I believe the remainder of the story will be in Michael's point of view, now. Three chapters left, including this one, guys ... :(

Michael's POV

It's been a few hours since we arrived at the hospital, and Becky's pain is gone now. The nurses said that the cause of it was the side effects from her vigorous Chemotherapy treatment. That, and the fact that the Chemotherapy is apparently killing her good cells, as well as her cancerous ones. That's not a good thing at all.

At the moment, Becky is sleeping in her hospital bed. It's typical; each time something good happens, something bad has to ruin it. Becky and I were perfectly happy, filming ourselves and messing around, until her pain had to kick in. It makes my heart break for her; she's suffering so much because of all of this.

Another thing that hurts me is knowing that she still has another year and a half of this to come. As much as I don't want her life expectancy to decrease even more, I also don't want her to suffer like this for another eighteen months; it'll be too much for her.

As she sleeps, I sit in a chair by her bed. Even if she doesn't realise I'm here with her, I want to feel like I'm making an effort for my girl by at least being by her side. That'll make me feel better, too. But it's guaranteed that she won't be awake for at least an hour, perhaps two; she's been given a dose of Morphine, which eases the patient's pain so much, it relaxes them, making it easier for them to fall asleep.

The nurses have also had to come in every half hour or so, simply to check her progress. It's gotten to the stage where her condition is so bad, they've had to put her in her own room, which is slightly worse than intensive care – well, in this hospital, anyway. The hospital we're in isn't the same one as normal – it's more like a hospice, which is illogical because firstly, Becky is young, and secondly, Becky's life expectancy is too long for her to be in a hospice.

The staff here are lovely, though. They've not just been caring for Becky – they've been caring for me, too. They've been asking if I want a drink, or a snack, or if I want anything else like that. There's even a room next door to this room, which is allocated to only Becky and her visitors. No one else is allowed in there, apart from nurses or other members of staff. I think that's a wonderful idea.

There's also a Day Room, which is a room for anyone to go in – staff, patients, or visitors – where there is a TV, games for any children that are here, a couple sofas and chairs to relax on ... it's quite adorable, really. If Miracle, Ollie or Jason come here, they'll probably pass the time in there whilst I'm visiting Becky; something tells me she'll be here for a few days, at least.

It's almost completely silent in this room right now, apart from mine and Becky's breathing. She has a drip needle in her arm, which is for injecting drugs into if and when she needs it. I'm just glad she isn't in any pain right now ... seeing her in pain kills me inside.

Just then, a nurse enters the room, a warm, inviting smile upon her face, "Good afternoon, Mr Jackson. How are you?" she asks.

"Well ... I'm just worried for her," I answer honestly.

My hand reaches over to Becky's, and takes it within my own. Her skin is ice cold; the room must be colder than I first thought.

"That's completely normal, Mr Jackson. Is there anything you need at all? Drink? Snack?"

"No, thank you. I mean, um ... y'see, I'm a doctor myself, yet I don't understand why we've been brought here, to a hospice," I explain, wanting to clear that query up.

She furrows her eyebrows, walking over to Becky's bed, taking her medical records from the foot of it. "Well, Mr Jackson—"

"And please call me Michael. Mr Jackson is my father," I interrupt, my tone polite.

"O-Okay. You see, Michael ... gee, gosh. Uh ... " She places the records down, before taking a deep breath, "Her life expectancy is somewhat short, don't you think?"

I pull an indecisive face, "Eh ... a year and a half is kinda long, in some ways, I guess ... "

The nurse then slightly widens her eyes, exhaling a breath. She then takes a chair, bringing it next to mine and sitting down. Her eyes look into mine, as if she's about to tell me something that I should brace myself for.

"Michael, sir, since you brought Miss Summers in, we've been keeping track on her progress – a lot. We've found out that the Chemotherapy isn't doing her any good; in fact, it's making her deteriorate worse than if she hadn't have had it. You understand that?"

"Of course I understand that!" I answer, my tone more aggressive than I had hoped, "I'm a doctor; I know this stuff too!" Then, regret fills me for speaking to her like that, so I bury my head in my right hand, "I'm sorry ... I'm just not in a good place right now."

Separating my head from my hand, I look up at her, and she gives me a sympathetic smile, "Of course, Michael. But look, since the Chemotherapy has started to have a negative effect on Miss Summers' health, there's some bad news that I think you need to brace yourself for."

"Wonderful; more bad news." My eyes fill with tears, with one falling down my cheek slowly. My thumb wipes it away, before I close my eyes, "What is it? What's the bad news?"

"Michael, Miss Summers' life expectancy will be a matter of days, now ... "

And this is the exact moment my heart feels as if it's stopped. A matter of days. A matter ... of days. Not even months any more; not even weeks.

Days.

A matter of days.

That's why she's in a hospice, rather than a hospital. How could I be so stupid? How could a doctor not figure that out? How ridiculously dumb I feel right now!

"Years ... months ... days ... " is all I manage to say upon hearing the bad news, "How quickly time flies when you're not having fun."

"Michael, sir, would you like some time alone to get your head around all of this?" the nurse asks sincerely.

Numbness has taken over my entire body now; it's like I can barely move. Rather than answering verbally, I give a little nod of my head, indicating my answer. She returns a sympathetic smile, before heading out the room, leaving me alone with Becky.

"A matter of days ... " I repeat once more, tears forming thickly in my eyes now, "Your parents need to be told about this, sweetheart ... " Despite the fact she can't hear me, I continue speaking to her, "We'll make these last few days count for you, babe. These last few days are very important, now. We need to make them special, and full of love and happiness ... "

My voice trails off towards the end of my little speech; these next few days won't be happy – they'll be the complete opposite.

--

"I can't believe how much has happened. It's all so overwhelming to me."

Becky's mother grabs another tissue from the tissue box, drying her tears away with it. However, straight after, fresh tears replace the old ones, so she has to use the tissue again to wipe them away. Her and Becky's father arrived at the hospital only a half hour ago; I told them about Becky's shortened life expectancy only about five minutes ago. Naturally, they're not taking it so well.

I place a caring arm around Becky's mother, to show my support, "I know it's hard ... what was once a four year life expectancy is now a matter of days. It's just ... crazy. Absolutely crazy."

Her lip quivers, her eyes threatening to fill with even more tears, "Damn right, it's crazy. Oh, Michael! I can't believe any of this!" Becky's father then places an arm around her, but she still keeps crying, "I won't be able to cope without my only baby!"

Hearing her react like this is making me feel worse about all of this. Granted, I may be Becky's fiancé, but this is her mother we're talking about; it must be absolutely awful for her to have to cope with this.

"I know, I know ... it's so much to take in. But this is why we all need to be here for one another ... we all need to take care of each other now ... " My voice trails off towards the end; a terrible feeling of grief has invaded my senses.

Just then, Becky's voice catches all of our attentions, as she whimpers a simple, "Hi guys ... " to her parents. She's awake! I've been waiting for her to wake up all day.

"Hey sweetie; how are you feeling?" Becky's father asks.

"I'm okay," Becky answers, trying to shift positions on the bed, but struggling due to the drip needle being in her arm, "Drip needle?" She spots it at last, "I-I don't remember being put on a drip ... "

"You won't do, sweetheart. The Morphine they gave you sent you almost straight to sleep," I state, brushing back her stray hairs, because they're in her face, "Uh, so ... "

I have no idea what to say to my own girl. She doesn't know that her life expectancy has gone down again; it'll break her if I tell her. Maybe I'll wait until her parents are gone, unless they decide to tell her before I do.

"What did they say about my pain?" Becky questions wearily, "Did they say anything Michael?"

A sick feeling starts to grow in the pit of my stomach, "Well ... they said that the side effects of the Chemotherapy was causing it. Um ... and they said that the Chemotherapy is killing your healthy cells as well as your bad ones, so ... uh ... "

Perhaps I should just tell her; at least then, she'll know. It's just her reaction that I'm worried about. In fact, I'm terrified of her reaction to knowing she only has a matter of days ...

"Sweetheart, I need you to be brave, okay? Cos, well, I found out something today that ... isn't good." My hands take hers gently, before I swallow nervously. My eyes lock onto hers as I tell her, "Becky, you ... you, uh ... " My breath catches in my throat from the mental pain I'm feeling, but after swallowing once more, I manage to tell her, "You only have a few days left, sweetheart ... I'm so sorry! ... "

After that, my crying is almost uncontrollable. I know I need to remain strong for Becky, but this is really killing me inside. It takes every single drop of strength within me to subside my cries, but when I do, Becky's reaction is just the same as mine. She's crying hard, her expression giving away that she clearly needs a hug, so I give her one.

"A few days! ... " she sobs, shaking in my arms, "I don't want to die! I'm not ready to die! Michael! I don't wanna die! Michael, please make it stop! Make it stop, please! Make all of this just ... a bad dream, so I can live until I'm old, please!"

Her reaction is almost driving me insane; knowing that she's going to die must be the most horrifying, awful, terrible feeling in this entire world. She doesn't deserve this at all!

"Michael ... I don't want to die!" she repeats, clutching tight to my shirt, crying hysterically, "Don't let me die! Please, please don't let me die so soon, Michael!"

Beginning to sob myself, I stroke her hair to try and calm her down, "I wish I could prevent it, sweetheart. I really, really wish I could!" My head leans lightly upon hers, which brings us closer together naturally. "I would do anything to keep you alive ... but I can't do anything, and that kills me ... "

"Please stay with me until I die ... " she begs, her voice gradually lowering in volume, the more she speaks, "All of you stay with me ... " With one look at her, I can see she's visibly worn out from all of this crap she's going through. It's perfectly understandable.

I just wish I could do something to make it all better ...

Two chapters left now guys! :(
I really don't want this adventure to end, but ... it must. :'(
And one thing's for sure – the ending of the next chapter will be the most bittersweet ending of any of the chapters I've done so far. Be prepared. ;)
I hope you kinda enjoyed the chapter, anyway. :)