Page 155 - In Five Years

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t need you to tell me how I feel?
That maybe I know?”
“No,” I say. “It didn’t, because that’s ridiculous. This isn’t about how you
feel, which by the way, is like shit. You threw up three times in the car on the

way here.”
Bella looks away. I feel struck by sadness, but it does not push the anger out.

Because that is what I feel: angry. And for the first time since her diagnosis, I let
it take over. I let the righteous indignation burn a hole through me, through her,
through this godforsaken chemical den.
“Shut up,” Bella says. Something she hasn’t said to me since we were twelve

years old, in the back of my parents’ station wagon, fighting over god knows
what. Not her life. Not cancer. “I’m not your project. I’m not some little girl you

have to save. You don’t know what’s better for me than I do.” She struggles to sit
up and winces, the needle in her arm shifting. I am overcome with a helplessness
so deep it threatens to topple me into her chair.

“I’m sorry, Bella. I’m sorry,” I say, gently now. For all the things she’s going
through, for everything. “It’s okay. Let’s just finish, and I’ll take you home.”
“No,” Bella says. There is a ferocity in her tone that does not give. “I don’t

want you here anymore.”
“Bells—”
“Don’t Bells me. You always do this. You’ve done this forever. You think you

know everything. But it’s my body, not yours, okay? You’re not my mother.”
“I never said I was.”
“You didn’t have to. You treat me like a child. You think I’m incapable. But I

don’t need you.”
“Bella, this is insane. Come on.”
“Please stop coming to these appointments.”

“I’m not going to—”
“I’m not asking you!” she says. She’s practically screaming now. “I’m telling
you. You need to leave.” She swallows. There are sores in her mouth. I can tell it

takes effort. “Now.”
I wander outside. Jill is there, juggling a coffee and a tea. “Oh, hello darling,”
she says. “Cappuccino?”

I don’t answer her. I keep walking. I keep walking until I start running.