire of apologizing flickered at my toes, but the clouds thundered once more, ambushing it into cinders.

I gazed at Mum and tried to savor her tenderness, but the thunderclap had deafened the ears of my heart. I could listen to nothing but my subconscious yelling at me to leave. Stunningly, my legs pulled me up, and avoiding the consultation which Mum roared, escorted me upstairs to my room. I locked the door, and stumbled upon my bed.

The pillow drenched on the spur of the moment.

. . . 

Hunting through my hazed vision, I stared at the rutted ceiling, sobbing like the hamster our old neighbours nurtured. Loud voices growled from the outside, stirring into a muffled hum as it reached my ears. The rain felt like my own tears, dripping down the window as if calling me out. And somehow, the theory of death suddenly enthralled me towards doing it. It would be so pleasing to abandon the world for a minute and leap off that pane...

I averted my eyes towards the desk. The photo frame posed like a never-happened memory which held the last happy picture before our family shattered into pieces. A blonde-haired Dad tackled an adorable junior-duplicate of his character in his arms, with a God-gifted beautiful woman he was once proud to call his wife kissing the junior's cheek.

A lost feeling of exhilaration calmed me down. While gawking at it, my attention was drawn by the gnawed diary that stood right beside the picture. And again, my heart thud in my chest. I did not intend to look at it ever, but fate battled against me.

It took me all the effort to clutch the diary and flip through the pages. I suppressed my eyes tightly close, but the words almost seemed like he was singing to me. Although not wanting, my eyes unlatched dreamily, pondering upon the hustled memories that were scribbled in that diary. Unexpectedly, the picture flashed at me, as if raining gold into the room. And for an instant, it did seem like gold had submerged me in it, blazing a polaroid of me and my crush, Dolan Newman. It was stunning to recall how he cared for me being "just friends". He stood by my side, no matter what challenges tackled over me. He was a one in a billion, and he was mine. Or atleast, that was what I thought.

What happened then?

I unearthed my circumstance, and he left town. I shut my eyes again, relishing the day when we both laid under the sun and he wore that blue nylon shirt with his name embedded on it. The breeze caressed his slightly- olive body, gusting his pastel-brown hair over his starred face with intense dimples, blessing us with gratification. I couldn't ever take my eyes off him. We were talking about our families when he looked at me with his pensive, dark eyes, gifted with charms that never failed to flush my cheeks, and uttered gently, "I promise you that no matter what, I'll never leave you, Blake."

Moving forward to two years back, when I explained about my situation, his aspects were enough to bewilder me. His handsome features swapped with disgust scratching at him. The tubes were under my nose, but he appeared to be the suffocated one. For hours to days, I waited for him to calm down and bear with me, probably imagining that he would simply come back and take me in his muscular arms, whispering persuasive pick-up lines that would make me feel blessed even with the Great Tragedy. Unfortunately, the hours and days had suddenly turned into weeks and months, and he never disclosed his window shade in the contradicting house.

I remembered how I went to his apartment to greet on his birthday and his mother shooed me out, an anonymous fear and panic gripping at her, saying that he was out with his friends. I concealed my tears back then, hoping that this would soon be over, that he would grasp the situation and befriend me again. But the fates had defeated me once more, because that night, when I checked my Instagram, his pictures with his "girlfriend" stuffed my gallery. The gallery of my mind. And that was the last time I ever saw him.

The stream had altered into torrents, sweeping the cheeks from my eyes to the chin. I squeezed my head onto the pillow again, clenching the polaroid in my fist. The door clicked open, but I did not urge to raise my head. A delicate hand ruffled my hair, and I couldn't help but bark at the familiar touch.

"Mum, just leave me alone, okay? I'm not going to school, and I don't care if you force me to." The words, however, tuned hushed through the pillow's dream foam.

"I know you're disappointed, Blake." My head shook upright and quickly rotated at the manly voice. Josh was seated at the steep edge of the bed, and I wondered if he sat like that because he feared to be loathed by me. A man in his forties, Josh established the ideal picture of a flawless husband, who seemed to have entered Mum's life way too late for me to ever call him Dad. Although married twice before Mum, he never behaved with arrogance towards her or my half-dead existence.

Sometimes, I felt mercy for him that he had to strive so much to receive some compassionate adoration from me, trying his best in all the ways possible. I could never overlook the day when Mum introduced me to him for the first time, and I had so hated him, thinking that he too would misjudge me like the rest. But instead, he modestly smiled at me, and tried to impress us by baking an out-of-shape cake with an iced "Family" entrenched on it.

That day I realized two things: one, he was a terrible baker and two, he would never let Mum down.

As I gulped down my embarrassment, Josh curved out his dad-ly smile and nervously pulled his hand back from my hair. Silence had almost spilled its paint on us when he cleared his dry throat and said, "I understand it might be a little distressing to register in a school after such a tough journey but..." he gazed up at the family's photo frame, "it would pretty sure bring that grin back on your Mum's lips."

He paused a moment and I noticed stars dancing in his eyes. He knew that that picture belonged to a time when Dad was here, and yet he believed that someday, he would see the thrill of that moment once again in our new family. My heart was instantly swollen with an emotion I thought was long gone—affection.

His star struck stare aimed at me as he continued with a heavy sigh, "Alas, she has stood by your side all this while, hasn't she? Maybe it's time that she atleast get her one foremost wish to be granted."

He waited for a response, but I was lost of words. Perhaps seeing such reluctance in my speech, he gathered some more edginess as he blurted out hastily, "B-but of course, it's all upon your decision. You have the power, Blake. The power to either bring that same bliss on her face (pointing at the frame), or to progress with this life as it is."

He breathed out vehemently, averting his glare from my eyes as he stood up lousily. I watched him open the door wide for his athletic physique to pass when he abruptly halted and turned, "You either take the risk and enjoy its consequence, or lose the chance and see that same dimmed expression on your Mum's face forever. As they say, life is a matter of a single yes to an opportunity." He smiled and left the room.

I pound my head back on the pillow and exhaled deeply, replaying the conversation between Josh and I.

"You either take the risk and enjoy its consequence, or lose the chance and see that same dimmed expression on your Mum's face forever."

My eyes darted at the frame. And as I glared at Mum's image more closely, I could almost see her looking back at me, her beauty replenished as a glowing smile lingered on her lips. A smile without any force.

I shut my eyes, lamenting over the decision that I knew I had made.