Princess Charming

Maia Benson has loved, and has lost. People at her school, in her town, know her story. Their story. It hurts to remember, so she remembers one last time in an English Assignment Essay on the topic of 'Love.'

-This is a short story written for the Pixar competition here on movellas-

(Italics is the English Assignment, and regular text is present-day, FYI)
(I may one day turn this into a longer story)

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3. Pain - Chapter Three

Twelve months. That how about how long we were together before I got the news. I wasn't an idiot, though she tried to hide it from me. I had seen her getting sicker, seen the pain etched on her face. When she finally told me, I kissed her as hard as possible, letting her know that I would be there for her. Six out of twelve months, my Princess Charming, Hazel Elizabeth Bloom, had cancer.

It's too difficult to go into the details. It's something I don't like to think about. I knew that she used to have it. It was sometime in Middle School, 7th grade, I think. she was lucky enough to go into remission, but I guess it came back a couple years later. I wasn't angry for her reluctance to tell me. I was angry because life was cruel, and at fact that she would die. It was terminal, and the treatment options didn't work for her. We were going into Junior year, and, hopefully, she had till Senior year until it took her from me. I think those were the days we were most in love.   

Honestly, I found out she had cancer because she was spontaneous. We were in the middle of watching the 3rd season of  some TV show, when I found her down on one knee. She proposed to me, and I asked why then, when we had only know each other a little over a year. She said she had probably a year left to live. I didn't say yes just because of that. I said yes because I knew ever since I was young, I wanted to call Hazel my wife at least once. We got our parent's consent, and it happened. It was a small wedding, and I was happy that not too long ago same-sex marriage had been legalized. It allowed us a chance, and it allowed a dying teenager to be able to call her girlfriend her wife. It also allowed me to call my dream girl my wife.

We were married May 2016.

The rings were always questioned, but we would just smile at each other, and tell them that it was a sign of our happiness. Because that's what we were.

 

I look at the ring on my finger. No matter if it's what I am, I do not feel like a widow. I still feel as if I am married to my Princess Charming, Hazel's vows from almost a year ago still running through my head. I have a copy of the Marriage Certificate hanging on my wall.

When she started to get worse was when it hurt the most.

 

I remember when she stopped going to school. It got much worse, her parent's babying her at a moment's notice. Before and after school I would stop by and talk to her. Joke with her. Just be with her. Our moments together were rushed, yet lasted an eternity, and could never be forgotten.

I filled her in on the gossip at school. The gossipers at school kept asking me questions. The only people I ever told anything to were the teachers, the people who needed to know what was happening to the girl that I loved.

Every time I saw her, she told me she wished we had more time together. I told her that we had all the time in the world, as long as we just loved each other. I think she believed me, and her 'I wish' turned into 'I love you.' Her parents opened me with welcome arms, and kept alerting me of her condition. She was only getting worse, not better, and I found it difficult to stay positive when in her presence. I never babied her, no, and I never was blunt about anything, but I wanted her to be the cheerful girl I fell in love with.

She was.

She was always complaining about wanting to do things on her own. She couldn't do much. When I was around, I helped her shower. It was flustering, but she needed my help, and I promised to give it. It had almost been a year and a half since we'd been together. It wasn't that bad.

Her troubles were in the fact that she was deathly sick, and it winded her to do simple things. I was always there for her, and in time, I think I became her Knight-In-Shining-Armor, always there to rescue her from falling. I grew into my role. I never stopped loving her.

 

I watch as dots of tears stain the fragile paper, wiping them the best I can from my eyes. The paper is due tomorrow, and I'm so close, so damn close to finishing our story, and it just hurts so damn much. I look up at the clock. 2:40 pm. I glance back down at the paper, shaking my head.

 

It was during the summer of  2016. She was in the hospital. I refused to leave. I knew she was dying. Really dying. She was at the end of the line, and I wanted to be there when it happened. I wanted to fulfill my promises to love her until death do us part, and then some.

June 26, 2016, Hazel Elizabeth Bloom died. The funeral was simple, and I made sure to speak. The eulogy was hard to write, and I read it to her before she died. I wrote it while she was on her deathbed, because she said she so very much wanted to read it. Wanted to know my true thoughts on her. I hadn't seen her cry that hard since our wedding day. She told me she loved it, and that she loved me. 24 hours later, she was gone, hand lifeless in mine.

 

I set my pencil down, futily wiping the ever-running stream of tears from my cheeks, trying to spare the paper which has been ruined by the sorrowful stains of my crying. I know I need an ending, and I need to write it now, considering the paper is due in the morning. It takes me three hours to figure out how to do it.

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