ch17.page

Rose leaned against the cool porciline of the bathroom sink, letting a spritz of water slip down her face, smearing the make-up Mandy had so carefully applied. Dark circles formed under her eyes, and streaks from her silent tears made winding tracks around her face.

"So stupid." She whispered to her reflection in the mirror. "You are so stupid." In the whitish flourescent light, the bruises on her arms were more obvoius that she could remember them ever being before.

One of the stall doors creaked open, and a short, pudgy dark haired girl who walked with a cane stepped out. Rose vaguely recognized her from the hospital. She seemed to recall that she may have seen her around once or twice, may even have spoken to her. But right now, she was too wrapped up in the fact that she was letting herself fall for some guy who she was never going to see again in a week to worry about names.

But the girl seemed not to notice how upset Rose was, because she chose the sink directly next to her, and dove right into heavy conversation. "I can't believe you're here with that Backstreet Boy." She said, shaking her head in disbelief. "You two are big news, here, you know." She leaned closer to Rose, and whispered, "tell the truth now, how did you get him to take you?"

"I- I didn't. I just mentioned it, and-"

The girl laughed. "Yeah, right, whatever. Tell the truth, now. It's not like someone like him would ever really be interested in someone like you. I mean, Hell, you're a cancer patient. And he's here for, what, a few days? I just can't figure out why he'd pick you, out of all the people here. There's a lot of us who are much prettier, and healthier, for that matter. It's not like he didn't have a lot to pick from." She studied Rose's hurt face in the mirror. "I'm not trying to be a bitch or anything." She smiled, tossing her hair around her shoulders. "I was just trying to find out what it feels like to know you're dating someone who looks at you as. . . charity."

A lonely tear squeezed out of the corner of Rose's eye while the girl's cane clicked across the floor, towards the door. She slid down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burrying her head in her hands. Sobs wrenched themselves out of her throat, and she felt the familiar weariness that always followed severe depression come over her.

Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her arm. The bitchy girl must be back, she reasoned. She must have come up with some new reason to make me hate Brian. But, even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. She didn't hate Brian. She hated herself. How could she have let herself trust someone who absolutely could not have really cared? And it was so obvious, too, if she'd ever taken the time to think about it. Everything the girl had said was true. Brian couldn't really like her, he was just-

"Rose." Her head snapped up. Through the mask of tears streaming down her face, she made out the familiar features.

"Go away!" She snapped, quickly diverting her eyes. She would have stood up and marched away from him if she'd had the energy. "This is the Girl's Bathroom."

"Rose." Brian said again, and this time his voice sounded strained and urgent. "Rose, look at me, Rose." She shook her head, her synthetic hair brushing across his face. Brian reached up and wound his fingers into her mane. It was so beautiful, so silky and soft, he never wanted to let go. He leaned forward a little, and burried his head in it. "Don't be mad at me, Rose. Please."

Her tears fell harder, crashing to the tiled floor like meteorites. "Brian." She whispered. "I love you." Her voice was too soft, she knew, for him to hear her. She cleared her throat. "Please leave me alone." This time she spoke loudly enough, and he pulled away.

"Leave you alone?" He asked, not even bothering to mask his hurt. "Do you really want that?"

Rose was no stranger to fatigue. Being a cancer patient took quite a bit of energy from a person. She could remember nights when she was too tired even to climb into bed. And yet, whispering her one-word response to Brian's question took more out of her than any treatment, any relapse, any attack than she could ever remember. "Yes." She whispered.