I was weak. My body and my mind, weak. As much as I wanted to stay sober, keep my head clear, I failed. Of course, I had excuses, a lot of them. But the truth was, I needed to forget about everything, just for one damn night. Just this once, until I could escape again. Just a little something to keep me going until it was time to leave again. Although I didn't want to leave.

The party at Ray's was the perfect distraction. We got drunk, had a little jam session on the living room floor, he had gotten out his guitar and I was scribbling lyrics on a piece of old newspaper while singing them and it was like we were in our own little world but suddenly this girl was by my side, stroking my thigh. I ignored her at first, trying to focus on the music without being disrespectful or rude. It still didn't stop her and she let her hand wander further up my crotch. Ray just raised a brow at me, getting up and leaving, giving me a thumbs up on his way out of the room. I cursed him under my breath but stayed when I could have left. She had pills and I took them, not even sure what exactly they were and half an hour later I was fucking her on the bathroom floor, fast, rough, not even looking at her. That wasn't even my style, I had never done this before. I had only ever slept with girls I was dating but it happened nonetheless and I felt like shit afterwards. She told me her name and gave me her number but I had no desire to ever see her again. I knew then that I would never forgive myself for the things I did and had done when there was all this poison in my system. I was making myself sick when others tried so hard not to be.

Lies. Only for a night.

And then the harsh truth the next morning. When I woke up with a pounding headache but not able to feel even more guilty so I joined my parents as they visited grandma in hospital. The three actors entering their stage to see the greatest actor of all. She seemed delighted to see her daughter and son-in-law but I knew she would have been happy with just me or Mikey. I had hoped to see Lana, let her distract me for a while even with her bad mood or sarcasm. We could have been miserable together.

But her bed was empty and neatly made. My stomach clenched.

'She's in Concord for her clinical trial.' my grandmother said when she saw me staring at the bed. 'If everything goes well in the next few days, she'll be released soon.'

I relaxed, suddenly aware of how alarmed I had been. Confused, I excused myself, walking out of the room. As stupid as it was, Lana had given me hope. And if something had happened to her, I would have lost that hope. Despite the fact that she was a stranger, her presence made a difference. Maybe I was rooting for her because there was no point in rooting for my grandma. Was I being harsh? Realistic? Pessimistic?

As we left the hospital, my mom tried to talk me into joining them for dinner but last night's booze and chemicals were still making me feel nauseated so I declined, grabbing a coffee on my way back to the apartment. I took a nap before hitting the studio for band practise. I wasn't in the mood but I never was these days. It was hard to concentrate although easy to put my emotions into lyrics, the anger and frustration into my singing. There was still something unnatural about it, something not quite right. I wished my grandma could watch. She had been to our first show and every show close to home ever since but knowing she would never ever see me and Mikey on stage again made me doubt the purpose of it all. Sure, we had fans now, not just in Jersey, everywhere. Kids wore their self-made My Chem shirts to our shows in fucking Spain. It was unreal. None of it would have been happening if it hadn't been for my grandmother's support, both financially and in form of the courage and confidence she had given us. Now I should have been the one giving her support but I felt helpless. Helpless and useless.

After practise, I stopped at the liquor store.

*

'Everything's set for the outpatient treatment and as soon as you have reached the desired weight, we'll be ready for you in New York. Do you have any more questions?'

I shook my head, taking the papers and brochures the doctor had put in front of me. The initial phase of the trial was done, the mild side effects I had been experiencing had waned and the doctors were positive, telling me I was still responding well to the treatment. To be honest, I was confused. Although they had tried their best to explain it to me in a way I could understand, it was still too complicated. A part of me also had a sort of 'whatever attitude' to the whole situation. So what, they pumped me full of drugs again. Just different drugs this time. Let's just do what we can while we can, right?

When I arrived back at the hospital in New York, Elena was just finishing her desert. Apple sauce. What else. There wasn't much to choose from. She clapped her hands when I got out of my wheelchair, taking the last few steps on my own. Today was the first time in over a month. I was looking forward to not needing to get injections to prevent a thrombosis in my legs. One less shitty thing on the list of shitty things.

She told me about today's visits, talked about how annoyed she was with her daughter, Gerard and Mikey's mother, and also that Gerard looked sadder than usual. Then she mentioned that he had gotten worried at the sight of my empty bed, probably thinking that I had left. Left. As in, died. In some way I found it touching that he cared enough to get worried although it just showed he was a decent person, still able to give a fuck about what was going on around him, outside the little bubble of misery he was in. That was a good sign. The depression hadn't swallowed him whole just yet.

I cried that night. Quietly, with the tears just streaming down my cheeks, unstoppably. I didn't even know exactly why, it was just an overwhelming sadness taking a hold of me, ripping me apart. And I felt stupid, stupid and ashamed for feeling like this since there was so much hope for me. After all, I was getting better. I would be able to go home, continue life. But I realized that life had already continued without me, while I had been standing still, while I had being held captive by the illness, my own body a cage that I couldn't escape, a cage that was getting smaller and smaller, having me gasping for air. I felt like someone or something had given me air but just enough to keep going a little longer, with the prospect but not the guarantee of being freed, one way or the other. Was there safety in death? There was certainly peace. Maybe the thought of not finding neither this nor the other in life, maybe the realization of it, maybe that was what made me sob into my pillow that night.

When I finally fell asleep I had my reoccurring dream. I am dancing, alone in the ballet studio in Paris, where I used to dance. My long blond hair pulled up into a bun, my lean, toned body in my tutu and tights. It's quiet, except for the heavy rain against the glass windows. Suddenly, I get the sensation of someone standing behind me and I turn around. But it's just me, looking at myself in the big mirror. I realize that my hair had turned white, my face wrinkly, I got a slight hunch. I am old. I try lifting my leg, expecting it to be stiff, expecting my bones to crack or to lose my balance but it happens without any effort, as easy as always. I lift my arm, my index finger pointing upwards, the movement soft and flowing and I see the old woman in the mirror doing the same. I get angry, at her, at myself because she is me, after all. I yell at her to stop. To give way to my real reflection but she just stares back at me blankly. I start with my leg in plié, rising into pointe, challenging her like an opponent before I release my other leg from Passé and begin to spin, pirouette after pirouette, losing count, getting more and more aggressive as if my movements would magically cast a spell which would make the woman disappear. Turn after turn after turn after turn. My leg is starting to hurt and I'm getting dizzy but I don't want to stop. I hear glass shattering and come to an abrupt halt. The mirror was broken, the pieces scattered all over the floor around me.

*

The weeks passed and I had to leave again, doing another tour with the band although I didn't feel like it. At least it was a short leg, only the East Coast, only two weeks away from home. I really dreaded what came after though, undoubtedly more shows and appearances filling up my schedules. Our manager had been really supportive, giving us the option to cancel but my grandma was strictly against it, convincing me she wouldn't do anything stupid while I was gone. So I left, confident that she was well enough.

I made my mom promise to call me just in case she got worse or anything happened while I was gone. The distraction was good. The music was good. The energy I felt on stage made me forget all the troubles at home. I partied every night, taking advantage of not having responsibilities other than being the slightly messed-up singer in a band. No one took me seriously, everyone just laughed when I puked my guts out, cheering me on when I emptied another bottle shortly after, handing me drugs, feeding my habit. We didn't give a shit until we had to. And we never had to.

At one point, Ray tried to talk to me about my grandma but I laughed it off, not even pretending to act like I cared. Of course he knew better, they all did, but nobody wanted to spoil the fun we were having. We all had our issues, our problems at home. We left them at home though. A tour was not the place to deal with them. It was the place to forget about them.

In the rare moments of soberness, I found myself thinking about Lana, probably because I had banned any thoughts about grandma. Just random little thoughts about her would pop into my head, like whether or not she would ever be healthy again, living a normal life. Whether she would go back to France one day. Paris was a beautiful city but so was New York. Even after 9/11, even though the mood had changed, it still had a special place in my heart and always would have. Had she even gotten the chance to get to know the city yet? I wanted to get to know her but I also didn't, knowing that I could never be a good friend to her.

'Guess what I just scored? Tell me I'm the best little brother in the WORLD.' Mikey waved his phone in front of me, a triumphant smile on his face. I was in the back of our small van, waiting for the rest of the band to show up so we could head off to our next destination. I took a drag of my cigarette, waiting for him to tell me. Instead, he handed me the phone and watched as I read the text.

Guestlist for the Pumpkins at Madison Square Garden. I knew it was a sold out show.

'Who did you suck off to get these?' I asked and he grinned.

'No one. Was talking to Todd, you know the guy we met the first night in Atlanta?' I obviously couldn't remember. 'Turns out his brother is friends with Billy Corgan. He made a phone call for us.'

'Sweet.' I said, the numbness from the pills toning down my excitement. 'So you sucked off Todd?' I added and Mikey snatched the phone from my hand.

'I didn't suck off anyone, jerk. But seems like you're in total need to get sucked off, hey, I just met this girl and her friend was-'

'Can you just get the others so we can go?' I interrupted him, lighting another cigarette with the one I had almost finished.

'Gahh, how about a thank you?'

'Thank you. You're the best little brother in the world.' I forced a smile and we bumped fists before he jumped out of the van, about to head off to find the guys.

Suddenly, I thought of something.

'Hey Mikers, you think you can get one more ticket?'

*

'Oh honey, I'm SO sorry. I wish you were well enough to come with us.' my mother was visiting for the first time in two weeks, back from a trip to Bangkok and about to leave again, to Paris, without me.

Whatever, I thought. I didn't even blame her for wanting to be as far away from her sick daughter as possible. In the months after my diagnose, she had been in denial. One could have thought it was her with the lymphoma, not me. She basically continued as if nothing was wrong, driving me to the doctors or the hospital as if she was dropping me off at ballet class. Something I obviously had to stop doing too. Then, when my hair started falling out, she finally acknowledged the fact that I was indeed sick. She felt sorry for herself, told everyone, even strangers, my entire medical history, accepted well-wishes on my behalf. It was ridiculous. When she married Greg, the lawyer, she immediately jumped at the chance of a rich man covering all my medical bills. And I was grateful of course, Greg was a good guy, too good for her, for sure. But I had had excellent doctors in Paris, everything I needed.

'Lana? Are you listening?' she said, disrupting my thoughts.

'Yes. You're going to Paris. Awesome. Have fun. Send me a postcard.' I replied, my sarcasm obviously bothering her.

'Honey, this isn't easy for me.'

'Yeah, I don't know how you cope.'

She got up, looked at Elena who was shaking her head at her and turned around to leave.

'Don't worry about me too much while you're on your vacay, mom.' I mocked and she stormed out of the room.

Her behavior didn't even bother me anymore. By now I had accepted it because I obviously couldn't change it either. At least I wasn't dying, yet. Maybe that would do the trick. Maybe then she would finally get her head out of her ass and realize that her daughter needed her. And then she would feel guilty for the rest of her life because it had been too late. Dark thoughts, but at least I was able to face reality.

'What a bitch.' Elena whispered and I laughed.

The following days consisted of another round of chemo, some more tests, the drug trial, new doctors, old doctors, the occasional visitor. I had gained weight, almost three pounds, which was a lot for me but I tried my best not to get my hopes up. My doctor, Dr Miller, kept talking about the outpatient treatment and as scared as I was, Elena managed to open me up to the idea. I had a nice apartment after all. She joked about getting her grandsons and their friends to visit me and I wondered if I could gather enough strength to explore the city one day. It was weird talking about my future with a woman who didn't have one. It made me feel bad, especially when her family or friends came to visit. Elena was getting worse. They had found metastases in her brain and she decided to keep it a secret from her family. I admired and respected her decision but I couldn't help but think about Gerard, who was away on tour, clueless about her state. My cancer wasn't gone and no one knew if it would ever be gone, but I had more time. It wasn't fair. But after all, I wasn't in a place of fairness.

Notes

hope you're liking this so far - despite the depressing storyline
lemme know what you think :)