I Can't.

A story for the TFIOS competition, Option 2.
Feedback would be most appreciated.

I got the idea for this story from Isaac and Monica's break-up in TFIOS and I hope you enjoy it!

~Awesome cover by C.H. Potter~


3. Chapter Two

1:32 am. I know I'm not going to get to sleep tonight. Instead, I just roll over and slip out of bed. Fresh air, that's what I need. 

Grabbing my lilac sneakers, a white t-shirt, underwear and some cut-off jeans that are just a little bit too small, I strip off my pyjamas and pull the outfit on. Picking up my iPod, I head out of the door, just catching my reflection in the mirror. Sadness floods my chest: I'm wearing the exact same outfit that I wore the day Jake told me. The day he told me about the tumour. 

I can picture it all. We were sitting on this little bench in town, the sun almost out. Just chatting. Until he suddenly sat up, saying he had something important to tell me. And I told him to carry on, so he did. He told me about everything: the tumour, the diagnosis, the operation that was coming soon. By then I was crying. We were both crying. 

That was a month ago. He's been having chemo with temozolomide and radiation to try and treat his cancer - Glioblastoma multiforme - but it isn't working. The tumour has continued to grow and now he's going in for surgery in five days. Five days and he could be dead. Or changed. He could be a different person if his brain is badly affected.

And that's why I had to end it - end us: I can't lose the Jake I love to a more aggressive, not-Jake Jake. I can't lose him, full stop. And for that to work, I can't be with him anymore. Because I couldn't dump him after. 

I know; I know it's so horrible and selfish of me to not stick with him to the end. I know. But I also know that healthy people dump healthy people all the time; why should a healthy person dumping an ill person be different? 

I guess it just is, though. Because they're ill. 

You just don't dump ill people.

And you definitely don't dump people with cancer.

Slumping my shoulders forward, I head down the stairs, not really trying to be quiet. Who cares, anyway? My boyfriend-

My ex-boyfriend is going to die in a few months, if not a few days. No-one's going to be particularly angry. 

When I reach the hallway, I flip the car keys off the hook and walk out of the door. Outside, the night air is as pure as fresh snow and the sky is almost black - the perfect backdrop for the spotlightesque stars. I draw in a breath as I jog to the car, grateful for the cooling sensation inside me. Then, I get in the car, shove in the keys, start it up and drive. 

I cry as I drive. I cry for Jake; I cry for our ending; I cry for no reason.

I drive until the tears run out. 

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